My co-blogger Coley has just written an excellent post about hospital memories, and I’d like to expand on the subject, because it resonates so deeply with me.

Prior to becoming a birthmother, I never had a hospital phobia, but today, I can't stand the places. This newfound anxiety is all thanks to the adoption memories.

Recently, I moved to a new state, so I no longer see the hospital where I lost my son. But I used to have to drive by it daily, and for many years afterwards, I actually started to feel a little panicky whenever I would see it. Some days, a quick glimpse was enough to send me spiraling into deep sadness and tears.

If driving by was bad, going inside was that much worse. For instance, my best friend later gave birth in the same hospital I did, and shortly after her delivery, she was placed in the same room where I had signed my son away. I could hardly bear to be back in that spot, because it was the site of the most overwhelming grief, loss and despair I have ever felt. I put on a good face for my friend, but I was dying inside.

During my pregnancy, I often wondered what the hospital experience would be like, and how the goodbye scene would play out. (You may be wondering how it will go for you, too.) In an attempt to describe it for you, I set down some of my memories in writing…but then I reconsidered and deleted them. For one thing, people don’t like to hear the negative in adoption, and for another, I don’t like revisiting the events of those two awful days.

As Coley noted in her post, many birthmoms push their hospital memories way down, in order to cope. Some of them completely blank out that time in their mind; I’ve even heard of women who forget what day they gave birth. As for me, I wasn’t very good at the denial phase of grief, so I don't think I ever managed to bury any of my memories. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy thinking about what was the worst time of my life.

This is why, on an activist level, I’d like to see it become illegal to take consents in a hospital setting. Hospitals are supposed to be about medical care and healing—they are not the best place to be signing life-altering legal papers. When you are in a hospital bed, the focus needs to be on recovery and health. Some states get this fact, and require that consents be given in a courtroom. Others do not.

In the end, when it comes to adoption, hospitals will always mean different things to people on different sides of the triad. For adoptive parents, hospitals usually represent joy, but for birthparents, hospitals are usually equated with the scene of our biggest loss. If I ever have another child, I am sure that my hospital time will call up many difficult and complicated emotions.