- A Question of Trust
- Intro: The Birth of a Blog
- You and Me Could Write a Bad Romance: Part I
- Bad Romance, Part II: The Couch
- Bastard Package #1
- Hallelujah
- Born This Way
- Baby Girl X
- Another Victim of Love
- True Life
- The Girls Who Went Away
- Love and Other Drugs
- 11 Things Adoptees Love to Hear
- Uh, Never Mind
- Adoptee Kid Lit
- Bastard Princess and the Search for the Holy Grail
- MYOFB
- Awkwardness
- Baby Steps
- Faith, Hope, and Catholic Charities
- Special Delivery
- Green-eyed Monster
- !@#$
- Pandora
- Fantasyland
- Adoptees You May Have Heard Of
- Big MAC Attack
- Material Girl
- VISA and Mastercard Accepted
- Don't Hold Your Breath
- Our Love is Like a Constipated Cat
- A Question of Trust
- Adoption, Hollywood Style
- All in the Family
Pandora
After my conversation with Ann from Catholic Charities this afternoon, I let loose my terminal impatience upon the world. To officially kick off the search process, I dove headlong into the tsunami of paperwork from the Midwest Adoption Center and the State of Illinois.
The State of Illinois Department of Public Health first required that I file an Adopted Person Registration Identification form—a statement of my adopted name and family information. Next there was the Illinois Adoption Registry and Medical Information Exchange of Information form. It was my release of my non-identifying information to a birth parent who might also have registered with the registry and exchange.
Then there was the registry’s Information Exchange Authorization—legal confirmation that I’d completed the registration identification form and given permission for the state to share my name, last known address, a copy of my Illinois Adoption Registry application, and a copy of my completed medical questionnaire with any birth relative who asked for it. And a copy of my driver’s license and two notary stamps. And a $40 check. And a certified copy of my birth certificate—the fake one, that is. Which meant I’d have to order more from the State of Wisconsin for my files. Which upset me. A lot.
By the time I’d gotten through most of it, I’d thrown a tantrum to put my strong-willed kindergartener to shame. The cynic in me (hard to believe, I know) wondered if the system is set up as a deterrent to information seekers. Either way, it’s working.
Apparently by this time Jeremy’s has become an expert at recognizing a perimenopausal woman teetering on the edge of breakdown. He gallantly suggested that I take a break from sweating the details and let him handle some of the paperwork, if possible. Go nuts.
The State of Illinois Department of Public Health first required that I file an Adopted Person Registration Identification form—a statement of my adopted name and family information. Next there was the Illinois Adoption Registry and Medical Information Exchange of Information form. It was my release of my non-identifying information to a birth parent who might also have registered with the registry and exchange.
Then there was the registry’s Information Exchange Authorization—legal confirmation that I’d completed the registration identification form and given permission for the state to share my name, last known address, a copy of my Illinois Adoption Registry application, and a copy of my completed medical questionnaire with any birth relative who asked for it. And a copy of my driver’s license and two notary stamps. And a $40 check. And a certified copy of my birth certificate—the fake one, that is. Which meant I’d have to order more from the State of Wisconsin for my files. Which upset me. A lot.
By the time I’d gotten through most of it, I’d thrown a tantrum to put my strong-willed kindergartener to shame. The cynic in me (hard to believe, I know) wondered if the system is set up as a deterrent to information seekers. Either way, it’s working.
Apparently by this time Jeremy’s has become an expert at recognizing a perimenopausal woman teetering on the edge of breakdown. He gallantly suggested that I take a break from sweating the details and let him handle some of the paperwork, if possible. Go nuts.