Me, Brady my service dog performing a task, bits of tissue taken for a biopsy, three lumps. And a booby bb on the nipple. Booby bbs are required for mammograms. My art teacher thinks it’s the best painting I’ve done. At one point, I was ready to set it on fire….until I painted the background. Amazing what a little impasto will do.
At the moment, I’m having a hard time calming down. I start to do something, get distracted, start something else, remember I forgot to finish what I was doing.
What I really want, is about three hours where I don’t have to think, where I don’t have to do anything, where I can recharge. I doubt that’s going to happen. Instead, I freeze. Think about what I need to do, but don’t do it.
Even making art at the moment is almost impossible.
August was a horrible month. It started with an email letting me know the results of my mammogram were available. So I clicked and opened. And that’s how I found out I have a lump in my right breast. I did a whole lot of crying because I was terrified.
I needed a biopsy – which was absurdly hard to arrange. All scheduling goes through central scheduling – one of the worst ideas ever. I called. You need prior authorization. Go to the portal and let my doctor know I need prior authorization. Except I didn’t. So I called central scheduling again. My paperwork has been given to “the nurse” who will call me with my appointment date. Except she didn’t. That led to me being hysterical, shouting at the person who answered the phone, telling her I’m an attorney and do I have to sue the crap out of them to get an appointment. Turns out, I had an appointment – for the following Tuesday.
Twice, I asked if there was anything I needed to do for the biopsy. No. Except there was. I arrived at the hospital on Tuesday and was told I couldn’t have the biopsy. Why? I was supposed to have a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound first. I explained I had asked twice if there was anything I needed to do and was told no. I was then informed they don’t know much at central scheduling. More screaming and a threat to sue the crap out of them. By the time I got home, someone called me and told me the diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound was the following Monday and the biopsy would be the next day.
So I go and get squished and ultrasounded. I arrived at the hospital the next day and couldn’t stop crying while paperwork and such was being done. I really wanted a woman doctor. When it comes to women’s health, male doctors are stupid. But there was no woman doctor. I just want to get this done so I will accept the male doctor.
It was explained that I would get a shot of novocain followed by a larger needle to pull out bits of tissue. I was told that whatever the instrument was for sucking out tissue made a clicking noise like a pen clicking. I wanted to see what the lump looked like. It was on a screen and looked HUGE. “How the hell big is that thing?” 7mm. I can think in metric so I knew it was a small lump. For those who aren’t able to think in metric, the lump is roughly 1/4 inch.
Not wanting to watch someone stick a needle in my breast, I kept my eyes closed. I felt nothing. Not the needle for the novocain going in, not the larger needle used to fetch tissue. However, that click was significantly louder than I anticipated and I flinched. Four bits of tissue had to be removed. There was no more flinching because I felt nothing. After it was over, I told the nurse that the doctor wasn’t as stupid as some. I got to see the bits of tissue. They looked like pink grains of rice.
I’m taking two classes this semester and both were two days after the biopsy. I told my painting teacher that I would likely miss some classes because of the lump in my breast. I also said I was not going to follow the assignment because I had reached a point where it was no longer “I want to make this piece of art,” but was now “I have to make this piece of art.” And so I would be doing a breast lump painting. Because the class is about animals and animal symbolism, I included an abstract of Brady, the World’s Cutest Labradoodle and my service dog.
Shortly thereafter, I got a call from my doctor telling me the lump is benign.
A few days later, the pathology report was ready for me to view. The lump has a ridiculously long name that I can’t pronounce but is abbreviated PASH. It is not cancer, it never will be cancer, and it doesn’t increase my risk for breast cancer. But will it grow larger?
