ONE BIRTHMOM'S STORY

Barb's Adoption Story

As a child I was raised to fear authority. My father was both verbally and physically abusive. As a teenager, during my 'rebellious' period, I rejected just about everything my parents stood for including Mom's religion. I was raised Catholic but my parents could not afford the tuition for Catholic high school. So after 8 years of strict discipline by the nuns I was 'turned loose' in the public school system. That begins my story.

I met "Bob" when I was 15. He was 16 and driving a really neat car. His parents were 'liberal'. They really pushed us together. At first I didn't like "Bob" but several of us would go to his house because his parents always left us alone and didn't question our music or anything we did. "Bob" and I eventually started going together.

We continued on and off for the next three years to 'go steady'. I was so desperate to be loved that I did whatever "Bob" asked of me. The old cliche of not buying the cow when the milk is free was true in my case.

When I was a junior he dropped out of school at the age of 16 and that is when I found out that his parents had lied about his age so he could get a driver's license when he was only 15. This made him 18 months younger than me instead of older than me. But I stayed in the same old pattern being afraid that if I broke up with him no one else would ever want me - I was no longer a virgin. We planned to be married after I graduated (just like Paul and Paula for you folks around my age).

Shortly before graduation we talked about going out of state to get married. His parents were going to go with us to sign for him since he was not old enough to get married. But he kept putting it off for one reason or another.

In late August I finally came to my senses and decided that we were going nowhere. He was seeing other people even though I was living at his parent's house - with him. I would wait up for him on Friday night and he would come in at 3 or 4 am with no explanation as to where he had been but I knew he was seeing other girls. I moved out.

On Labor Day I went back to his house to get the rest of my things. He decided that he either was going to show me I could not live without him or that he was man enough to take what he wanted and he raped me. I knew immediately that I was pregnant.

My temporary clerical job ended in late October and the rent was due on my apartment. I had been to the doctor and confirmed my suspicions - I was pregnant. I had no options but to call my parents and tell them what was going on and that I needed a place to live.

My father told my mom to tell me that I could move back in but that there would be no babies in his house. I knew better than to question his decision. I moved 'home' on my 19th birthday. I don't remember my father even talking to me during the next 7 months.

I went to see "Bob" and told him I was pregnant and of course his questions was "Is it mine?".

I found another clerical job and, working for minimum wage (which was, if I remember correctly, 85 cents an hour!) I saved every penny I made. I bought just a couple of maternity outfits to get me through and my sister-in-law loaned me some of her's that she had worn during 5 pregnancies. The doctor and hospital had to be paid up-front, before the delivery, because I had no insurance. In 1966 parents could not claim an unmarried child's maternity expenses against their insurance.

I lived in a fog during the entire pregnancy. It was as if I ignored it it would go away. I guess my parents felt the same because it was never mentioned that I was pregnant. I went to work, went home and went to work again. I would take the bus to the doctor's office. He is the one who referred me to Catholic Charities. I took the bus downtown to their office and filled out some papers when I was about 3 or 4 months pregnant. That was the extent of my contact with them until after my son was born.

My due date was on Memorial Day. The following Saturday I had been to the doctor and he said it was still going to be some time before I delivered. That afternoon my brother and sister-in-law were visiting. Mom and dad had gone out somewhere. We were sitting there talking and I was very uncomfortable but had no idea what was going on. My sister-in-law told me I was in labor.

About 9 pm that night dad dropped mom and me off at the hospital which was only about a mile from home. He surprised me - I thought I was going to have to walk to the hospital. I was put in this tiny room in a big iron bed and given the normal 'preparation'. We were only there an hour or so and the doctor sent mom home telling her it was going to be a long night. I was then given something that knocked me out completely. I woke up once when my water broke and was scared to death - I though something was terribly wrong. I rang for the nurse. When she came in she was very disgusted with me and said "Oh, your water just broke" as if this were the most common of things to happen but to me it was really scary. I had been given no information about pregnancy or delivery and had no idea what was going on or what to expect.

The next thing I remember is waking up and asking what I had had. I was told a 7 lb 14 oz boy at 2:12 am. Not that long of a night after all.... guess they wanted mom out of the way.

For the next 5 days I was cloistered in a private room on the same floor as the other new mothers. They put a screen across the door so I could not see into the hallway. I could hear them rolling the babies to their mother's rooms. I was assigned 2 student nurses. They came in my room one day asking me how I felt about 'giving my baby away'. I remember giving them some sort of glib answer but have no idea what I said.

They were in my room when a lady stopped at the door - on the other side of the screen - and said she had my package to take home. (The one they gave with the diapers and formula, etc.) I said I didn't need it and - talking through the screen - she said that it was free and I should take it. After going back and forth on this for a minute I finally said I wasn't keeping my baby. She shut up and left real quick.

I stayed in that room for the entire 5 days. Dad brought mom over for a visit on Sunday but she was only 'allowed' to stay for 5 minutes because dad had somewhere he wanted to go. That was my only visitor.

I never asked about my baby after finding out that he was a boy. I did not touch him or see him. I knew if I did I could not let him go. Even though I did not bond with him during my pregnancy, the instant I knew he was born I was in love with him. He was real and he was here. The fog was lifted. The 'problem' did not go away. It came to be my son.

On the day of my release I went to a public phone (there was a charge for the ones in the room and I could not afford one - besides I had no one to call) and called the office where I had been working. I had purchased a cheap wedding band and told them that my husband was in the service over seas. Now, through sobs, I told them that my baby had died. This was not a complete lie. To me my son was dead. I would never see him again.

Dad picked me up from the hospital. In four weeks I went back to work and never spoke of my son again - nor did my parents.

"Bob" called the house while I was at work sometime in late June. When mom answer the phone he said "Don't hang up. This is "Bob". I just wanted to know if Barb had the baby." My mom replied "What baby?" "Bob" was never heard from again.

About 6 weeks later I got a call to come to the Catholic Charities office and sign the papers. It took me a very long time to get those papers signed. The only think that I was asked, while I sat there sobbing my heart out, was that they wanted to be sure no one was forcing me to place my baby with them. No, I wasn't being forced. Just because I liked to sleep in a bed and eat meals occasionally... living on the streets with a new baby did not appeal to me. I was not told there was help out there. I had heard of welfare but it was for 'those' people. I had never heard of WIC or any of the other programs that would assist a young mother.

I hear other bmoms talking about counselors and social workers. I never had a counselor or social worker. The only person I had was me. I was young and nieve but I got myself through it. I was strong because I had to be strong. I didn't cry because I was not allowed to cry. The only two times that I cried (once in the hospital and once at the Catholic Charities office) I was not near my parents. They did not tolerate emotions.

After signing the papers I was told to go home and forget this ever happened. I was also told I was never allowed to try to find him. Being the obedient person that I was raised to be I never tried to find Scott......

until 30 years later when I typed the word adoption into a search engine on the internet.....

....And The Story Continues....
Barb & Joe's Reunion Story

Barb & Joseph
Separated At Birth: 6/5/66
          Reunited: 9/6/97