Common knowledge amongst my inner circle is the fact that I was adopted at birth. It’s certainly no secret but I don’t mention it unless the topic arises in conversation, mainly because I don’t give it much thought. I can’t recall a particular moment where my parents revealed this to me but I do know they informed me at a very early age. Whereas some children might have developed a complex, feeling unwanted or abandoned or what have you, I developed a sense of pride and an overinflated ego. I was adopted! Other parents were resigned to whatever plopped out whereas I was chosen. Visions of a Walmart-esque baby factory– with a giant spotlight shining down on my crib– danced in my head. Being the only child and the only girl on the Lowe side only spoiled me further.
Despite earning the chosen distinction, I went about business as usual throughout my childhood. Whenever the topic of my adoption came up, some inquiring mind asked the usual questions, others responded with relative indifference. I’ll never forget an afternoon at my friend Mary Elizabeth’s house when I was eleven. Her younger sisters, twins, found out I was adopted and treated me like a celebrity. They bowed at my feet, asked for my autograph, and all but rolled out the red carpet. Definitely not the typical reaction, but amusing nonetheless.
My parents– I have never and will never use the term ‘adoptive parents’– are incredible. When I was younger I worried that I would somehow make them feel inadequate if I expressed curiosity about the biologicals. They assured me this wasn’t the case and would do whatever they could to assist me in my search and support me every step of the way. However, I never considered actually trying said search until I had children of my own. I felt they had a right to know their medical history….and that’s what got the ball rolling in my mind.
Two times in the past seven years I’ve initiated the process to obtain my adoption records but was unable to continue. Recent epiphanies in my life led me to believe that the third time was the charm. I put my request in writing and asked for any available information, particularly medical records, that might shed some light on my biological origins.
This is the letter I received from Nashville yesterday. In true Sloane fashion I accidentally sent them the copy of my letter [as opposed to the original] so they politely informed me that they needed my actual signature. Oops. I signed it multiple times and dropped it in the mail this morning.
Your guess is as good as mine regarding the outcome of Operation Biological Information. But I do know one thing: I’ll share every step of the journey here. Whether or not I discover anything it will at least make for some interesting blogging. ;)
With infinite love, gratitude, and respect,