The next week, I got a call from the imaging clinic letting me know the radiologist wanted more images. You couldn’t tell me that before the biopsy? After being squished again and ultrasounded again, I was told the radiologist wanted to talk to me via telephone. Considering what she was about to tell me, it’s a good thing we weren’t in the same room. I have a second lump which I expected. When I read the first mammogram report, the lump mentioned is on the superior side (top) at the 12 o’clock position. The biopsy was on a lump on the underside of my breast. Then, the radiologist casually mentioned I have a third lump. She said these looked like cysts because the edges are smooth. How sure are you that these are cysts? “Pretty sure.” I’m supposed to bet my right breast on pretty sure? These two lumps should have been biopsied when the PASH lump was biopsied. The two new to me lumps are 3 mm and 5 mm. The radiologist tried to explain how big that is and I told her I can think in metric. I was told to come back in six months for another mammogram to see if the lumps had grown. Did I have any questions. No. But only because the questions I had were why the fecal matter couldn’t you figure out before the biopsy that there are three lumps and would you bet your life on someone saying she was pretty sure the lump was benign. And do I have to wait until these lumps are the size of a golf ball before I can get them removed.
I contacted the New Mexico Cancer Center in Albuquerque. I’m so pissed off at how I was treated by the imaging clinic that I refuse to see anyone locally. Albuquerque is three and a half hours north of where I live. The cancer center needs all the images and reports. I spent the following day arranging for everything from January 1, 2023 to September 2, 2026. I’m waiting for a call from the cancer center so I can have an appointment with a female oncologist.
I want these lumps removed. If the radiologist is wrong about the two new to me lumps, I don’t want to wait for them to grow before having them removed. Even if they are benign, there’s no way to know in advance if they will grow. The larger the lumps are when they are removed, the more breast reconstruction I’ll need. Reconstruction is no longer bags of silicone. Fat is removed from the abdomen and placed in the breast. In that case, do some liposuction and give me a pair of Dolly Parton size breasts. It helps to have a warped sense of humor while worrying and wondering if my body is trying to kill me.
The lumps are 3mm, 5mm and 7mm. I have 3mm, 6mm, and 8mm beads. So I made breast lump earrings using beads that are the size of the lumps.
I plan on wearing the pair made with Swarovski crystals for formal occasions. Or for my painting class. Crystals worn with paint splattered painting clothes could be fun.
Usually when I figure out a quilt, once I get the fabrics figured out, I know where all the pieces go. Not this time.
Yes, it’s a breast quilt. Once you pass menopause, and I’ve done that, they sag and barring surgery will never be perky again. The right breast, where the lump is, will have a button for the lump. I’ll put a little silver bead at the nipple of each, just like when you get a mammogram. A friend calls them booby bee bees.
So….do I put the breasts at the top of the quilt?
Towards the middle of the piece?
One lower than the other?
I’ll have to look at this for a few days before I figure it out. I’m open to suggestions.
I got an email last week telling me that test results were ready. I clicked, opened, and that’s how I learned I’ve got a lump growing in my right breast. I got a referral from my doctor for a biopsy with ultrasound. So I call central scheduling. You can’t call individual clinics because those numbers are secret. I was told I needed prior authorization from my insurance company. I sent another message to my doctor’s office. They had already checked with my insurance. No prior authorization required. Call central scheduling again. They sent my paperwork off to the clinic and a nurse would call me with the date and time of my biopsy.
Yesterday, I got a letter saying my mammogram showed I’m at a higher risk for breast cancer than the general public. Jolly. The only incidence of breast cancer in my family is my grandmother’s cousin’s daughter. That counts as no family history of breast cancer.
85% of breast cancer patients have no family history of breast cancer. Think about that the next time your doctor tells you to have a mammogram.
I had to pull out the attorney card, threaten to sue the crap out of them when I called central scheduling, but I did find out I have a date and time for my biopsy. Which is exactly the date and time set for an appointment with my doctor. Called my doctor and changed my appointment. I still haven’t received notification of my appointment. Had I not gotten seriously nasty, I would not have known until late the day before my doctor’s appointment that I was getting a biopsy at the same time. Certainly not enough time to change my doctor’s appointment without getting charged for a missed appointment.
I deal with stress by making things. At the moment, I’m having severe stress and I’m making great progress on my stress afghan.
