Who Speaks for the Children?

I spent the last two weekends at conferences. Two weeks ago I attended the national meeting of The American Adoption Congress. Last weekend, an international conference for nurses in reproductive medicine. At both meetings people spoke about children being raised by parents with whom they have no genetic ties. At both meetings they were talking about building families in alternative ways. I only wish that they could have listened to each other.

Actually, my wish is that attendees at the second conference-the nurses--could have heard what the adoptees had to say. I wish they could have heard the poignant, powerful accounts of the adoptees' experience of being cut off from their genetic heritages. I wish that they could have heard adoptees speak of their searches, not for new parents or "real" parents, but for roots, for ties, for truths.

The nurses--from throughout the United States and Canada-conversed about embryo donation and anonymous egg donation. They spoke of the mechanics of organizing a "program", of the medical protocols, of consent forms and of support for the donors and the recipients. What was strikingly absent from their conversation were any questions or concerns about what it means to intentionally create children knowing that they will not be raised by both of their genetic parents. The nurses spoke compassionately of the needs of adults involved, but made no mention of the children.

Who speaks for the children? I am increasingly concerned by the haunting silence. Will there will be no voice for the children until it is too late? Adoptees talk of the difficulties they experience with "genealogical bewilderment"-the term they use for the experience of living without full knowledge of their genetic heritage. They have much to teach us, but does anyone want to learn from their experience? They tell us that children have a deep need to know where they came from. They want us to know that this is an inalienable right. They want us to know also that pain comes not only from not knowing the truth about one's origin, but from being cut off from that truth.

At the nurses conference I was a gadly, a big mouth, a pest. I asked nurses how they could do it. Point blank I asked them how they could participate in the creation of children who would be separated from their genetic heritages. To my surprise, several acknowledged that they share my concerns. One woman turned to me and said, "I wonder how long I will be able to do my job. I wonder when the time will come when I feel that I simply cannot do what I am asked to do in good conscience." Others were less forthright, but implied that they try not to examine their ethical concerns, but to simply regard themselves as doing a job.

One Canadian nurse told a chilling story. At the program she works in women are permitted to bring in their sisters as donors. However, instead of using the sister's donations for their infertile siblings--hence creating children who would know and be connected to their genetic origins--they are using the sister's eggs for other recipients and doing so anonymously. When asked how she can abide by such an arrangement, the nurse acknowledged that she is trying to change it. Unfortunately, change comes slowly--if at all--in her program. While she works at "altering policy," children are being created who will face many of the questions that have so long and so deeply troubled adoptees. My fear is that for them, "geneological bewilderment" will be all the more intense because of the intentionality of their creation: adults had a choice and chose to separate them from their genetic heritages.

At a recent American Adoption Congress meeting, attendees -including birth parents, adoptive parents and adoptees--had the following words encircling each of their nametags, "May the circle be unbroken." That is the lesson that they are asking the rest of us to learn: there are connections in families that should not and cannot be broken. Adoption, as a response to a social problem, has had to be a part of an interrupted circle, oftentimes with very troubling consequences.

My hope is that people working in reproductive medicine will begin to talk with adoptees and that they will listen. I suspect that what they will hear are words of caution and that the message they will take away is that love is not enough. Children need loving parents, but most tell us--in one way or another--that they also need roots, a history, a sense of connection. Those who do not know their full histories, say that it feels "like a piece of me is missing."

The stakes are high: we must be careful lest there come a generation of children in search of roots. I fear for their longing, their desperation and disconnection and for the questions they will ask of those who so boldly, blindly gave them the "gift" of life.

Ellen S. Glazer, LICSW

Ellen Sarasohn Glazer, LICSW, is a clinical social worker specializing in infertility and adoption counseling in Newton, Massachusetts. The author or co-author of several books, she most recently coauthored Choosing Assisted Reproduction: Social, emotional and ethical considerations (Perspective Press, 1998) with Susan Lewis Cooper; revised The Long Awaited Stork: A guide to parenting after infertility (Jossey-Bass Publishing); and edited Experiencing Infertility: Stories to inform and inspire (Jossey-Bass Publishing). Ellen can be reached by email at eglazer@gis.net.

Credits: Ellen Sarasohn Glazer, LICSW