‘I hope that’s a good thing,’ Jon said with a smile.
‘Yep, it definitely was.’ Andrew grinned, reaching for a men’s magazine on the coffee table.
‘Well, your appointment with Dr Ryan is next, so we’ll just have to wait here until your name is called.’
‘So, I just go in by myself for this one?’
‘Yeah, I’d say so. It might get a bit personal, I’m not sure.’ Jon laughed, his cheeks flushing.
Personal. I figured the fertility specialist would ask about my previous pregnancies, my body and my cycle, details which I guess might seem personal to a man! I had never been involved with the IVF process, so I knew I had a lot to learn. I was hoping for a natural cycle so I could avoid any injections with hormones, but of course it was something to be discussed and negotiated.
Thirty minutes later I sat in the consulting room of Dr Katherine Ryan. She wore a white blazer over her floral dress and shiny black high heels. Her wavy blonde hair fell around her shoulders and she smiled often, her lips a deep shade of red.
‘Now, Shannon, it’s a wonderful thing you’re offering to do for Jon and Justin, but I have to ask you quite a few questions about your health. Is that okay?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I replied, sliding my hands between my knees.
‘Okay, now, do you smoke?’ Dr Ryan’s hands hovered over the keyboard.
‘No.’
‘Drink alcohol?’
‘Very rarely, usually just on special occasions, like a party or a wedding.’
‘Do you exercise regularly?’ she asked, her fingers tapping the keys.
‘Yes, up to four times a week, weight training.’
‘Great. Now, how would you describe your diet?’
‘I try to eat mainly paleo and organic, so I’d say . . . very healthy.’
‘Great,’ she said again. ‘You’re just so easy, we’re breezing through this. Now . . . how about your cycle?’ Dr Ryan turned from her computer and clasped her hands together.
‘Twenty-eight days most months. Pretty regular.’
I had no major issues with my health, and when she’d finished going through my medical history, Dr Ryan smiled. ‘Well, it seems I don’t have to caution you on smoking or drinking, you’re very healthy and you eat well, you’re not overweight and there are no issues to speak of . . . I’d say you’re a wonderful candidate to be a surrogate. The boys are very lucky.’
‘Thank you.’ I smiled back, relieved. It was another hurdle overcome, another step in the right direction.
‘I think given your health, two previous pregnancies and your regular monthly cycle, we can do a natural cycle with you for the embryo transfer, which basically means you won’t have to inject hormones to stimulate ovulation, we’ll just monitor your body’s own natural hormonal fluctuations with blood tests to pinpoint the exact time you go through ovulation. How does that sound?’
‘That’d be fantastic. I was hoping for the process to be as natural as possible.’
‘The only requirement is that you’ll have to insert progesterone pessaries leading up to the transfer, as you are probably aware that progesterone is produced by the body when you fall pregnant so having it in your system at the time of implantation should help to sustain the pregnancy, but the procedure will be explained by our nurses, who’ll be in contact with you via Skype since you’re . . .’ she shifted, reading my details on file, ‘on the mid north coast. That’s a nice part of the world.’
She told me that I would also need to have an independent assessment done by an obstetrician. His or her report, along with the counsellors’ recommendations and all the other paperwork, would go to the IVF clinic’s surrogacy ethics board, who would then decide if the surrogacy should take place.
‘Now, once the eggs have been collected from Sereena and the embryos produced and frozen, there is a quarantine period of four months to protect you against any disease, so we won’t be looking at doing the transfer for quite some time.’
‘That’s fine, I knew it wouldn’t be straight away, and it gives me time to prepare.’ I laughed, imagining myself stocking up on provisions as if I was going into hibernation. It did give me time – time to make my body as healthy as it possibly could be. Time to get my head around what I was about to experience.
‘Well, Shannon, I think we’re done here. It was a pleasure to meet you, and let’s hope I’ll see you sometime in the future for the transfer. Until then, you take care of yourself.’ Dr Ryan rose from her chair and shook my hand.
Jon pulled up outside the domestic departures terminal at Sydney airport, the indicator ticking as we opened our doors. Andrew grabbed our bag from the back seat as Jon and I stepped out of the car. I breathed in, the familiar smell of diesel fuel strong.
‘We did it,’ I said, raising my voice over the bustling background noise.