I’ve also got the germ of an idea for a quilt. I need to figure out colors before I can start drafting a pattern. I know what I want to say with the quilt, but I am not sure what I want to say with the colors.
I know I want to use the pink flamingo fabric for the design piece. It’s the background fabric I’m not sure about. I’ll have to leave the fabrics out for a few days until I figure out which fabric I want to use or if I need to go back to auditioning more fabric.
Las Cruces has an astronomical society and they had a dark sky observation this past Saturday. I’ve got an Odyssey Pro smart telescope. Rather than calibrate an equatorial mount then try to figure out where in the sky what I want to photograph is, the smart telescope does all that for me. I find something I want to see, tap “go to” and the smart telescope automatically finds the object. Then, the telescope takes a photo every 4 seconds and stacks the shots to reveal an image. Then, I can capture the shot. The shot will come in two varieties – one with a circle and the name of the object and the other shot is like a regular shot taken with a DSLR.
I bought some new embroidery designs and wanted to pick one out for a tee shirt. I started by doing test embroidery on some scrap muslin.
Never mind the wrinkles, this is the embroidery version of a thumbnail sketch. After I did the embroidery, I made notes on the fabric.
I worked out notes for four patterns.
Because of how heavy the stitches are in this one, I don’t think it’s suitable for a tee shirt. It would be great on a tote bag or a jacket.
I like this one, although I don’t think this is the one for the tee shirt I’m planning to embroider. I used a variegated thread where the white thread should be so I could see the circle around the design. I’m thinking I want to remove the moon although I’m not sure if that would cause a weird blank spot. I’ll have to do another thumbnail embroidery to be sure.
This is the one I will be using. I’m substituting some colors and thinking of skipping the little pink dots.
That’s from Kent State. Once again, it’s true. The psychopath in the White House and his gang of idiots are now murdering innocent people then lying and claiming the innocent people were domestic terrorists.
I’ve written the following to all three of my representatives in Washington:
“Why have you done nothing to stop the psychopath in the White House? Have you no moral values? Don’t you care about the constitution? Don’t you care that the psychopath and his gang of idiots are murdering people? Don’t you care that the psychopath has committed an act of war on a sovereign nation for no reason other than to placate the oil companies and steal the Nobel peace prize from a woman who absolutely deserves it?
“Four times I stood up in a courtroom, stuck my right hand up in the air and made a public promise to uphold the Constitution of the United States, New York Constitution and New Mexico Constitution. I meant it every time. How could you make such a promise and remain silent while this country is being destroyed by a psychopath?”
Why is there no one in either the Senate or House of Representatives with the balls to stand up to the psychopath and his gang of thugs? Why have there been no impeachment proceedings? The psychopath has declared war on United States citizens by murdering people then claiming these innocent people were domestic terrorists.
Art has always been my refuge. It’s how I make sense of what’s going on inside of me. It’s how I let the outrage out. Yet I cannot conceive images of what I want to say.
I’m terrified. I live about 30 miles north of the Mexican border. I’m shocked that so far, thank you God, the storm troopers haven’t descended on my city. I’ve been researching Level IV full body armor for women. It’s important that the body armor be designed for women. Men’s body armor doesn’t fit around a woman’s breasts. Level IV because it’s supposed to protect against a bullet fired from an assault rifle. Full body armor because the vest doesn’t protect enough of the body.
I am disgusted that congress let the ban on assault rifles, the rifle of choice for mass murderers, lapse and die. I think owning an assault rifle should be a felony. I’m researching assault rifles. I’m considering one made in Israel. If it’s good enough for the Israeli Defense Force, it’s good enough for me. And I’m looking at the one with the largest magazine capacity because while reloading, I’d be essentially unarmed.
I scare myself. I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to think like this. I don’t want to need Level IV body armor. I don’t want to have to worry about my own government led by a psychopath murdering me simply because I dissent.
