Written March, 20th 2003

Popular astrologers, describe Gemini, the sign of the Twins, as dual-natured, elusive, complex and contradictory. On the one hand Gemini produces the virtue of versatility, and on the other the vices of two-facedness and flightiness. The sign is linked with Mercury, the planet of childhood and youth, and its subjects tend to have the graces and faults of the young. When they are good, they are very attractive; when they are bad they are very bad.

I am a Gemini. I am also a birth mother. I never thought that seventeen years ago my first birthing experience would follow my astrological sign traits. I never thought, as I sat alone in a home for unwed mothers, that the adoption of my daughter would be so dual-natured, elusive, complex and contradictory. I would have never believed that the individuals working for my adoption agency would be so two-faced and flighty. In retrospect, I believe that at least one of the individuals I worked with HAD to also be a Gemini. How else could someone go from being so very good and helpful to being so outright deceitful?

When I think about my unplanned pregnancy and the subsequent adoption, I often ponder what I could have or should have done differently. Clearly, I should have never gotten pregnant in the first place. I could have told my parents sooner, I should have handled the birth dad differently, and I should have done more research on the agency. I should have asked more questions. I could have been in a better frame of mind (or could I have?). Without question, the one thing I would change today is the deceit, the lies, the betrayal. Oh, okay, maybe that is three things but they all relate to one another.

When I first contacted my placement agency (from the basement of my parents' home, in the dark, at 2 a.m.), they were oh-so-nice. I thought I was calling New Haven, Connecticut as the phone number I found in the phone book was listed in New Haven. As it turned out, after hours, the New Haven number forwards calls to the Chicago home office. The caseworker I spoke with was sooooooooooo nice. So understanding. So calm. So patient. So willing to help. So full of love and understanding. That should have been my first sign.

A few weeks later, I arrive in Chicago O'Hare Airport five months pregnant, 18 years old, alone, abandoned, frightened. But alas! There is the agency caseworker. Smiling, friendly, cheerful, offering me food, clothing, money, housing, support, friendship. It is no wonder I fell right into her arms. The agency caseworker took me to a nicely furnished condo in the suburbs of Chicago. She told me I could spend the remaining weeks of my pregnancy alone in the condo or I could stay in a home for unwed mothers in the City. I chose the city. I chose support, friendship and the misery of others in my predicament.

As the weeks went by the agency representative met with me weekly. She took me shopping for maternity clothes. She offered me spending money. She became my friend (or so I thought). The other young women in the home were jealous of me. They were working with non private agencies. Agencies like Catholic Charities, Lutheran Family Services and the like. They were not receiving the star treatment I was. This fact should have been my second sign.

Rather than face the music and accept that something might have been rotten in Denmark, I enjoyed the attention and support. I outright believed these were good people who truly wanted to help me. I was amazed at how total strangers could be so good to me when my own family - and the birth father - had abandoned me. (Again, more signs that I was not mentally capable of seeing.)

My caseworker went through labor and delivery with me. She stayed by my side. I squeezed her hands so hard during my pushing that I drew blood. She smiled her cheery smile as she wiped the blood from her hands. Now that I think back, I believe the blood on her hands was the final sign that I completely ignored.

My daughter was born on May 16, 1986. On May 19, 1986, I surrendered her to the agency. I never heard from them again. No more money for clothes. No support, no concern. They did not even ask what I was going to do and where I was going to go. They were "kind" enough to give me a ticket back to the East Coast. Their promise to send pictures was never fulfilled. Hysterical calls to the agency and the caseworker went unanswered. Non-identification information was proven - years later - to be false. My requests for a psychological referral, a support group, were ignored.

Do all adoptions end this way? Is it necessary for the agency to be so harsh and cruel? What about the mind games? Don’t they understand the business they are in? The emotions involved? Have they ever thought of requiring the adoptive parents to pay for post relinquishment therapy for the birth mom?

I don't know why they did what they did to me. I don’t know how I could have changed it considering the circumstances, my age, the hormones raging in my body, or the fact that I was 18, alone, and easily taken advantage of. I DO know that if I there is anything I can do today to stop it from happening to another young woman I will do it. I am not against adoption. I do believe I did the right thing. I just did it the wrong way. I wish I could change that too.