“I asked if I could see him. She gave me a horrified look, as if I had no right to ask such things, and said ‘its best if you never see your baby again.'”
I lost my son to adoption on July 23 1988 in Quesnel BC.
I gave birth to my son four days before my fifteenth birthday. Like many teens I could not communicate with my mother. I hide my pregnancy from everyone except my older brother.During my pregnancy I lived in Kamloops, attending high school, and with my brothers assistance doctors appointments. This doctor was unaware that I was so secretive; it was easy for the most part, my mother was an electrician who spent most of her time away from home. With all secrets this came to an end when I was entering my eighth-month, within a week of my mother finding out about my pregnancy she was called to work in Quesnel BC. I opted to wait in Kamloops until my final ultrasound. This was scheduled for July 21. From my ultrasound I went straight to the bus station and on to Quesnel. The next day I went to see the doctor who would forever change my life, the one who stole my son.
The doctor asked me what I planned to do. Confused I said that I was going to have a baby, clarifying he said “what do you plan to do with the baby”, I said “ I don’t know what you mean I am going to have a baby” He then said that it would be best if I gave my child up for adoption that I could not possibly care for an infant and that I would be doing the best for my child and for myself. Went on to say that I would be seen as a savior in the eyes of a couple who couldn’t otherwise have a baby, that they would feel so grateful to me. I would bring “sunshine” in their otherwise bleak lives. Citing that a child needed a mom and a dad, a couple who were already established and capable. I on the other-hand had my whole life ahead of me I didn’t want to mess it up by raising a child so young. ~ Thinking back now how I wished I would have known how messed my life would be being separated from my child. ~ He went on to tell me that doctors in BC kept resumes of prospective parents for these types of circumstances, that in fact he had three such resumes. He left the office, coming back a few minutes later with one, apologizing because he couldn’t find the others. He said that since I would be giving birth any day now that I should make my decision here and now. I do remember looking at the resume, my young mind struggling to understand what was going on. I did glace at this resume and was amazed at the likeness this family had with my own, I recall thinking that the similarities were a good thing. At the age of fourteen I was shy, and quiet. I was taught to respect authority figures, yet in the end I left the office with a heavy heart and empty hand; I had left this resume at the office.
That night I went into labor and was admitted into the hospital. My labor progressed slowly; it was not until early the next morning that I felt any real indication of pain. I was left alone that whole night into the morning of the next day. My labor progressed rapidly in the afternoon. I recall screaming at the top of my lungs “Mom take the pain away, you can do anything.” It was then that a doctor came in telling me that I had to take medication- to take the pain away, at that point I didn’t want anyone touching me, nor did I want to take medication, I was terrified of any type of drugs. Obviously my wants were not warranted, I was drugged. After they drugged me I promptly fell asleep, waking only to vomit. It was in one of these spells that the doctor finally showed his face, without a word he broke my water (though I didn’t realize that fact until later in life) and placed electrodes on my sons head, even through the drugged haze I felt fear for my child, especially since the doctor never saw fit to tell me what was going on and why they were doing this to my baby. ~ I found out through my medical records that the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck and his heart rate was dangerously low~ Through spells of sleeping and vomiting my labor intensified to the point that I felt the desire to push. I was promptly rolled into a delivery room. In my hazy drugged mind I thought the room was made of metal, it was everywhere. I was thrashing about because they were trying to place my legs in what I now know are stirrups, typically without letting me know why. The final part of my labor was no different than my second, except for this time I had to be woken to push. My son’s head must have gotten stuck because he ended up doing an episiotomy, but not before he tried a new technique of ‘massaging the perineum’. – Was he a pervert as well as a baby stealer? When I finally did give birth my first instinct was to rise, but I had no strength, the most I could do was turn my head towards the door they took my son through, vivid pictures of this door swinging back and forth still haunt my memories.
I looked up at the clock 9:36 pm…the one I had nurtured, sang to, connected with for nine months was taken from my womb and out of my life. I vaguely heard the doctor telling me to push, at the time I thought I was having another baby; this is how naive I was. He was discussing the placenta with my mother when he produced the resume again and said, “ You must chose this couple in the resume or this child will be in foster care before the month end”. I was placed onto another bed and wheeled away, but not before I saw the amount of blood on the floor and the bed, I was terrified I was dying, my thought was also on my baby, I had thought perhaps he did not live and this is why he was taken from the room, I was so distraught I fainted.
I woke up late the next day, the fear I felt on that waking, the utter shame. I had thought I had done the most horrible wrong, worse I wasn’t sure that I had a baby, I had thought I dreamed this all. I was nowhere near the nursery; I heard nothing but an elderly lady moan. It was then that I recalled all the blood; I was frantic to find out if my baby was okay. I finally had to ask a nurse for confirmation. She said that yes I did have a baby and he was a boy, a fine healthy young boy weighing 7 pounds 6 ounces. Oh the joy and love that flooded my heart, the smile on my face must have been an amazing sight. I tried to get up out of bed, but couldn’t move. The pain was phenomenal. Instead I simply asked if I could see him. She gave me a horrified look, as if I had no right to ask such things, and said “its best if you never see your baby again.” The shock that coursed through me was immense, the utter dread, the humiliation. All of these feelings instilled in me I was bad, I didn’t deserve to have my baby, my baby didn’t need me.
In my three-day (including the day I went into labor) hospital stay the only time I saw this doctor was during delivery, not once was I asked about my child, I was made to feel as if I could not ask about him. No one cared enough to explained adoption to me. Not only that but no one thought to tell me about after-care, were all the blood was coming from, why my breasts, and my arms ached. It was as if I was suppose to pretend I did not give birth.
I was asked to leave a few hours after I asked to see my child. Before discharging me I was asked to sign a piece of paper, the nurse stated it was proper procedure. On that piece of paper was BABY JOHNSON, I was so angry that they put my stepfather’s name on this, I scribbled it out and put DANIEL LUKE HUNT. My sons REAL name.
I walked away from this desk vaguely aware that they didn’t even offer to phone my mother for a ride. I did phone her from a pay phone inside of the hospital and then sat on the steps. I watched people walking into the hospital wondering if this was the lucky couple that were going to play pretend with my son. I didn’t cry, I was thoroughly numb; shock is the word that comes to mind when I think of my state now.
I went often to those hospital steps in the days, weeks and months after losing my son. I even went to see the doctor a few days after my own birthday pleading with him to tell me were my son was. He told me my son was in the lower mainland. That it was better off this way. Yet I still felt as if I was being pulled to the hospital. It was not until years later that I found out my son remained in the hospital until August 5 1988.
My life did go on, but is it complete? I have lost something that I will never regain; even a reunion cannot bring back my baby.
- Fact – the doctor who facilitated this adoption was a friend/co-worker with the adoptive couple that is raising my son.
- Fact – I was completely unaware of the legalities of adoption, until the year 1999
- Fact – my sons’ adoption is legal but obtained illegally.
Melissa MacDougall
natural mother to Kris
found but not reunited (2002)