Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Comment/ Question

"Do you wish you'd been kept by your mother instead of adopted? "

Oh how I have dreaded thinking of this question. My nose would grow a mile long if I said I hadn't thought of it; but I usually push those thoughts away quickly. You see, most of the time I am an extrovert. I love people, I love thinking; both quietly and out loud. I love to share what is going on in my mind. Sometimes in hopes of helping others; and well, other times just to rid my head of thoughts sitting in there much too long.

But other times I can be the princess of denial. When something hurts too bad, I don't think about it; I don't share it. I try to push it away. Get it as far away from me as possible. But what I am finding out is that you can't push it far enough. You can't push it beyond your own mind/ You can only push it just a little further back. Just far enough so that you don't have to think about it for a while.

Adoption and cancer in my life right now are intertwined. So please keep in mind that some of my posts regarding adoption, most of them really, are affected by the fact that I currently have a diagnosis with a poor prognosis. So while I think of all that I lost with my mother; I am also thinking of all that I may miss in the future. This may taint my answers to some questions so please bear that in mind.

I love my adoptive parents, although I find it immensely difficult to get along with them. I feel quite abandoned by them most of the time. I know that I am 25 years old, a big girl, all grown up; though sometimes I long for that mother that would come here and help me to the bathroom after chemo, mourn with me, help build me up, try to keep me strong, make strawberry cream pie my favorite way. I long for that mother, but the problem is, I've never had her. That mother does not exist.

Instead, my mother is short, abrupt and straight to the point. I can call her and before I even get a word out otherwise she will tell me that she's busy and can't make any plans for the week (to help me out)

Instead I get phone calls complaining about her recent back pain, undiagnosed lower vertebrae issues, or chronic calf pain.

Instead I got told that "If only there were a way to know the future health of a child when you adopt." or "You know that you are now my million dollar child, right?"

Yes, these are just recent things, but I also don't have fond childhood memories. I don't ever remember baking cookies or coming home with dinner ready. I ate what I found in the fridge which was basically a hot pocket, or a TV dinner. Not abuse by any means, I am sure working and busy mothers must do this all the time; but still hardly a fond memory, especially since she didn't work.

I don't remember going to lakes, or camping, or hiking or all the things I love to do now as an adult. I never got to hang out with friends and spent most of the time in my room. My father is an alcoholic in denial but I recall him picking me up from my grandmother's house on the way home, possibly from a bar. Giving me a big kiss wreaking like alochol, which would make me want to throw up. My mother in the passenger seat with the windows up blowing smoke that would come back and hit me in the face. I felt alone in a world I didn't fit into.

I'm not an alcoholic. I never became a smoker. I was different. I had thoughts going in my head constantly. Thoughts that I would write down; to do lists; inventions; stories about my life with different names; so that nobody would ever guess it was me. I recall many times hiding in the bathtub around 10 pm when my dad would come home to avoid his wreaking kisses. I recall sometimes waking up in the bathtub too.

Then I meet my biological mother. It's hard not to look at the inner beauty of this woman and see where I belonged. I talk to her and she can finish my sentences sometimes. Sometimes we don't have to say anything at all and we'll just start laughing. Simply because we both love to laugh and feel free to do so. Being at my mom's house was somewhat a culture shock to me. Culture shock; just being in a different house? There were little messes here and there from the children's art work and craft supplies. There were report cards hung on the fridge. My 4.0 in high school was never even recognized, but here were some Bs and Cs, being hung proudly. Their mother was proud of them, not necessarily for their accomplishments, but for who they were.

There were pictures. A huge picture stand for each child from kindergarten until current. Stunning wooden furniture with their smiling faces, some missing teeth at 5 years old, all the way up to prom, high school gradution for Kieran and Kieran's first picture outside of his dorm, all behind glass, proudly displayed. There on the mantle were the few pictures I'd managed to come up with for her of me. I felt cheated


I also felt guilty because as my adoptive mother says, I am her "million dollar kid." Hence my incredibly ability to push these things to the back of my mind, where I will either deal with them later, or they will fester and I will die with them far from the surface.

I guess my answer to this question is that I'm not ready to completely go there yet. I've went farther in this post than I ever have before and I may publish it, or I may not. I may delete it later.


suz said...

you are amazing. truly, utterly amazing. i am glad to know you.

Possum said...

I'm so very glad you've published it.
I hope it stays.
These things need to be read and heard.
Thinking of you sweetie.
Biggest hugs,
Poss. xxx

Nicole said...

Suz, you have no clue how much you have helped me. I am so glad to know you.

Poss, you too. Sending you the biggest hugs back

Maryreunited said...

Oh my goodness, Suz pointed me here. She is my angel, she helped my daughter find me. I am sitting here crying after reading your words. My best friends mother had Ovarian Cancer, and another friend of mine had it as well. I will keep you in my thoughts and I'll tell you something not too many people know about me. I donate to both Breast Cancer research and Ovarian research through the American Cancer Society. I earmark each donation for those two things, specifically because of the history of Breast CA in my family and because of how the other has touched my life through my friends.

Now as a mother who is reunited as well, I will add a few things. I love that your mother came and even though she stayed away from you in hospital she was still there, where you could reach her if you wanted her, where she would be able to come to you if things went horribly wrong.(mothers do that, it is our love of our children that lets us take risks for them) I love that your brother called her and told her what was going on with you. What I also love is the fact that she sent you her list of 200 things so that you had them to read while you waited. I know I am rambling here, but I wanted to say those things where you would see them instead of buried in an old post. I think that Suz is right you are amazing, strong, corageous and simply amazing. I will keep reading, and learning from you. I have a blog as well but havn't been writing much, you can find it on blogspot as Marureunited..

Nicole said...

Hi Mary,
Thank you for such a nice response. Thanks so much for donating to ovarian cancer.
Once I was in the store watching a teenager tell her mom that she wanted the pink breast cancer cup, which of course is a good thing. But I asked the mother if she knew what a teal ribbon was, and she didn't. There isn't enough awareness out there about ovarian cancer but it is one of the deadliest cancers there is. I love to get the word out whenever I can, because early diagnosis is the key. I was originally staged as a 3C which is advanced, because of my age, I just assumed that it was hormones and menstrual issues, being adopted I had no idea what my own mother had gone through either.

Thank you so much for all the compliments. I will check out your blog. I need to find out how to link blogs here too. hmmm. I'm getting ready for another chemo round but I will definitely check it out when I am up and around again.


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