And it came to pass one day that I was representing someone accused of littering. The deputy, with a straight face and in all seriousness, said he found an envelope with my client’s name at the bottom of the pile of garbage. I burst out laughing. The deputy looked at me as if he had no idea why I was laughing. “Alice’s Restaurant.” He was still confused. “Arlo Guthrie” He was still confused. I gave up.
In order to use photos at a trial, the prosecution (that would be the deputy) had to disclose the photos to me 10 days in advance. Except he didn’t.
“I’ve got photos,” he told the judge. And he showed 27 4 by 6 colored glossy photos maybe with circles and arrows on the back. The judge wasn’t going to look at the photos.
I never saw the deputy again.
When I was in law school, I wanted to join the JAG corps. I was given a piece of paper with questions on it. I was supposed to explain, with four part harmony, the details of all my crimes, the arresting officers’ names, and any other thing I wanted to say about the crimes. They wanted to know about my parking tickets! MY PARKING TICKETS!!! Even the ones I beat!!! I got rejected.
I keep meaning to go up to a recruiter on campus and sing: You can get anything you want at Alicve’s Restaurant. And walk away.
I saw Arlo Guthrie in 1970 at Kleinhan’s Music Hall in Buffalo, NY. Tickets were $5. Arlo sang Alice’s Restaurant. I saw Arlo again in 2015 in Mesa, Arizona. Tickets were $50. It was the 50th anniversary of Alice’s Restaurant Massacree. Arlo had given up on singing Alice’s Restaurant, but he made an exception that year for the Alice’s Restaurant 50th anniversary tour.
My grandmother was a diehard republican. According to her, there was never a good democrat nor a bad republican. Only once did she say anything positive about a democrat and only once did she criticize a republican. I was a little kid when we talked about Truman dropping two atomic bombs on Japan. Even then I knew what we had done was wrong. My grandmother insisted atomic bombs were the only way to end the war. Many years later, she expressed her fury that Bush went to Hirohito’s funeral.
I’m from a suburb of Buffalo, NY but have lived in NM for the past 26 years. I retired from the NM Public Defender Dept. 10 years ago. On 9/11/01, I spent most of the day in a state of shock and disbelief. When I arrived at work, a colleague said a plane had hit one tower and the second plane was timed to be reported live. Another colleague told me the towers were gone. I was scheduled to be in court that morning. Partway through the docket, the courthouse was abruptly closed.
When I went home for lunch, I made the mistake of watching the news and seeing people who had jumped from the towers falling, falling, falling as they waited to die when they splattered themselves on the sidewalk.
The following day, I went to work and was asked several times if I knew anyone who had died in the attacks. I wanted to ask what I had done that gave them the impression I am so cold that I would come to work the day after someone I knew was blown up by a terrorist. But I didn’t. Instead, the following day I wore a tee shirt that I had purchased when I had been in New York City a few years prior. The tee shirt had drawings of tourist attractions in New York City including the twin towers. I had seen the towers and considered them incredibly ugly buildings. Unlike the romance and hope built into the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, the towers were huge, black cracker boxes devoid of personality or imagination. I considered my tee shirt a warning: say something I don’t like – such as suggesting I’m so cold I’d come to work after a friend had gotten blown up by a terrorist – and I’ll respond from my gut.
My emotional responses to 9/11 were about two weeks behind the rest of the people in the office. While my coworkers were recovering from the trauma, I was starting to feel the trauma for the first time. It was a weird disconnect that I felt I couldn’t discuss with anyone.
A few weeks after 9/11, I met with a juvenile client in my office. I had my law licenses and law school diploma on the wall behind my desk. The client saw I had graduated from law school in Buffalo, NY. The client said something about 9/11 and me being from New York. I don’t remember what I said. I do remember telling myself not to react or to say how I felt. That was harder than the times I couldn’t react when juvenile clients disclosed they had been raped by pedophiles.
I didn’t process the trauma I felt until 2021. Twenty years to carry trauma is an incredibly long time. That September, I watched all the documentaries I could find about 9/11. I thought I was done processing.