‘We did, and it was relatively easy,’ Jon said.
‘That’s because it was meant to be,’ I assured him.
Jon smiled, his voice dropping an octave. ‘Thank you so much for coming to Sydney, both you and Andrew. Honestly, we’ll never be able to repay you guys for all of this.’
Andrew stood beside me. ‘It’s our pleasure, mate.’ Jon shook his hand and turned to me.
‘Goodbye,’ I said, rising up onto tiptoes to hug him, then stepping back as a bleating taxi horn sounded behind us. Jon rushed around the rear of his car, directing a short wave at the taxi driver before smiling at me and slipping into his vehicle.
As we flew home, I relaxed into my seat, tilting my head towards the window. Dense green bushland unravelled further than my eyes could see. Below us were picturesque mountains moulded by centuries of evolution, valleys cutting into the earth, and the lush Australian bush pulsing, growing, breathing, sprouting – life stopping for no one.
It was remarkable that life just seemed to happen for some – a baby taking up in a woman’s belly while she was none the wiser. I marvelled at how different the creation of Jon and Justin’s baby would be: calculated, planned and assisted. So many people coming together to create a human being, not just the love of a man and woman but the love of so many people. A collective love. I was intrigued. Such an experience was foreign to me.
I moved closer to Andrew, excited about the possibilities that lay ahead. ‘We’re doing this, aren’t we?’ I said over the noise of the aircraft.
A smile spread on his lips, those familiar creases forming around his eyes. ‘Yep, we are.’
8
Risk . . . are you prepared?
A mother’s to-do list never seems to diminish. Remove one job – check! – and another is added with the finishing of a meal or the winding-down of the washing machine or the realisation that you’ve run out of food for day-care lunches the next day or when your child yells, ‘Mum, something bad has happened in my room.’ It never ends.
A few days after our trip to Sydney, my to-do list had exploded from the normal list of a mother with two children to that of a mother-of-two who was going to be a surrogate. I had to arrange an independent assessment with an obstetrician, organise a blood test, book a Pap test, start searching for a lawyer to go over the legalities of surrogacy, organise a Skype appointment with the nurses from the IVF clinic, and visit my GP for a referral to see Dr Wright, the obstetrician I wanted to look after me throughout the pregnancy. I was keen to get the assessment over and done with, so I booked an appointment with an independent obstetrician in August.
The obsetrician’s rooms were in a small regional town. Sitting in his office, dwarfed by the huge wooden desk, I glanced around. The room was crammed with bulky, musty books and on the walls hung diagrams of the female anatomy along with framed accolades and certificates. His desk was littered with stacks of files and paperwork, and dark wooden furniture had been stuffed into every corner.
His brows knotted as he read the letter I had presented to him from the IVF clinic requesting an assessment. ‘So . . . what do they want exactly? I’ve ne
ver dealt with this before,’ he asked, his forehead creasing again. ‘Um, I think they just want us to discuss my previous pregnancies and births and see if I’m fit to be a surrogate.’
‘So do I need to do an internal examination?’
‘No, I don’t think so. They didn’t mention anything about that.’
‘Right. Well, tell me what this is all about.’
Blushing, I struggled to find the words to explain as the doctor checked his watch. He must think I’m wasting his time, I thought. Battling on, I explained my situation and everything I’d been through to date. His facial expression didn’t change, and I shrank down in my chair, wanting the ground to open up and swallow me.
‘Why in the world would a girl like you want to do something like this?’ he said when I’d finished. ‘What about the risk to you? What about your family? You don’t even know these blokes, do you? Gay people can be very promiscuous, so where’s your guarantee that no diseases will be passed on?’
Straight people can be promiscuous too! Oh God, was it a mistake to come here? I swallowed and feigned composure. ‘The embryo will be quarantined for four months, that’s a requirement of the clinic. It’s tested for all diseases, so I should be fine.’
‘You know,’ he sat back, ‘I heard of a group of people doing this many years ago. I can’t quite remember how long ago, but it all went sour. The gay couple broke up and didn’t want the baby in the end.’ His face was expressionless as he spoke to me. ‘I hope you know these people well enough to know nothing will go wrong . . . but of course knowing them well doesn’t mean that nothing will go wrong. And what about compensation?’
