Revealing the news to my best friends – the two Rachels – happened exactly how I’d imagined. We were sitting on a picnic blanket in the park, sunshine warming our skin as we watched our children – all six of them – climbing up play equipment and sliding down the slippery dip, giddy and giggling.
My stomach flipped as I said, ‘I’ve got some news.’
They both turned their heads in a flash. ‘Are you pregnant?’ Rach asked, flicking her long, dark hair and leaning closer. Whenever someone had something to say, it was always the first question asked.
‘Ha, no! No way.’ I laughed. ‘Not yet anyway.’ I glanced at them both, grinning slyly. ‘I’m going to be a surrogate. I’ve found a couple to help have a baby, a gay male couple in Sydney.’
‘Oh, that’s so lovely.’ Rach crawled over the rug to hug me. ‘I remember you mentioning the idea a while ago. You’ve always wanted to do this.’
‘That’s so exciting! You hid this well.’ Racho smiled, offering a congratulatory hug. ‘When, how?’
I filled them in on the emails and our meeting with Jon and Justin. The girls hung on every word and I was encouraged by their enthusiasm and excitement.
‘That’s such a wonderful thing to do, Shan, it really is,’ Racho said, blinking at tears. ‘It’s making me cry.’
I smiled, my own emotions welling up. ‘I’m just so excited about what lies ahead. There’s so much to look forward to.’
The general consensus among our friends and acquaintances was that my decision was a good one. Some people, however, expressed concerns for my health and wellbeing, and for my family’s, particularly my children’s. Some questioned my intentions, as if they suspected I was being paid ‘under the table’. Others quizzed me about how I’d cope once the baby was born and I had to let it go, as though I hadn’t considered that aspect a hundred times already myself. One person even queried how I could give away a baby that had been growing in my belly for nine months. ‘Wouldn’t you have a maternal connection?’ she asked.
Some reactions hurt, some made me shake my head, and some questions weren’t worth my time. At least that’s what I told myself. I was quite clear on one thing: the baby wasn’t mine to either give away or keep, that was my intention. It would never be mine. I was merely the vessel, the baby a passenger on a journey to its fathers, Jon and Justin.
Other people – some time later, strangers enquiring about the baby I was carrying – would tell me they couldn’t possibly do such a thing themselves, while one person, disgusted, asked me, ‘Why on earth would you want to do something like that? And for people like them?’
I could understand the concern for my wellbeing, my body and my children, and as much as some of the comments hurt, not one left a scar. I was determined not to let others’ negativity take away from my experience.
I realised that the lack of understanding I encountered wasn’t about ignorance so much as a difference in perspective. I could relate to that. I have a friend who loves to run marathons, beating out each step on the pavement, taking her body somewhere extreme every time. The road stretching out before her, she’s hot and perspiring, alone with her thoughts and the sound of her joggers hitting the searing bitumen. I often thought about my friend, asking myself why she did it – why put your body through something so gruelling and intense? I couldn’t. But while they don’t appeal to me at all, marathons resonate with her. She gets as much from the mental and physical preparation as she does from the run itself. I can’t judge her for doing something she finds so satisfying, and in the same way I shouldn’t be judged for choosing to help a couple in need. Just as running marathons isn’t for everyone, I can appreciate that having another couple’s baby isn’t either. But I knew that surrogacy was right for me and I had to be prepared, mentally and physically.
Remembering that lanky fifteen-year-old with the big imagination, I knew that this was something I was born to do. It felt familiar, easy and right, as though I was coming home.
6
A collective love
While life at home regained some normality and I was back to day-care drop-offs, play dates in the park, and the non-stop blissful monotony of raising two children, the momentum started to pick up for the boys, with Jon, Justin and Sereena all organising appointments with an IVF clinic in Sydney. After discussion, the boys had agreed that they would both donate their sperm to have embryos created from Sereena’s eggs with the ideal outcome being both Jon and Justin would have embryos frozen, but for the first transfer they’d use an embryo made with Jon’s sperm, and if successful would make Jon the biological father of the baby I’d carry. I don’t know how they came to that difficult conclusion and I never asked. They had their reasons and it wasn’t for me to question.