This year, I realized I am not finished processing the trauma. Last night, I was binging on episodes of Bones. The episode I saw was about 9/11. I cried through the entire episode. Then, I watched, for the third time, The Looming Tower – a documentary about how the CIA knew well in advance of the attack that an attack was coming but withheld the information from the FBI.
I take classes at New Mexico State University. I sit in classrooms filled with people who were born after 9/11. To them, 9/11 is history. To me, 9/11 is personal. To me, Pearl Harbor is history. To my grandmother, Pearl Harbor was personal.
Now I understand why she was furious that Bush attended Hirohito’s funeral.
Brady and I went on an adventure last week. We went to the farmers market.
Her pouches contain her vaccination record and poop bags. Some of the businesses in southern New Mexico have started asking to see proof of rabies vaccination before letting a dog onto the premises. Because rabies vaccination is required by law, this is a legal way of keeping out dogs, including service dogs. We’ve got a horrible problem with people buying a certificate on Amazon, putting a vest on Fido the Family Pet, and saying Fido is a service dog. There is no certification for service dogs in the United States. While certification is good in theory, it’s unworkable in real life. What tasks get certified? What if I need my dog to perform a task to assist me with my disability but the task isn’t on the certification list?
Part of going to the farmers market is exercise for me. I’m working on building up my endurance. I’m getting better, but I can only stand for a certain amount of time and can only walk a limited distance without my walker. I want to visit Santa Fe which would require a whole lot of walking. Plus, shops in the older buildings have stairs, narrow aisles, and are miserable to navigate if you need a walker.
I stopped at a stand advertising Yemeni Chai. I got to taste the tea, and bought some. I found some tomatoes for sandwiches. We stopped in a bookstore and I found a book on wire wrapping jewelry.
I am working my way back to healthy by going to the gym and working out, doing exercises at home, and riding a bike. I am prone to vertigo so a two-wheel bike is a horrible option. So I got a tricycle. An electric tricycle with pedal assist. I got an expensive helmet and flashing lights so people would see me when I’m riding my tricycle. I took my trike for a ride. Everything was going great until a telephone pole jumped out in front of me. When I hit the pole, I rammed the handlebars into my abdomen and slammed my tailbone against the seat. I put a serious scrap on my shin. Although I was bleeding, my sock never ripped. This getting in shape business is tough work. The shin is healing, the bruises are starting to disappear, and my tailbone hurts. Fortunately, my helmet had a great warranty. Because I fell, I got a new helmet for free.
I got the little person sewn down. I was doing hand quilting along the bars, but if it hurts to sit, I’m not going to get much done. I do want to translate this into a painting.
I’ve added some jewelry to my online store, Deb Thuman Art. I’ve got a pile of jewelry that I made and I need to get it all in my store. If I put three items into my store each day, in about a month, I’ll be up to date. Maybe. Provided I don’t make anything new.
These are all in my store here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com. There’s a necklace to match the blue/green earrings.
The photos are a tad odd because I had to crop them like crazy to use them in my store. Now when I put them in a blog post, the background gets a little weird. It’s always something.
We lost power for a couple hours because we had a rollicking thunderstorm with pouring rain. This made for some rain photos.
I hate buying what I can make, so soap is hardening on the patio. Jim has an allergy to fragrances, so I have to keep smelly stuff away from him. I use melt and pour goat milk soap, add almond oil, and tea tree oil. Yes, I’m 72. Yes, I STILL have an acne problem. I need to use soap with tea tree oil in order to stop acne before it starts. I use a moisturizer with retinol – a substance used to treat acne. If I use a regular moisturizer for a few days, I break out.
The acne was supposed to stop after I finished going through puberty. It didn’t. It was supposed to stop if I took oral contraceptives. It didn’t. It was supposed to stop after I went through menopause. It didn’t. It was supposed to stop after my face stopped producing more oil than an oil well. It didn’t. Maybe it will stop after I’m dead. I want to go to medical school when I’m dead and the med students might be in for a surprise if my corpse keeps on making pimples.
