CALIFORNIA: Legislation Allows Parents to Obtain Stillbirth Certificates, January 16, 2008

MODESTO BEE
January 16, 2008

Legislation allows parents to obtain a stillbirth certificate
By KEN CARLSON
kcarlson@modbee.com

Stephanie Gray keeps memories of her son, Noah, on a shelf in the family's Modesto apartment, complete with picture books, a plaque with little footprints and a candle that is often lit.

The only thing missing is a certificate acknowledging his birth. She and her husband, David, received only a death certificate after Noah was stillborn Sept. 21, 2002.

"We had dreams, hopes, everything for this baby, and in a blink of an eye, he was gone," Stephanie Gray said.

Under a new law, effective Jan. 1, parents of a stillborn can receive a type of birth certificate through a county office of vital records or the state Department of Vital Statistics.

California, which is calling the document a "Certificate of Still Birth," joined 20 other states that issue the documents to parents who request them. Formerly, any kind of birth certificate was denied these parents because the pregnancy did not result in a live birth.

In California, a fetus must be beyond 20 weeks of gestation for the parents to receive a certificate. The cost for that document is $20.

An estimated 26,000 stillbirths occur in the nation each year, with birth defects, infections or accidents with the umbilical cord among the most common causes. Often, all appears well within days of delivery.

Nurses couldn't hear heartbeat

Supporters of California's Missing Angels Act say the certificates are a tangible memento after a grieving mother. According to the Arizona-based Mothers in Sympathy and Support Foundation, which supported the laws in different states, the documents also are a genealogical record and help the parents to heal.

Gray, 25, said her first pregnancy was going well, then at six months she had episodes of premature labor pains. During each stay in the hospital, she was given drugs to stop labor and sent home, she said.

Everything appeared to be fine during a checkup three weeks before her due date. When she and David went to the hospital for the delivery two days later, however, nurses who put a monitor to her belly couldn't hear a heartbeat.

An ultrasound determined the boy had died.

"I just remember yelling and screaming; it was like an out-of-body experience," Stephanie Gray said. "It's like someone else stepped in, and I lost it."

Stephanie gave birth to the 5-pound, 14-ounce Noah at 12:40 a.m. and pulled herself together to spend precious time with him. For seven hours, the parents held Noah, caressed his brown hair, bathed him and dressed him.

Noah had his father's hair and chin dimple, and long fingers for playing the violin like his mother. Stephanie snipped a lock of his hair and took his footprints as keepsakes.

The cause of death was never known, although their doctor said the placenta was small and might have stopped providing oxygen.

When the funeral home gave the parents a death certificate, Stephanie said, her first thought was about getting a birth certificate. She called the hospital and was told she didn't qualify for one, she said.

In 2002, a state bill to officially acknowledge stillbirths failed to pass, because of fears it could weaken abortion rights and foul up the state's birth records.

Senate Bill 850, sponsored last year by state Sen. Abel Maldonado, R-Santa Maria, was amended to alleviate the concerns. The stillbirth certificates will be issued only to parents who ask for them and they are not counted as live births.

Parents need to request a form

Gray said she wrote letters to Gov. Schwarzenegger and state legislators, urging them to approve the California law. She said her desire for a certificate is part of dealing with the worst crisis of her life.

She didn't want to eat, see people or look at young children, she said. She went on to have two boys, Cameren, 4, and Jayden Noah, 2.

The parents said the Stanislaus County clerk-recorder's office in downtown Mo- desto wasn't aware of the new certificates when David inquired early this month. Stephanie was able to get assistance from the Department of Public Health office at 820 Scenic Drive, which also handles birth records.

Dr. John Walker, county public health officer, said the health department will issue a Certificate of Still Birth for local parents who who had a stillbirth after Jan. 1.

Parents need to submit a request to the state Department of Vital Statistics for stillbirths before that date. Stanislaus County public health can give parents the request form, which must be completed and mailed to the state office, or parents can call the state vital statistics office in Sacramento. Certificates will be issued even if the stillbirth occurred many years ago, the law says.

Stanislaus County had 51 stillbirths in 2007 and 50 in 2006. As of Tuesday, three people had requested the new certificates, officials said.