The egg donation process required Sereena and Tymon to first attend counselling sessions at the IVF clinic not only for the clinic to establish their relationship with Jon and Justin but also the reasons behind the donation, particularly Sereena’s take on her choice to become an egg donor. If the counsellor approved the application, Sereena would then start a course of hormone treatments to give her body the best possible chance of producing viable, healthy eggs for collection, and the clinic would monitor her cycle via blood tests. When the time was right, they’d harvest the eggs and inseminate half with Jon’s sperm and half with Justin’s.
Jon and Justin had arranged a pay-as-you-go Visa debit card for me, placing a small amount of money on the card to cover any appointment costs or incidentals to do with the impending pregnancy. After liaising with the boys about our forthcoming counselling session, I booked our flights to Sydney and was promptly reimbursed for the cost. Andrew and I would fly down in July for the first of two counselling sessions. The boys also made an appointment for me with a doctor at the IVF clinic, who would discuss the specifics of surrogacy and the possible implications if something went wrong, like any pregnancy. We planned to stay for one night at Jon and Justin’s property, and Sereena and Tymon had kindly offered to have us all over for dinner so we could meet. I arranged for my mum to look after Jaxon and Keira while we were away for the two days.
When Andrew and I arrived in Sydney in mid July, the sky was cobalt blue and a cold breeze stung my cheeks as we waited in line for a taxi. The smell of diesel fuel was thick in the air, a sign I was in the big smoke.
We were heading to an inner-city suburb for our first counselling session. Jon and Justin had informed us that the session plus the psychological test that the counsellor would administer might take the best part of four hours. I was a little daunted; I’d never seen a counsellor before, so I tried to anticipate the questions she would ask. Would I pass? Would she think I was good enough? I didn’t want to let the boys down, or fail in my own desire to become a surrogate.
I felt for Andrew, who had been persuaded into this situation. He had never asked for this, but I knew I had his support and that we would get through the grilling together, and laugh about it afterwards. We laughed together a lot. It had always been a kind of coping mechanism for us, such as on the night we both came down with explosive diarrhoea in Hong Kong, running through the streets after dinner, down dark alleyways clutching our cramping stomachs, desperate to find our hotel. Since then we often reminisced about that night, laughing about how we’d grappled over the toilet, pushing each other, urgency on our strained faces, one of us (me) having to retreat to the bath.
As the taxi pulled into a tree-lined street, I pointed to the number on the gate and the driver stopped across the road from a grand two-storey home with a tall fence and beautiful gardens – lush, even in winter. I spotted Jon and Justin stepping out of their car, so Andrew grabbed our bag and we crossed the road to join them. It was only the second time we’d met, but the sight of the boys made me smile. The relief I felt when we hugged was the confirmation I needed that the journey was really beginning.
We entered the gate and followed a path through a quaint cottage garden. Jon knocked on the front door and the c
ounsellor greeted us. ‘Hello, I’m Meredith. It’s lovely to have you all here today,’ she said, tucking a strand of thick black hair behind one ear.
As we shook hands I noticed her beautiful smooth skin, hiding her years. In spite of her kind smile, I was nervous: depending on her recommendation, our request for a surrogacy arrangement would either be approved or rejected by the IVF clinic, so it was critical that she felt we made suitable candidates.
She led us into a room with a large desk, several chairs and a black leather couch. Along one side of the room, taking up an entire wall, was a timber bookcase full of books mostly on psychology. She invited us to sit and then grabbed a clipboard before settling into a large chair next to the window.
Meredith explained the details of the psych test and today’s counselling sessions: each of us would see her individually, then as couples, and finally all together. I swallowed the lump in my throat, intimidated at the thought of being questioned about my intentions, my family and my life. I knew that she would be monitoring my every word, the tone of my voice, even my body language, all the while scribbling notes on that clipboard in her hands and tilting her head to peer at me over her reading glasses. I crossed my legs, hoping that tight jeans and knee-high black boots were deemed appropriate attire for a potential gestational surrogate.
