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.