Who am I again?

Actually, it's not who am I?
Or where do I come from?
Or even - is there anyone out there?

It's more a case of mild curiosity and the Manx cat.

As an adopted person I have never felt any undeniable desires to trace my birth family. I was adopted at about 3 months old and have always felt totally happy and a part of that the family I grew up with. Mum and Dad told me from the very beginning of my memories that I was adopted and I never felt like I didn't know who I was. They made me a scrapbook to explain where I came from - how I'd flown over from the Isle of Man and how they'd come and picked me up from a children's home in Frodsham.


My brother who was also adopted had a different background and birth family to mine. He was adopted at the age of three and so had a history prior to coming to live with us. He never seemed as comfortable or settled in our extended family. He had been taken in and then rejected a number of times before coming to be with us and I believe that affected his ability to trust those who were supposed to care for him. I think he felt like he was obviously different and found it hard to accept this new family at face value. He looked into his background as a teenager and traced his birth family over time, becoming close to them and developing relationships - these weren't always easy but helped him understand himself I think. This in turn has perhaps led to an acceptance and appreciation of the parents and family that brought him up?

My lack of desire to find out about my birth family was purely a sign of my sense of belonging to my new family life and a happy childhood. We had a fair few problems to handle but I felt that I had a strong and loving family, dedicated to each other and of which I was very much a part.

When I hit 21 I remember thinking maybe now would be a good time to look into my past, where I came from. It was a milestone. I was in my final year at university and had plenty of family and friends to support my quest for information. However something stopped me moving from thought into action. That, thinking back, was Hepatitis C. I had found out in 1991 at the age of 17 that I had the virus and whilst it had not affected me at all and life was continuing as if I'd never heard of the virus, I felt like I couldn't look up my birth family and say:

"Hello, it's me, your long lost daughter - and by the way, not only have I got a severe bleeding disorder but I've also got hepatitis C - now you gonna make me a cup of tea or what . . ."

This was enough to put me off the idea and to get on with life and what that threw at me. Again there were no feelings of dissatisfaction or of incompleteness, I suppose I had other things on my mind.

This year I have again been having health problems, both bleeding and chronic fatigue. I have had more time off, which has given me time to think about my future and surprisingly this had led to me thinking about my past.

I've realised the longer I leave finding out about my birth parents, the lower the chances of finding them - who knows what's happened to them, where their lives have taken them over the years. It's not as simple as looking them up on the internet and getting an address and bobbing on round. Or is it?

I've acknowledged that I am curious about them. Purely in terms of - will there be any family resemblances? My adoptive family share many features and personality traits which link them together - I do miss that, is there someone out there with my nose? My dodgy sense of humour? Or in fact if I did find anyone would my upbringing have influenced my life so very much that we actually had very little in common - except for perhaps the nose?

The point is I don't know. And I'm coming to the realisation that I can actually find out if I put my mind to it. And it might take months, it might take years, but at least then the pieces will all have been fitted together - even if there are some missing and maybe I never want to do the jigsaw again.