Stephanie Gray said she was told it'll take 12 weeks to get the two certificates she ordered, one for framing, the other for Noah's baby book. On holidays and his birthday, the family has celebrated Noah by going to Monterey or taking a boat ride under the Golden Gate Bridge to throw flowers on the water.

"I am not in so much pain as before," Stephanie said. "I think of him but don't hurt as bad as I did."

Bee staff writer Ken Carlson can be reached at kcarlson@modbee.com or .


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CALIFORNIA: Internet Aided Siblings' Quest to Find Each Other, January 2, 2008

SAN DIEGO UNION-TRIBUNE
January 2, 2008

Internet aided siblings' quest to find each other
By Anne Krueger


On the day after they met for the first time, sisters Virginia Johnson (left) and Terri Converse visited their mother's grave at Alpine Cemetery on Sunday.

Virginia Johnson scanned the passengers pouring out of the airport gate. She spotted a woman with bright red hair clutching a black bag with family photographs on the front.

Johnson gasped. “There she is!”

Just minutes before her 60th birthday Sunday, Johnson gave her first hug to Terri Converse, the woman her mother gave up for adoption 65 years ago before settling in East County.

Tears streamed down Johnson's face as she held Converse in her arms. Converse couldn't stop smiling.

“It's a miracle that this happened,” Johnson said.

So ended Johnson's 28-year quest for Converse, who was put up for adoption the year before Johnson's parents met. The search sputtered for years and then – like so many others – found fuel in the power of the Internet.

“Thank you for not giving up,” Converse told Johnson.

Johnson lives in Egypt and Converse lives in Florida, but they came to San Diego County because Johnson wanted to show Converse the places and people from their mother's life.

They visited Virginia Payne's grave at the Alpine Cemetery and stopped by the home of a close family friend who had lived in a cabin near the Payne family in Japatul Valley.

As they talked and laughed, the two women marveled at their similarities – both have high-arched feet, green eyes and long eyelashes – and that they found each other at all, overcoming obstacles of deceit and misinformation.

A secret revealed
Growing up near Alpine, in a house filled with love and laughter, Johnson never knew her mother's secret.

She didn't learn the truth until 1979, 12 years after Virginia Payne died of cancer at age 45. Heartbroken over the loss, Johnson was finally ready to open the box of her mother's important papers.

“He told me that he was waiting for me to ask,” Johnson said. “He didn't want to go to his grave without telling me that I had a sister.”

Charlotte Virginia Payne, who went by her middle name, was an earthy woman who loved children. She often took in youngsters from troubled families who would live with the Paynes for months or years at a time.

The family came to San Diego County after Johnson's father retired from the Navy. They lived in a leaky wooden shack on 200 acres, raising horses, cattle, sheep and goats.

Johnson said their dirt-poor existence was a kind of rebellion for her mother. Despite growing up in a wealthy and influential family in New York, she was content to roam her farm in tattered pants and manure-covered boots.

“I can still remember my grandfather yelling at her and saying, 'How can you live like this?' ” Johnson said.

Johnson's father told her he didn't know much about the birth. He said his wife told him the baby was born in New York, that she knew the people who'd adopted her and that they were Jewish.

With those tidbits, Johnson began her search.

Posing as her mother, she wrote to the New York state bureau of records seeking a birth certificate. She got a letter confirming that her mother had given birth to a girl, Anne M. Cool, in Manhattan in 1942.

Johnson wasn't sure how to proceed. Her mother's relatives refused to tell her anything. She checked Manhattan phone books, hoping to come across the name. She looked up genealogy information in libraries, trying to find a clue.

“I felt so lost,” she said. “Imagine walking down a city street and seeing someone and wondering if that was my sister. I was feeling so desperate to find her.”

Johnson kept up her search from Egypt, where she moved in 2003 after marrying an Egyptian. She remained in Cairo even after her husband died three weeks after the move because of complications from medication. She married his brother a year later.

The Internet helped melt away the miles. She scoured Web sites for adoptees seeking family members, and she posted what she knew about her sister.

For a while, she heard nothing.

An adoptee's search
From her home in Florida, Terri Converse was trying to track down the mother who had given her up at birth.

Converse, who grew up in New Jersey, said she learned at age 7 that she was adopted. A school friend told her she had overheard Converse's mother talking about it. Her parents reluctantly admitted the truth and told her how special she was.

