| What was it like at Rest Cottage Maternity Home? In her book Wake Up Little Suzie Ricki Solinger writes,, "The state administrator in charge of licensing homes in the state of Texas remarked that homes in the state were not interested in casework or any other services; they were concerned only about meeting minimum requirements and securing more babies to put on the adoption marker." (page 131) While this was taken from a report written in 1950, things had changed little when I entered the doors of Rest Cottage Maternity Home located in Pilot Point, Texas. The home was very old. It had started out as Franklin college about the turn of the century became a rescue home which was a place for pregnant unwed girls to go to learn how to live, work, and raise their babies. Prior to WWII a "fallen woman" had few prospects to marry, so she must learn how to support herself and her child; she was a social outcast with no way to redeem herself. It was only after WWII that adoption became the prescribed treatment for unwed pregnant girls. She could go to a maternity home, have her baby, relinquish her baby for adoption and return to her own home almost as good as new. Of course, it was at this time in history that there was a major focus on conformity, family, and children. A family was considered a married man and woman with children, so there was a demand by infertile couples wanted babies to adopt. Like many maternity homes at the tiime the focus changed from teaching woman how to make a living and support their babies to working with the unwed mother toward relinquishing the child for adoption. Upon arrival at the home, the girls were encouraged to take a pseudo name, to use only first names, and to not tell where we were from in order to protect their confidentialy. Some of the girls took different names but I was not about to loose my identity--I was Donna from Ohio. They tried to convince me to take another name, but I was determined to be myself. This was the custom in most of the homes throughout the country. There was little privacy. We slept in one of two large dorms, each with its own sitting room. I do not remember how many beds were in each dorm, but it seems it was at least ten. Individual space was very limited; their was a bed and a night stand, a draw in a dresser, and a small area of a closet. We really didn't have to worry about buying maternity clothes as there was a big closet of clothes we could choose from and since we were only going to need them for a short time then return to our "single" lives we didn't need to spend money on such items. But the clothes were very old fashion and "frumpy." Wearing those old clothes along with being pregnant made it very difficult to feel attractive or even that your life mattered. I remember buying a new outfit through a catalog, a rather stylish skirt and top (well, as stylish as maternity clothes could be) and pretty and just having something pretty and new made me feels so much better about myself. It was so hard to feel good about yourself after the shame and guilt that was placed on us by our parents and society, Many of the homes in the country had classes about grooming and how to be a proper lady (which we obviously did not know since we were unwed and pregnant) and ultimately a wife, but not at Rest Cottage. There were no classes of any kind--education, childbirth, crafts, group counseling, activities, not even a bible study group. I was fortunate in that my parents wanted me to keep up with my schooling so they had arranged a home study course for me. I had a tutor who came to the home to administer my exams. We each had jobs to do. I was assigned the responsibility of the dining room. It was my job to set the tables, keep the room clean, help get the food on the table. It was considered one of the best jobs there. Some of the other jobs were cleaning the dining room after the meal, dishes, helping in the kitchen, working in the laundry, cleaning the front rooms of the house (where we were rarely allowed to go as this is where the adopters came to pick up the babies), cleaning the chapel, cleaning the dorms and the bathrooms. I had always enjoyed cooking and setting a pretty table so it was the perfect job for me. I could help in the kitchen when I had time. The only planned activities in the home was church on Sunday morning, Sunday evening, and Wednesday evening. We spend much of our time playing cards or scrabble. The house mother did not approve of cards and would stop us from playing so we would sit on the floor between beds to play. If she entered the room we just slid the cards under the bed. We didn't gamble, but played Rummy and Hearts. I don't remember there being a TV. That would be in line with what most Nazarenes believed at the time--TV brought exposure to evil> We were allowed radios and so we spent much time listening to our radios and reading. The food was good. The milk was fresh, the pork was from hogs that they raised, the eggs were from their chickens. There were seasonal fresh fruits and vegetables from the garden. And there were wonderful pecans from the trees on the property. And there was homemade bread, freshly made butter and whipped cream. Sunday dinners were the best. While there was all of this wonderful food for us, our servings were limited as they did not want us to gain too much weight. In those days no more than 20 pound weight gain was allowed. If you gained too much you had to sit at a seperate table at meal time. Those girls did not get salt or any of the wonderful desserts and their portions were really limited. If we got goodies from home, they were taken from us and rationed out--again to control weight. I had a craving for lemons and so my parents sent me some from home. Even those were taken from me and I was allowed one a day and I didn't even have a problem with