Vindauga

Primal Wound

Apple is a girl full of scars. Her elbows, knees, hands, feet and face all show the trials and tribulations of her life. A dog bite here, a collision with a tennis racket there, numerous bike accidents and running her finger along my grandmother's antique mirror have all changed how she looks physically. She is proud of her scars, seriously. She calls herself "scar girl" sometimes when she studies them. She likes to be unique (don't we all?) and she sees the little imperfections on her skin as one way she is set apart.

I am sure if there was a way to open up her soul and examine it as closely as I can her beautiful olive skin, I would see some scars. And some of those scars are undoubtedly the healed memory of being separated from the only beings familiar to her less than 24 hours after her birth.

Birth in itself must be this wholly bizarre experience. I imagine all of us are grateful to hear the familiar voices of our parents when we are thrust into this weird new place. Apple heard those voices, and I am sure was comforted by them. Then the next day those voices were gone and were replaced by ours. She didn't hear the voices of her birth parents again for six months.

How traumatic was this? I really have no clue. The night we brought her home she contentedly slept in my arms until 10:00, then she was awake until 3:30 a.m., crying, eating, and looking at the world. It was a hard first night on Bert and I, we had never had a baby. And here was this little one, with us 12 hours and we were all topsy turvy. Was this because she missed Noelle's heartbeat or just a normal newborn adjusting to the bright lights and noises of the world? I don't know. I know when Bert told his secretary at work the story a few days later, she suggested "maybe she missed her parents."  I didn't take that comment well. We were her parents, damn it. And for anyone to suggest otherwise seemed ludicrous. She was an infant, she would bond to me as her mother. And bond to me she did. But I was naive to be so dismissive.

She was a happy, happy roly poly beautiful Elvis baby mostly. Bert came up with the term Elvis baby because she attracted so much attention with her beauty and charm that he thought it was like traveling with Elvis. She was never what you call grief-stricken.

I shared tales of her with M and Noelle, her birth parents, through phone calls and letters and pictures. This was the kind of "open" adoption we had agreed to. They had expressed interest in seeing her once while she was a baby. So, with butterflies in our stomachs, we agreed. We got together when Apple was six months old. She was her charming lovely self with them, really paying no more or less attention than she did to anyone else in our family. 

We got together again that fall, a couple of months later and it was obvious that she was smitten with Noelle. I didn't blame her, hell I'm smitten with Noelle. She crawled all over her and clowned and did everything she could to get Noelle's attention. Noelle gave it to her. It was pretty much that way for the next five years as our relationship grew wide-open. We would get together and Apple would literally soak up all of Noelle she could. Then she got older, and became more reserved and she had siblings who loved Noelle too. Noelle is an excellent kid magnet. But it wasn't just that between Apple and Noelle. There was more. It was something I admired and was proud of, but at the same time it frightened me sometimes. People who didn't believe in openness thought I was nuts. But I knew no matter what connection they had, I had a deep one with Apple too. And I believed in my heart that Apple was capable of loving and bonding with both of us. There was no reason I should be threatened, because Apple didn't have to choose, she could have both of us.

I saw no grief from Apple during those years. She didn't cry when Noelle left. She didn't beg for more time. She was excited to hear about any upcoming get together and never seemed traumatized.  Then when Apple was between the ages of 8 and 12, Noelle got married, had another baby and moved half way across the country. We added a fourth, unexpected child to our family at the same time. Apple not only felt swept aside some at home, but also with Noelle.  She would cry some. Rarely verbalizing. When she would open up she told me she missed Noelle. I would hug her and tell her how much Noelle loved her. Then I would phone or email Noelle and tell her what Apple was feeling. We would discuss it, sometimes they would discuss it. Ultimately we all did our best to keep Apple feeling comfortable talking about how she felt. Sometimes she didn't feel like talking to either of us even when offered the opportunity. She had ups and downs, and ultimately came out of it in the past couple of years.