“I remember my father emphasizing, 'You are my daughter,' ” she said.

It wasn't until Converse was an adult that an aunt told her that her adoptive father, a dress shop owner, was actually her biological father. The information also gave her insight about her mother, who never showed much affection during her childhood.

“With knowledge comes understanding. With understanding comes forgiveness. I was able to forgive her,” Converse said.

Converse, who had moved to Pembroke Pines, Fla., said she began searching for her birth mother when she got a computer in 1996. She made friends online with a woman named Judy Lassiter, who helps adoptees with their family searches.

Converse said relatives told her that her parents had paid $10,000 to adopt her from Jerome Niles, a Delaware doctor who ran homes for wealthy but unwed mothers in the 1930s and '40s. Her father wasn't acknowledged on the birth certificate.

Niles, who died in 1963, was known for vigilantly protecting the identities of pregnant women and babies, even falsifying information on birth certificates. The babies often went to wealthy Jewish families in the New York area.

With few records available from Niles' practice, Converse thought she had reached a dead end.

A joyful connection
Johnson said she never stopped trying to find her sister. The death of her other sister, Amanda, from a fall in 1992, and her father's death in April only intensified her efforts.

In July, she joined an online chat group of adoptees seeking relatives and posted a message describing what she knew about the child her mother put up for adoption.

Lassiter saw the message and thought of Converse. She knew Converse's mother went by the name Virginia, as had Johnson's mother. Converse and Johnson had the same eye and hair color, and their noses had a similar shape.

Lassiter put the women in touch, and they began a tentative correspondence.

“I was afraid to really put much into it because I didn't want to be disappointed,” Johnson said.

But the similarities began piling up. Converse said Johnson's photo looked just like her daughter. They even shared allergies to sulfa and codeine.

The two finally turned to DNA testing.

Johnson said she was checking her e-mail three weeks later when she saw a message from Converse: “We're related.” Johnson immediately called her.

“I started crying and talking,” Johnson said. “When I stopped crying long enough, I said, 'This is your sister.' Then Terri started crying. We both kept saying, 'Oh God, it's you; it's you.' For about 10 minutes, it's all we could say.”

Sunday, Johnson and Converse stood over the joint burial plot of Virginia and Amanda Payne. They laid flowers down. Converse took a photograph of the headstone.

They hugged each other, and Johnson sobbed as Converse stroked her hair and whispered in her ear.

Afterward, Johnson said she finally felt at peace. She said she knew her mother would be pleased that she and Converse found each other.

“I brought her home,” she said.


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CALIFORNIA: Lack of Birth Certificate Proves Obstacle for Hemet Man, December 31, 2007

Although not about sealed birth certificates due to adoption, this article illustrates what can happen when birth certificates are not "in order." As the US government continues to clamp down on "terrorism" and "illegal immigration" we will see stories of adopted persons denied passports, pensions, security clearances, and even drivers licenses and jobs, due to bc "problems."


RIVERSIDE PRESS ENTERPRISE,
December 31, 2007

Lack of birth certificate proves obstacle for Hemet man

By STEVE FETBRANDT
The Press-Enterprise

Most people take their birth certificate for granted. But what if the doctor who delivered you never told the government you entered the world?

You could have problems enrolling in school, acquiring a driver's license or -- especially in California these days -- getting a job.

Hemet resident Joshua Morgan would say, "Welcome to my world."

Carol Bomhard and her son, Joshua Morgan, review a state application to obtain a delayed-filing birth certificate. Morgan can't get a driver's license and other documents, and says he has to work under the table.

A birth certificate legally chronicles the date, time and place you were born. It establishes your identity, paternity, race and national origin. It proves you're old enough to start school and, later, allows you to get a driver's license or state identification card. It also is needed to obtain a Social Security number, passport and, indirectly, a job.

Now 26, Morgan was born at Dr. Nelson Copley's alternative birthing center in Yuba City in Northern California in 1981. Although the doctor gave his mother an uncertified copy of his birth certificate, Copley did not file any paperwork with the Sutter County Clerk-Recorder -- the appropriate vital-statistics agency.

"I've had to deal with getting pulled over and being questioned by police," Morgan said. "I've been taken to jail for driving without a license and not having ID with me.