‘Does that sound good, Shannon?’ Meredith asked.
‘Um, sorry?’ Realising that I hadn’t caught her last statement, I felt the heat rise to my cheeks.
‘I’ll chat with Jon then Justin first,’ she repeated. ‘So I’ll take you, Andrew and Justin into the other room and get you started on the test.’
‘Yes, of course, that’s fine,’ I replied in a small voice, berating myself internally for being pulled up already for not paying attention. It was like high school all over again.
‘But before we go any further I’d like to know how you all met,’ Meredith said, crossing her legs. ‘Obviously I see a lot of couples come through here – some arrangements work out, and of course some don’t. It would be nice to know how this relationship of yours came about.’
‘Ah.’ Jon paused, looking to Andrew and me. ‘We met through a mutual friend.’
I sat forward, palms clammy, listening to Jon explain how our friend had directed me to contact the boys after she learned they were thinking about surrogacy to start a family.
Meredith nodded, jotting down notes and smiling. ‘Well, that’s lovely. I can see you have a good relationship already, and meeting through a mutual friend is a great start. Okay, let’s begin.’ She clicked the end of her pen before standing up.
I let my shoulders relax, releasing a long breath as I followed her out of the room. First hurdle complete.
I took my time with the psych test, mulling over each question; like had I ever harmed myself intentionally or if I enjoyed shopping, how much alcohol I consumed or if I’d ever contemplated suicide. Meredith explained the test would reveal our own individual psychological profile. At times I stared out the window, over the pool and across the paved courtyard. Leaves wasted by winter had fallen from the trees and settled on the surface of the water, floating in the breeze like tiny brittle boats. As I studied the paintings on the wall, I wondered how everyone was coping. I glanced at Andrew, his head down and focused. He smirked at a question before filling in the appropriate dot with his pencil. He was enjoying this.
When Jon, then Justin, rejoined us after their interviews, I couldn’t help looking for signs that might tell me how they’d done. Jon’s cheeks were flushed, but that could’ve been due to the warm room and his woollen jumper. Justin looked confident and happy.
I had to stop searching for clues and trying to second-guess the session.
Sitting on the leather couch, my husband’s hand clasped in mine, I glanced down at a box of tissues on the small dark wooden table beside me. In an effort to feel less intimidated, I thought about all the couples who must have sat on this same couch before us, each of them just as hopeful, anxious and excited. Having Andrew with me on this journey helped. I had the best, most understanding husband in the world.
The questions Meredith asked were similar to those covered with the boys during our first meeting in June, only she dug deeper, her gaze fixed on us both as we again explained why we wanted to offer such a thing.
I met Meredith’s eyes, tried to mimic her confidence. ‘All I can say is that when I look at my own children my heart breaks if I think of never getting to know them. It makes me think how difficult life would be for Jon and Justin, or anyone in the same predicament. A person’s sex, and of course sexual preference, means making a family is so much harder, and if I can help them, why shouldn’t I?’ My throat tightened and tears began to sting my eyes. ‘I love my children so much. I’m blessed and I couldn’t bear it if I couldn’t have them, so I want that for Jon and Justin.’
‘So their sexuality isn’t an issue for you?’
‘No! Not at all. I believe that love is love, no matter what your sexual preference. They have the right to be parents – dads – just like Andrew, or any other man.’ Andrew squeezed my hand and when I glanced at him I saw the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple as he blinked away tears. ‘If it was me in that situation, I would want someone to help. And if I can give just one thing that helps change someone else’s life, why shouldn’t I?’ I snatched a tissue from the box on the table.
The counsellor waited, nodded, offered a soft smile. ‘It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, truly selfless. I might need those tissues myself in a minute.’ She laughed.
