I was adopted at birth. Well, almost at birth. I was born 8 weeks prematurely. My birth mother gave me up for adoption for reasons unknown to me. I spent 2 months in neo-natal intensive care before I was able to go meet my new family. For the first year of my life, my parents had to regularly drive to the closest city to go back to the hospital that took care of me to get checkups. On my last visit there, they asked if my parents had any questions for them. My Mom had 2, only one of which was able to be answered. She wanted to know if they had taken my footprints but because I was an emergency case, they didn't take the time to do so. Her second request was to see a baby the size that I was when I was born: 2 lbs 3 oz. My Mom thought I was tiny when they got me at 2 months old, but then she saw what I looked like when I was born she couldn't believe her eyes.
I still have tiny scars on my head and my heels from all the needles that had to be put in me. Hair stylists comment on it sometimes. I think it's awesome.
She also told me that the nurses in the children's hospital called me Sarah while I was there. I'm not quite sure what to make of that other than I want to incorporate that name somehow into my identity. Those women were the first people to ever take care of me.
I owe them my life.