02 Bio Mom, Public
Hello everyone thank you for taking an interest in my weirdness. It means a great deal to me, even if you are just here to see how truly weird my life is.
Post 02 has two parts, public and paid. If you want all the details, please purchase a subscription and help me live life. I appreciate it.
I was adopted at birth. My bio mom decided at some point she didn’t want to hold or even see me. I was born in early November 1965 at a hospital that didn’t have daily deliveries. I have pretty much always known I was adopted, and yes, I was reminded of that often.
In future posts, I will discuss in detail how I wound up in Florida Hospital Orlando’s psychiatric ward, not just a ward, but think one flew over the cuckoo’s nest right out of the late ’70s locked ward. Obviously, I survived my 30 day stay.
On the first day or so one of the nurses recognized me as her neighbor from across the street when I was in single digits. She knew of some of the tortures I experienced while we lived there. As soon as the pleasantries and catching up chat was over, it became very clear I had a major ally in her. She made other nurses aware of what happened (if asked if she could share and I allowed her to) and all I can say is I was moved from a room with four beds to a room with only two beds and a better view, though still protected by heavy steel grates. I had exactly one roommate in those 30 days, an inmate from the local county jail and they handcuffed him to the bed. He was gone the next morning.
I remember March Madness being shown in the TV room, people lighting their cigarettes via a cigarette lighter built into the wall. They had to all but kiss the wall to get their cigarette in far enough to ignite the tip. Think old-school lighters like in cars just without the push-in thingy. Here they had to push a button to heat up the element. It was gross. Saliva around the hole, and god knows what else.
My neighbor made sure I was busy and I did what I could to keep occupied.
She led a ton of PT/OT classes so I became her helper.
One night at dinner she asked for a favor. There was a new patient, a female, who once pointed out to me looked to be in her 40s but I suck at age guessing so who knows. My neighbor explained how she was refusing to eat unless I sat with her. Huh? Mark, please just go sit with her. So I did.
We spoke for a few minutes about hospital life. She had been told I ran the place. I laughed and told her, hardly. I’m just a patient like you with parents who bought the BS my shrink was spewing about how I needed to be here for observation.
We talked some more and then she went on to tell me how back in November 1965 she gave birth to a son and immediately gave it up for adoption. She never saw her son after the delivery, no less hold him. She told me some other info, about how she had other children, but not their gender, and that her son was unplanned. The date she gave birth at the same hospital I was born at was the day before what is listed on my birth certificate. Back to back births didn’t happen like this back then. But doing the math, bio mom and dad probably had a fun Valentine’s Day that year. At least I would like to believe I was created with love and not rape.
I told my shrink the next day, and he sorta led me to believe he knew something he couldn’t share. Found out later that we had the same shrink.
Then in one of the very rare times my parents answered the phone, I excitedly told my adopted mom that I might have met my bio mom! She was nonchalant about it, and more concerned that news I was in an insane asylum would get out and her life would crash and burn. The call lasted a couple of minutes at the most. The only visitors I had were the parents of my best friend, who I keep in contact with to this day. He made a profession out of painting bathroom gender icons in bright bold colors and putting them in various situations. You might know him from his viral video of the remains of a Jeff Koons balloon dog sculpture during Art Basel Miami after someone knocked it over. Until it shattered, it was valued at $42,000.
Sorry, I digressed, again, heed my warning, buy a program, and try to keep up. 😆
To find out what happened after I told my adopted mom that I might have met my bio mom, please become a paid subscriber. Believe me, it gets VERY weird.
Mark