Meredith then raised the topic of how our children might feel about watching me grow a baby, and how they might react when they realised that the baby wouldn’t be coming home. We also spoke about the impact other people’s comments might have on the children. Some people had already suggested to me that if Jaxon and Keira watched me give away a baby they might wonder if they could be given away just as easily, as if I might discard them or change my mind about keeping them. Was it a valid point? I thought it ludicrous, but I was reminded of a recent conversation with Jaxon and I wanted to share it with Meredith.
I had sat on his bed while he flipped through a Thomas the Tank Engine book.
‘Now, Jaxon, I want to talk to you about something,’ I said, easing the book out of his hands before closing it on my lap.
He wriggled his little bottom closer to me and looked up. ‘What?’
‘I want to talk about Jon and Justin’s baby.’
He rolled his eyes and slapped down his chubby hands, annoyed. ‘Again! Mum, I know. It’s not going to be our baby. It’s Jon and Justin’s baby. Not ours!’ His head lolled in exaggerated irritation, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I pulled back in surprise.
‘Oh, good, okay then. I’m sorry. You already know that.’ I kissed his forehead, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing tight. I tried to count how many times I must have had that conversation with Jaxon since meeting Jon and Justin. I smiled. Obviously quite a few.
After I’d told the story, Meredith laughed. ‘So he has some concept of what’s going on?’
‘Well, he seems to,’ I said proudly. ‘Obviously my daughter, at only two, is too young, but Jaxon seems to understand. I intend to be truthful and upfront with him. There’s no point in making up stories. This is how it is. I can grow a baby while Jon and Justin can’t. That’s why I’m helping them.’
Meredith wrote notes on her clipboard, acknowledging my comments with another nod. ‘And Andrew, how do you feel about all this? You must be an amazing husband – very supportive.’
Andrew adjusted his shoulders as if to ready himself before answering. ‘When Shannon first mentioned the idea of surrogacy to me, my first thought was her health. The more I learned about the boys though, the more comfortable I became. Obviously I don’t want anything bad to happen to my wife, so that’s my main concern, but I also think about not being a dad and imagine how that must feel for the boys. I’m grateful for my kids, and i
f we’ – he glanced at me and smiled – ‘can help them to experience fatherhood too, well then, that’s great.’
‘Okay, but Shannon, what about the risk to you and your body? Have you considered this at all?’ Meredith asked.
‘Of course, but I’ve had two good pregnancies and births. There is risk with any pregnancy, but in saying that, there’s risks in anything we do. I’m not going to wrap myself up in cotton wool or avoid experiences. I could step out onto the street tomorrow and get hit by a bus. We all take risks, every single day. I’m not going to let the thought of something bad happening hold me back. Life is to be lived,’ I said, picturing my hard-working mother.
Meredith jotted down copious notes as we spoke. She asked about our family life, how we got on as a couple, and how our extended family felt about the surrogacy. These were all things I could speak about positively, so by the end of the session I felt relief and even more clarity about the journey ahead. Meredith was very good at her job. She’d drawn out of Andrew and me so many thoughts. Expressing them aloud solidified my resolve to help the boys, and a sense of happiness washed over me.
At the end of our session, she invited Jon and Justin back into the room so we could discuss the surrogacy agreement together. ‘Now,’ she said, leaning back in her chair as she perused her notes. ‘Obviously you’re not the only people involved here. We have to think about the baby and its wellbeing.’
We all nodded in agreement, like four anxious students about to sit a test – another one.
‘Shannon, what would happen if Jon and Justin died suddenly – let’s just say in a car accident – while you were pregnant? Where would the baby go after the birth? Would you keep it?’
I shifted on the couch, wringing my hands in my lap as I looked at the boys. ‘Um, I would assume that firstly the child would be given to Jon’s or Justin’s parents, and if for some reason they couldn’t have the child, then Sereena, the egg donor, would be next. If all else failed, then Andrew and I would take the child and love it as our own.’
Labour of Love Page 4
