Today we were asked about Daffy’s medical history when we brought her to the eye doctor. I know this will be the first of many times we are asked about her family history and the first of many times we will have to explain whey we dont know.
I am familiar with this process. As an adoptee, I spent my life saying “I dont know” about diabetes, about heart disease, about cancer, about hypertension, about mental health… I just didnt know… and I hated it. I hated having to explain that I was adopted. I hated the way they looked am me with sadness in their eyes, because they knew I had been rejected. Rejected by the very person who should love me the most.
When I eventually reunited with my birth family in the late 90’s, I was elated to be able to provide medical information when asked. I recited it plain as day, without explanation… and without the sympathetic looks to follow. As time has gone on, though, since contact with my biological mother ended (a mere 5 months after it began) and my biological father passed away (4 years ago now), I have stopped being able to recite that information. I have *some* medical information, but many things could have changed or developed in my family over the years that I am not privileged to know, so I am back to explaining why I don’t have all the facts. And getting the sympathetic look. And I hate it.
I hate it for me but I hate it even more for Daffy. All she wants is to be a part of a family. To have a mom. And a dad. And brothers. And sisters. She does not want to be singled out. She does not want to be different. Yet every time we go to the doctor’s office, she will be. No matter if she adopted and no matter how much we love her, she will always be the one with missing pieces of her past. She will always feel that same raw rejection when asked. And there is nothing I can do about it.