“My baby was removed from me immediately following his birth despite my frantic requests to see him. Only then was I medicated. I was denied access to my son throughout my stay in the hospital. “
I have three children: Dwayne age 29, Erin age 23, and Thomas age 22. Only 2 of those consider me to be their mother. To my first born however I am simply referred to as Lisa. He does not consider me to be his mother in any way. I lost Dwayne to adoption when he was born. I never saw my son, never held him, did not know the colour of his eyes and hair until February of 2003. The following is an excerpt from a formal document I have submitted to a private individual who is working on a research project. It was written in May 2004, approximately 6 months ago.
Approximately a month after submitting this story, I attempted suicide. I am still in treatment for PTSD and things are improving for me. Currently my son and I are not communicating.
MY STORY
In 1974, when I was 17 and a minor, I gave birth to my eldest son, Dwayne in Swift Current, Saskatchewan. Although it was my deepest desire to keep my baby, I was not provided with an advocate to speak on my behalf, to inform me of my rights, to apprise me of social or governmental programs which existed at the time, or other assistance and options available to me which would have enabled to keep the infant born to me on June 19th of that year. I was made to feel helpless and disentitled to my son. Consequently and ultimately, I surrendered to the pressure put upon me to surrender him for adoption.
Although our adoption records were sealed, I searched for and found my son, connecting with him for the first time ever in 2003.
I was required to interact with a host of authority figures and agencies in 1974 whom, I was told were acting in my baby’s “best interest”. These people/entities were:the Government of Saskatchewan Department of Social Services, my son’s adoptive parents,the social worker assigned to them by the Government of Saskatchewan Social Services whose assigned task it was to secure them an infant, my Obstetrician/Gynocologist, the Swift Current Regional Hospital and its nursing staff.
In 1973, I was residing in Calgary. I grew up the product of alchoholic parents and escaped from my abusive, dysfunctional home at the earliest possible opportunity. I was 16 when I left home. It was only a matter of months before I became pregnant. Just following my 17th birthday, I discovered I was pregnant. Upon discovering I had become pregnant, I contacted my parents, and asked that I be allowed to come home. They refused to my request. They refused to support me in any way. They instructed me to solve “my problem” and then I would welcomed home.
I was literally cast out of the family and told I would have to provide for myself by any means I saw fit. I was fortunate enough to find an estranged family member to take me in. In return for caring for her home and children, she provided me with room and board throughout the duration of my pregnancy. It was while staying here that I would meet the people who would eventually become the adoptive parents of the son I was forced to surrender for adoption.
Upon learning of my situation and discovering the extent to which I was in turmoil over not only my future but that of my unborn son, they befriended me. Over the course of the next few months, they made many overtures of friendship. I learned that, after several miscarried pregnancies, they had decided to adopt a child. They had, in fact, been trying to adopt a child for a couple of years. Up until that time they had only been offered children of First Nations heritage, they wanted to hold out for a white infant. As my “friendship” with this woman grew, I confided in her my anguish over the impending birth of my baby. I revealed to her that I could not entertain the idea of “giving away” my baby to strangers but did not know how I would ever be able to provide for my yet unborn baby. I was indeed desperate and vulnerable. With no family to support me, and the baby’s father having denied any responsibility, the very real possibility of living destitute with a newborn weighed heavily on my heart and my mind.
Approximately four weeks before the birth of my baby, Barbara approached me asking me if I would consider allowing them to adopt my baby. She felt that would indeed solve all my problems. The baby would go to a safe secure home and I would in fact know who his parents were.
After much anguished deliberation, I agreed to meet with their social worker. We met in Barbara’s home. The social worker sat beside me and candidly told me that it was, in fact, unethical for her to handle me as a client and that technically I should have a social worker assigned to help me and that what she was about to do, in acting as advocate for both myself and the adoptive parents, constituted a conflict of interest. Being only 17 and not even having graduated from high school, I had no idea what the term “conflict of interest” meant. Barbara assured me that everything would be okay and that it would be more expedient if one social worker handled everything. I realize now of course, that I was legally entitled to my own social worker, as well as my own attorney.
This woman never acted as my advocate in any way. She was only serving the interests of her primary clients, my son’s adopters.
On June 19,1974, I gave birth to my son. I was denied pain medication during the course of my labour and delivery. An episiotomy was performed without the benefit of even a local anesthetic. My baby was removed from me immediately following his birth despite my frantic requests to see him. Only then was I medicated. I was denied access to my son throughout my stay in the hospital.
Three to five days following the birth of my son, the adopters’ social worker came to the hospital with all the necessary documents for me to sign. She presented the documents, without explanation, directing me where to sign. There was no other adult or witness present throughout the signing of these documents. I signed where she directed me to. I was then instructed by this social worker not to grieve the loss of my child and to remember that his interests would in fact be far better served being raised away from me and by his new parents.
I have no memory of the balance of the time I was in the hospital although I was there for 7 days. Neither do I remember leaving the hospital. I dissociated completely from this experience, my life forever altered. It was as though my child died the day he was born. I was told to get on with my life, to forget I had been pregnant and had given birth to a child, and that it was in everyone’s best interest. As a result of this lack of validation for my loss, I have experienced the debilitating effects of disenfranchised grief and have been treated for severe clinical depression for the last 12 years of my life. I have suffered from suicidal tendencies and panic attacks for that period of time. I am currently being treated by a clinical therapist for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder resulting from the loss of my son. Every day of my life now is a struggle to make it from beginning to end. The loss of my child has formed the framework for every decision for all my adult life. I have lived in terror of losing the two children I subsequently gave birth to and raised. Reuniting with my son in 2003 has awoken an inconsolable grief within me. I relive the trauma of his loss every day. I cannot foresee a day when I will be free of weight.