Hearts.
Pigs.
Fish.
After the soap hardens, I’ll put it in a plastic bag to keep under the sink until I need to use the soap.
I’ve been working out at the gym at least once a week. Stop laughing. That’s better than the once a month I had been pushing myself to go to the gym. I feel stronger after each workout although I’m still limited to how long I can stand or walk before I’m in pain. I’ve been doing exercises that help with the hip pain. I’ve been riding my exercise bike.
Soon, I’ll be riding an electric tricycle. Because I’m prone to vertigo, it’s not safe for me to ride a two-wheel bike. I live at the top of a hill and just the thought of having to pedal manually up that hill after a workout is enough to keep me off of a bike. This bike has a pedal assist. I’ll have to pedal up the hill, but the motor will make that much easier for me. In theory, the tricycle will go 16 mph on a flat surface. I’ve no intention of discovering if that’s true. At least not right away. Jim hit a snag putting my bike together and he has to call the company on Monday for advice. I eventually will have one of those big flags for the back of the bike. I want to be visible. I think I still have some flaming orange dye so I can dye a tee shirt and be more visible.
Along with being more stable than a two-wheeler just because there are three wheels, this bike has a lower center of gravity to add even more stability. There’s a basket for the back of the bike. I’m looking forward to doing some exploring with this bike. Of course I’ll need to have something pithy embroidered on the front of a tee shirt now that I’ll be a bad-ass bike rider. Perhaps a flaming skull.
I’ve discovered my health insurance gives people an incentive to be healthy. I got $25 for my annual checkup and $25 for having a mammogram. I don’t get actual money, but I can trade the “money” for gift cards. I chose a Barnes and Nobel gift card. I can get “money” for working out. I can get a whole lot of reading done this way.
Independence Day. In the movie, when the mother ship explodes, Will Smith says: Elvis has left the building.
Independence Day. The Bill of Rights has left the building. We have a concentration camp in the Everglades. It’s not there because of the alligators. It’s there so We The People can’t see what’s happening to the people illegally seized and incarcerated there.
We have a president who claims to love Jews. I never believed that for a minute. That’s the same president who said there are good nazis. Okay, there are good nazis – and every one of them is dead. Now, the same president claims some bankers are shylocks. Shylock is the name of the money lender in Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. The character is a Jew who wants a pound of flesh if he isn’t repaid the money he lent.
We have a suspension of due process. We have idiots in charge of the Department of Justice and Health and Human Services. We have a psychopath in the White House.
We have a congress that passed a horrible bill designed by a psychopath and voted on by degenerate politicians who would rather bow to a dictator than do what’s morally right.
Nobody living can ever stop me as I go walking the freedom highway Nobody living can make me turn back This land was made for you and me. Woody Guthrie
Pete Seeger was hauled in front of the House Unamerican Activities Committee for singing that song. During the same time, I had a music teacher who taught us a folk song. I lived in a republican town. Mother Theresa couldn’t get elected if she ran as a democrat. The teacher taught us This Land Is Your Land and told us it was written by a famous folk singer. She put her job on the line when she did that.
But this land is still troubled by men who have to hate. They twist away our freedom and twist away our fate. Law is their weapon and treason is their cry. You can stop them if you try. Phil Ochs, Power and The Glory.
This verse was left off for the commercial recording. Ochs wanted to make a patriotic song and thought that verse was inappropriate. Wrong Phil. It’s damned appropriate. It’s the First Amendment in action. We must speak out. We must stop them.
If we don’t stop them, the constitution and the Bill of Rights will leave the building.
I can either wait, and wait, and wait until this passes, or I can try and draw myself out of the muck. Nothing is rolling around in my brain. No images demanding to be made. No feelings demanding a voice. Nothing.
I sat down with my iPad and started drawing. It didn’t have to be good, just an idea. I’ve often made quilts (and paintings) about my inner turmoil. Maybe it’s time to make a quilt about my foot.
