Searching, Part II

In 2008 my hereditary blood condition, hereditary spherocytosis (HS), caused my spleen to enlarge, my hemoglobin to plummet, and I had to have a splenectomy. Shortly after surgery I ended up with a huge clot in the portal vein in my liver. My whole GI shut down, I couldn't eat or drink, and I was in agony. I spent much of the next month in the hospital feeling like an alien with two IV sites, tubing everywhere, four pumps, and a central line into the major blood vessel leading into my heart to feed me. I was wracked by pain, both emotional and physical. One day I Googled "adoption rejection" and discovered a richness of witty, insightful blogs, written by adoptees. I was excited and enthralled, reading and laughing and crying. Amazed to see things I'd always thought coming out of someone else's brain. I commented and reached out, relieved to find a community of like-minded people at last.

Adoptees are a stubborn lot, and I made new friends who are also search angels. Adoptees rarely take "no" for an answer from anyone, let alone a CI, and the angels were helping me search outside of the CI system. I had new hope, and I truly believed that the CI might have been responsible for my first mother's negative reaction. I couldn't be sure of what she'd said to her, or if my first mother even knew anything about me. I couldn't give up. On and off the angels and I searched, using the parameters of my known last name, my grandfather's recent death, and the geographical region. The angels asked if I was sure of the "Neuman" spelling. "Of course," I naively replied. Who would falsify a name on a legal document? Oh yes, my first mother. Yes, she did.

In the summer of 2009, Kinsolving Investigations found my first family in five days; they discovered and reported that I was really a "Newman." I trembled to have my first mother's name, address, and phone number. To know I had a brother. To read about my grandfather's colorful life in his obituary. I finally felt like a human being instead of a mythical creature. 

Subsequent attempts to contact my first mother, by another first mother and then by myself, proved fruitless. My fmom met me with silence, and the first mother with a calm, "No, I don't think I'll ever be interested." Repeated over and over. I felt empty and demoralized. I still didn't count. I was invisible. I decided to e-mail my brother. Silence. A few weeks later, I found him on Facebook, and screamed out loud. He looked so much like me! I wanted to touch the screen and connect with him. I sent him another message, introducing myself and hoping that he'd be open to talking to me. Then I waited.