"If I could just get a registered birth certificate and identification, I wouldn't have this stress on me today. I'd be able to get a job and be productive like everybody else."

In a recent telephone interview, Copley, who closed his medical practice and retired two years ago, acknowledged the oversight and said he would try to remedy the situation immediately.

Carol Bomhard, a disabled mother of five who suffers from fibromyalgia and arthritis, lives with her son in a rental house in Hemet. Morgan's father has not been part of their life, she said.

Bomhard said her son's birth status was never an issue when he was young. School officials registered him for kindergarten based on his uncertified birth certificate. He also was able to get a Social Security number.

"After he lost the card, he couldn't get another one for the longest time because he didn't have a certified birth certificate," she said. "He was denied numerous times in Visalia and once here in Hemet. He also visited the DMV in Tulare County, and they turned him down for both a driver's license and picture ID."

Bomhard said her son just recently convinced the Social Security Administration in Hemet to re-issue his card.

"Various employers have told him they can't hire him because he doesn't have a valid ID or Social Security number or driver's license. He's worked under the table, of course, but nothing real permanent."

Bomhard said her son's biggest fear is getting stopped by police.

"He could be mistaken for an illegal immigrant," she said. "What would they do to him then?"

Bomhard said she originally thought the doctor had registered her son's birth in 1981. Only years later, after discovering otherwise, did she seek a remedy.

"I couldn't afford an attorney," she said, "and Legal Aid told me they don't handle that kind of case. So I was pretty much on my own."

Bomhard said she tried to locate the doctor but was told by someone at the Sutter County courthouse that he had died.

She also applied for a "delayed filing" birth certificate. She submitted her son's fingerprints, baptism certificate, vaccination records and school report cards to the clerk-recorder, but the application, which was forwarded to the state for processing, was returned with an explanation that it did not contain the required supporting evidence.

If a birth occurs outside a hospital, state law requires the physician in attendance, the licensed midwife or either one of the parents to file the birth certificate with the local registrar, said Lea Brooks, spokeswoman for the California Department of Public Health. If the state rejects the application for a delayed filing, the applicant can seek a court order.

During 2006, there were about 490 delayed registrations statewide, Brooks said, and 203 court-ordered registrations.

Cindy McMillan, Sutter County assistant clerk-recorder, said the county has no record of Morgan's birth.

"He (the doctor) performed many deliveries but did lousy paperwork. This wasn't the only time," she said. "He'd fill out birth certificates, sign them and hand them to the moms. They'd put them away in a baby book. The doctor never told them he didn't file the original with the county."

McMillan said more than a dozen of Copley's patients ended up in similar straits over the years.

The doctor, who by local accounts is known for driving a black hearse around town with a parrot on his shoulder, said he started the birthing center because the community did not have an adequate hospital maternity facility.

"The hospital had a couple of Army WAC nurses running the place, and it wasn't very family-oriented," he said. "They called it 'The Dungeon.' Rather than going through that ordeal, many mothers chose to deliver at home."

Copley had a special room added to his home/office for that purpose.

"It was a comfortable and safe place for labor and delivery. We had a fetal monitor and it added a lot of safety," the doctor said. "I did 300 (deliveries), and I've still got every chart. I can find this one. It will obviously be a belated filing, but I can do it."

Copley said he knew he was supposed to file the birth certificates in a timely manner.

"We were at great efforts to do that, and I did file hundreds of them," he said. "This has not come up in the last five or six years -- probably in the last 10 years."

Delayed filings are possible but require time and effort, McMillan said.

"You have to send documentation with it, like the doctor's signature if you can get it," she said. "The state will usually accept affidavits from the mother and father, but it has been getting stricter."

Things get trickier when the applicant is older than 12.

"You need two persons with firsthand knowledge of the birth and at least one document which confirms the date and place, such as the copy birth certificate, a certificate of marriage, a U.S. Census record, military record, a hospital record, a Social Security card, voter-registration affidavit, baptismal certificate, notice of birth in the newspaper or school records.

"You fill out the application for a delayed birth certificate and send it along with your other paperwork and $20 filing fee to the Office of State Registrar in Sacramento."

It takes about nine months to process the application.

"They're really slow," she said.

Reach Steve Fetbrandt at or sfetbrandt@PE.com

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