I thought about showing physical pain from peripheral neuropathy. I thought about showing pain from the surgery I had to put my foot back together after I broke it, and the marbles I have to pick up with my toes. The marbles are part of the physical therapy that will strengthen my arch. The foot looks weird because when I broke my foot, the arch collapsed. After the surgery, my food is weird looking.
The brown, oblong things with the holes are the plates attached to my bones. The silver thing is the screw that holds the plates in place. The screw may or may not be removed in a few months. The triangles are like the pain from the neuropathy. Sometimes sharp, sometimes dull. The coral round things are the marbles I need to pick up with my toes.
Surgery left me with a foot that looks like it merged with an erector set. I no longer have pain from the surgery, but I do have pain from the fallen arch of my foot.
I’ve no idea if this drawing is something I want to make into a quilt. I do want to keep playing around with my iPad and try and come up with something.
I will be starting EMDR on Monday. Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. EMDR has been quite successful treating PTSD and CPTSD. Maybe some of the very hurt, scared and confused child can come out in a quilt.
Recently, New York started allowing adoptees to get a copy of their original, pre-adoption birth certificate with the names of the birth parents. When I joined ALMA – Adoptees Liberty Movement Association – in 1987, pre adoption records could only be obtained on the black market. The price all throughout the east coast and as far west as Texas was $1500.00. I thought it remarkable that the entire black market had the same price. That smacks of an organization controlling access.
Instead, I spent hours and hours in Erie County Hall looking up property records. I spent hours and hours in the basement of Erie County Hall looking at jury records, immigration records and anything else that I could find. I discovered that my family on my mother’s side isn’t from Germany. On my great-great-grandfather’s immigration papers, he renounced allegiance to the kind of Prussia. They were from Dittersdorf, East Prussia.
I found my great-grandmother’s marriage records and discovered that she was several months pregnant when she got married. When I was born, my great-grandfather, perhaps remembering his own history, put a silver dollar in my hand.
For $45, I got documentation that originally I was not only not allowed to have by law, but was also not allowed to even know existed..
This is my original birth certificate. My mother made up my father’s middle name. What she didn’t know until I found my father and later told her is that my middle name, Lee, is a Harmon family name. It’s also my father’s middle name. It was the name of my great-grandfather. He died in the Chieftain Mine in West Virginia on his first day of work. My great-grandmother was pregnant. She likely was thrown out of mine company owned housing. She went back to live with her parents and never remarried.
I didn’t know that birth certificates were two pages. I didn’t know that my mother was tested for syphilis while she was pregnant. I’ve no idea if that was something only done to single women or if all pregnant women had to be tested for syphilis.
This is the last page of my order of adoption. It was all but impossible to get records unsealed. What shocks me is that my mother and The Drunk would have had to agree to let me see my own records.
And to Judge Jacob A. Latona, here’s a single finger salute. I got my records and I didn’t need a judge’s permission.
Why is all this important? Have you ever filled out a medical history that included you, your parents and your siblings? I used to just write: Pursuant to NYS Domestic Relations Law sec. 100-140 inclusive, I am not allowed to know the answers to any of these questions. My knowledge of my medical history came from finding my father and requesting death records of his father, brother, and grandmother.
Have you ever tried to do a family history perhaps through Ancestry? If you’re an adoptee, there’s no history. No story about where your family came from. No finding out about family heroes and family embarrassments. Every family has both.
After I found my father, I discovered I’m Scott-Irish on his side. That explains all the times I have been asked if I’m Irish. All that searching showed me I’m Polish on my mother’s side. Further searching and a chance reading of a novel showed me my grandmother’s horrible German was Yiddish. We aren’t just Polish, we are Polish Jews.
I worship in a temple, I celebrate Jewish holidays, and I treasure Hibernian Heritage Day (March 17) when I can celebrate who I’ve always been….a Scott-Irish, Polish Jew.