weight. Once a week we had to provide a urine sample and get weighed. If it was our turn to see the doctor then we were instructed not to wear under panties when we came down for our checks. I hated that! It was so humilitating. I use to think about what good medical care they gave to us, but I now realize that it was not the mothers that they were so concerned about--it was having a healthy baby because only the healthy babies were adoptable. We were like an assembly line of machines that were producing babies. We were not allowed to leave the grounds. We were told that we did not want to parade ourselves out in front of the towns people. Our letters were monitored. I found out later that Mart had tried to write, but I never got any of his letters. The home was like a prison without walls. Sometimes I wonder why we just went along with it all, but then what else could we do. We could not return home; our families had already made that clear and if we misbehaved too badly at the home we would be sent home. We had already been made well aware of what a disappointment we had been to our parents. We knew we had to stay, follow the rules, give up our babies, so we could return home somehow reformed and made back into the girls we were before. It sounded good, but in reality it didn't happen for most of us. There was always that wall between us and our parents. And everyone but us who were the ones who lost our babies seemed to forget what a traumatic experience losing a child was. There was no counseling that I recall other than the day to day reminders from staff that we were doing the right thing for our babies, that they deserved more than what we could give them; that we were unfit as we were not married; that we had sinned and doing the right thing now (giving up our babies) would make up for that sin. There was never any other options given to us. I remember being interviewed by the administor's wife about my likes, dislikes, preferences which was to be used in placing my baby. But no one counseled me about what was going to be happening concerning the r;elinquishment of my baby or what the emotions involved would be or how to deal with it all. And there was no follow up counseling. In fact, most of the girls left in a week or so after giving birth. There was no education about childbirth. The only things that we knew were what some other girls who "knew more about these things" told us and of course, most usually that information was not correct. My dorm was directy above the delivery room. The babies were delivered at that time right there in the home. Whenever someone had gone down to give birth we would lay our ear against the floor, trying to hear what was going on. We had such a need to know, but that did not gain us any real knowledge either. Sometimes we would hear the girl yelling but that only scared us more. And usually the smell of ether seeped through the floors. The girls were put to sleep with ether for the actual birth. I knew exactly when I was due--March 1. On February 28 my water broke at 9pm I only knew this sometimes happened because I had seen it happen with other girls before me. I was sent immediately to the labor room. This room looked like an enclosed porch having many windows and three or four beds. It was right off the delivery room. My labor pains started at 1am. I was alone in that room with the exception of Mrs. Wells, the in house nurse coming in to check me every now and then. I don't think I have ever felt that lonely before or since. I was scared because I didn't know what was going to happen, but I felt far more lonely than I was scared. When the pains came I endured them in silence. I laid in the dark room waiting for the next pain, thinking of how much I wanted to keep my baby. My heart truely hurt more than those labor pains. Like most mothers-to-be I was ready to deliver, but yet I did not want to for I knew that my precious baby would be gone from me. As the pains grew in intensity, I mentally became more ready to deliver. I don't remember going from the labor room to the delivery room or getting the ether. I don't remember giving birth, or even the next few days. I have absolutely no memory of it. I don't remember signing relinquishment papers. My next clear memory is the day Marta left. I was allowed to spend some time with her before she left. There was a small nursery where the babies were kept. The adopters had been told to bring two outfits for her; I chose which one she was to wear home. I don't remember what one was, but the one I chose was a pink frilly dress with matching socks and booties. It was what I would have purchased for her. She looked so beautiful in it with her rosy skin and dark hair. After I dressed her I sat in a rocker with her and we talked and we cried. I will never forget the feel of her in my arms, so tiny, so perfect, so precious. Her skin was so soft and smooth. Her smell so sweet. I gave her a kiss. There was such a large pain in my heart; I can almost feel it now as I think about that day. I remember nothing after that. I don't remember them taking her. I don't remember what occurred immediately after she left me or the next few days. I flew home by myself. My next real memory is being in the airport in my hometown and no one being there to meet me. I already was on emotional overload and I needed my parents to love me, but that simple act of not being at the airport on time to meet me told me that I was unimportant. When I returned to the home in 1965 with my second child, there was not much that had changed, but one thing that had was that we were sent to Denton to Flow Memorial Hospital to give birth. Yhe rest iof the routine remained the same. To learn more about adoption, maternity homes, the culture of the times as it relates to unwed pregnancy read Wake Up Little Suzie by Riciki Solinger. |