The Body Connection

While sitting in the doctor’s office on Thursday afternoon, filling out the ubiquitous health forms, I smiled to myself at the family “health history” section. The first time I completed such a section on my own, I was a freshman at college. I didn’t realize it was relevant only to blood relatives. The college doctor scribbled, “adopted” across my answers and moved on. Back then I was just an adoptee that had completely embraced the only family she had ever known. I really don’t know if it was because my parents did such a good job of making me feel connected, or if it was just “me:” the kind of person I am. Probably both.

After I turned in all the health forms, Gale the receptionist and I chatted about our children – she thought it was “simply wonderful” that I had adopted two daughters on my own. It still surprises me when people think I was being altruistic when I adopted. I wasn’t. I just wanted to be somebody’s mother and that was the way I found to do it. There was divine matchmaking, however; I can’t imagine having any other daughters than my own.

I sat on the examination table with a pink drape across my lap, giving Dr. Schmitz my allergies and medications, previous surgeries and the like. She scanned the forms Gale had given her, including the one with “adopted” written across it. We talked about my autoimmune disease, sarcoidosis, mostly likely inherited from my birthfather. I seem to be among the lucky ones whose symptoms went away as mysteriously as they came on. And we discussed the need for my upcoming hysterectomy, which I inherited from my birthmother.

Truly, it’s odd to learn from your body what connects you to the past. Diseases, eye color, body shape.

One of the early stories in my book is about trying to get out of the genetics unit in 10th grade science. I find it very interesting that my daughter Chloe, who is now 15, is just finishing her genetics unit. She’s been talking about dominant traits – and she talks about it without concern for her own traits. She’s done the diagram and the formula and learned what her dominant traits are. She seems to be accepting them as she accepts herself – it is what it is…  Or is it? As her mom, and as an adoptee, I do wonder, which makes me disgusted with myself for doing the same thing to her that I don’t want others to do to me, dissecting her, looking for adoption issues. So, I sit and watch, saying nothing, loving her.

A week from tonight I will be preparing my bag for the hospital. If everything goes as planned, I will have my surgery on Monday, November 22.

I Got My Wish

It’s been a long silence from my corner of the world, and I’m sorry for that. Some of you know that I’m dealing with a health issue. Tomorrow I see a specialist and I’m hoping to get my surgery scheduled. I won’t go into details, it’s a girly sort of thing, but it does make me pretty uncomfortable and tired, and I'm ready to get it taken care of.  Thanks for staying with me.

Tonight I was saying to my writer’s group that I’m almost hoping the agency will send a rejection so that I can rewrite my book.

I thought I was finished, ready to submit. But lately I’ve been given good advice about how to open my story. I’ve reworked it and the response at group tonight was positive. I like it better myself. I have other ideas for integrating some of the memories from the first chapter into later chapters. I’d thought about it before – pushing the memories into the storyline instead of starting with them. I thought I was explaining how it felt to grow up adopted, but now I see that they need to be memories that come up now and then.

I’ve also found a new voice. Not so pedantic – more personal.

So, with all that said; I got my wish tonight. I checked my email and there was the response. They sent a generic note: thank you so much for submitting…. After a careful reading…sorry to say that we don’t believe this project is right for our agency… The business of publishing is subjective…opinions vary widely…  They recommend that I submit to other agents. “After all, it just takes one “yes” to find the right match.” And they wish me good luck.

But what I really appreciate is the added note: “There is some lovely writing here and the search for one's natural parents is an important story. Ultimately memoirs are tough and we'd have to love something 100% to take one on. We aren't the right champions for this story. We are so sorry not to have better news for you. Good luck with this project.”

I am encouraged.

And I realized something else. Am I being too picky about the “natural” parents reference? We don’t call them “natural,” for that would make our adoptive parents “unnatural.” Just a bit of adoption humor. I guess I actually do care if my representatives are sensitive to adoption life… 

I’ll think on that awhile.

I feel a little happy dance coming on. I did it. I submitted. I was rejected. And now I take my place among the legions of writers who did it too, and were ultimately successful.

Lots to do. Be back soon.