Now she is a teenager. She is happy and well-adjusted. A joy to know. But like all teenagers she has some work to do to figure out who she is, and where she fits. Some of her exploration  has to do with adoption. I think this is not only normal, but expected. We all issues, my parents divorced, my step-father is an alcoholic. I think I would be naive to think that adoption would not be one of her issues. Do I think she is as damaged or broken as Primal Wound may suggest ? No, but I think she is scarred. For me not to notice those scars and help her deal with them would be just as wrong as if I hadn't taken her to the emergency room when she had that tennis racket meet her eye. Do I think all of Primal Wound is accurate or relevant to every adoptee, or even just my child? No, but for me to not consider it would mean that I have not grown at all from that insecure mother of a three-day-old child who has naive enough to believe I was the end all and be all in her life.

Read a couple of my favorite women and their discussions on Primal Wound.

Apple's Take

On hypothesizing about being an donor embryo. First I had to explain how IVF works. Why would I automatically assume that my 14 year-old immediately understood ART? So after I explained it, she unequivocally thinks she would be an adoptee. However, she thinks M and Noelle would become her donors, not her parents. She also thinks it would be "less personal." She feels like in "some ways it would be easier. I wouldn't have to ever wonder about that whole mistake thing."

(FYI two years ago, as the result of a sex ed class, she suddenly realized that she was the result of a "mistaken" pregnancy, and that M and Noelle may have initially been unhappy. Mistake was the word the sex ed instructor used. After some tears and discussions with both Noelle and I,  she worked through it all though and is no longer troubled by it. )

However, she wonders if she were the result of a donor embryo if her first family would want to know her. She says she "likes the way it is, with adoption more of a part of my life." Then she grabbed a couple bunches of pretzels and went to hang out with her friend who was visiting.

I disagree with her on M and Noelle being donors, not parents. I think I would call them genetic parents. I know it's semantics, but sometimes language can translate into feelings and actions. I have lived with open adoption long enough that I am just more comfortable with all of us having a familial role.

Genetics is Everything/Nothing

There is some talk around one of my corners of the internet about embryo donation and adoption and primal wound theory. I've commented here and there, and I have been thinking a lot about it.

If M and Noelle had donated an egg and sperm, and Apple had been conceived in a petri dish, and I had then carried her and given birth to her, would that make her a different person? In my opinion, no. She still would have dealt with the issues of having different genetics than her family, and essentially she would have had a first family out there. The same first family. She would still have questions, need explanations and would have to explore what it meant to be related to another family. She would still have curly hair, different food tastes, an undercurrent of shyness, an earnestness that makes her deeply committed to her ideals. She would still be Apple. I think her feelings about her place in the world would be fairly close to what they are now.

I may feel differently about my role. Perhaps I would not see her first family as living,breathing, fully-fleshed out people. Maybe I wouldn't even have met them. I might think their role was insignificant- even if I was eternally grateful to them. I wouldn't have seen them love her, grieve over her and place her in my arms.

They too would probably feel much less connected to us and her. They may never know anything about us. It may seem less traumatic than placing a child for adoption.

So therefore, Bert and I, and M and Noelle may not even see Apple as an adoptee. We may see her movement from one family to another as a medical procedure. But for me it all comes back to Apple. And I think it's likely that she would still feel like an adoptee, even if I didn't want her to own that name. 

So yes, I think if you receive a donated embryo, and you give birth to it, that child has more in common with a traditional adoptee than it does with a child born and raised by both it's genetic parents. Do I still think this is a great way to build a family? Yes. I just think all the adults need to be aware of all the ramifications.

I obviously think openness would be the way to go. I think those of us raised in our genetic families don't realize how big the impact can be to not know who you look like, or why your nose bleeds. I think without that knowledge, genetics becomes everything. But for those of us who are so used to knowing all this information, genetics is nothing. To me it's a given that we can and do love all our children the same, no matter how they enter our lives. I think with love and openess adoptees can have great,wonderful, happy lives. But I think it takes acknowlegement from their parents that their feelings about adoption are valid and real. It scares me that embryo donation could be used by people who are not comfortable with adoption, and that their children may suffer the consequenses. Even great parents may not see the big picture that their children might.

I will have to get to primal wound later. Maybe tomorrow. I have people visiting, if I am not careful I will out myself as a blogger. And we all know the horror and shame of wearing the big letter B on your chest.