“Anything new I need to know about you since your last visit?” My fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to enter the data.
“Uh, yeah.” She pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I discovered that the woman I thought was my adopted mom is actually my biological mom.”
It took a moment for my brain to wrap itself around that juicy tidbit. I stared at her until I realized my jaw had dropped and my mouth was gaping open obscenely.
(Shut your mouth!)
She coughed awkwardly. “My adopted father is not my biological father, though…”
Her hand held the papers out to me. I thumbed through them as she waited. She had had her DNA analyzed. She had a 15% higher chance of cardiovascular disease than the general population. Meh.
The DNA mapping had been her attempt to figure out her medical risk factors. Both her mother and father had been dead for years and she had not been able to find any info on her adoption. No names. No court records.
Now she knew why.
“A man contacted me on Facebook shortly after, saying he thought I was related to him. I matched his DNA closely enough to be a first cousin they said.”
From that info, her sister (now half sister) who is ten years older than her, figured out her biological father was actually a neighbor and former family friend.
So, in the 1950’s, this soap opera went down. Her mother got to keep her baby and her husband but only if she told everyone that the new baby was adopted. My heart ached for everyone involved. Did they love each other or was it a recreational affair? Had he refused to leave his own wife and family? How had she felt being faced with discussing this with her husband? Had she considered an abortion, illegal at the time?
All of this from a simple, innocuous sounding genetic test.
And then I wondered how many other secrets are buried out there? Should those secrets just die? Should they see the light?
Maybe, just maybe, there are more secrets than this world can hold?