My heart raced. This doctor had the power to derail everything. His assessment would be sent to the clinic; his recommendations could affect my future, and Jon and Justin’s future. It would be easy for him to write the words: I don’t agree with this surrogacy arrangement.
At the thought, I sat up straight. ‘It’s illegal in Australia to be compensated in any form for surrogacy. It’s altruistic, so I don’t get anything.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re taking a huge risk, believe me – I’ve seen everything, and the risk to you far outweighs the benefit to them. I think women who do this should be compensated.’
I squirmed in my seat as an uncomfortable feeling grew inside me. I wasn’t sure I could ever accept money for what I was offering to do, and the risk was mine to take. If I was willing to do it, then that shouldn’t be anyone else’s concern, only mine and my family’s.
‘Anyway, you had good births previously? How many? Natural?’
I answered his questions as quickly as I could. I wanted to be outside where I could breathe; all of a sudden his office was too hot, stuffy.
As he wrote his report on a sheet of paper, I sat back and scanned his face, searched his eyes. What had he seen in all his years of practising as an obstetrician? How many women had he sewn up or performed surgery on post-birth when things went wrong? How many women had suffered serious complications that threatened their lives? How many had died from something that was supposed to be natural? I could understand his concern, and a small part of me warmed to this doctor for his worry. But my perspective was the complete opposite. The surrogacy seemed so right, I felt the goodness of it in my bones. Naturally, I hoped for the best outcome for Jon and Justin, the best for the baby, and the best for me and my body.
‘Right.’ He finished writing the last sentence. ‘I’ll get this typed up and faxed off to the clinic in Sydney and you can be on your way. I do hope it all goes well for you, but I hope you understand the risks involved for yourself. You might think that what you’re doing is a wonderful thing, but at the end of the day it could mean life and death, and I’m not just talking about the baby.’
I gathered my handbag off the floor and stood to leave the room. ‘Thank you. I do understand what you’re saying, but I choose not to focus on the risk, rather on a positive outcome.’
‘Right then. Well, all the best,’ he said, closing the file on his desk.
I paid and left the clinic, groping around in my bag for my sunglasses as I squinted in the bright sunlight outside. A staggering sense of relief pushed through me as I slid into my car. I’d been grilled and questioned, looked up and down, and I was free to keep going. I had noted his valid comments about the risk: it was another person’s perception juxtaposed to my own. As long as the recommendations in his letter supported my ability to be a surrogate, everything would be fine.
The end of the month was drawing near. Another trip to Sydney had been arranged so we could see Meredith again and go over the psych test results. She had also emailed us our surrogacy plan. She instructed us to first fill it in as couples, and then liaise with each other on a final plan, which I typed up on my computer at home while I ran through it with Jon and Justin over the phone. The plan was very comprehensive, outlining points such as the education and religion of the child, and the parenting style the boys would adopt. It delved into details such as how much contact we’d have with each other after the birth and what type of contact it would be – via phone, Skype, texting, or email, for example. It also addressed how much money Andrew and I could spend on presents for the baby and how often we could see the baby, and even whether we could take photos of the baby during our visits and post them on social media.
All bases had been covered, raising potential issues we hadn’t even thought of like photographs, gifts and the type of contact each party expected post-birth. As we narrowed down the answers over the phone it became clear that we were very flexible with each other’s ideas for the future, agreeing on permission being sought by Andrew and me before a picture was uploaded onto social media, however we could take unlimited photographs of the baby on our visits and a limit of one hundred dollars for gifts spent on the child at any one time. Of course the way the child was raised, schooled and the religious beliefs were up to Jon and Justin, so I stated that in the plan. As for contact I acknowledged in the plan that one text per week or fortnight would suffice and meet our expectations and the boys conceded with a chuckle, I could expect more if I requested so.
The second trip to Sydney was a whirlwind, flying down in the morning with a homebound flight arranged for the same afternoon. On our arrival, Andrew and I once again made our way to Meredith’s house in a taxi, meeting the boys out the front.
‘Are you ready for your psych test results?’ Justin laughed as he kissed my cheek. ‘I bet I’ll be branded as crazy.’
Jon smirked. ‘I’ve done it before, for work, so I know I’ll be fine.’
‘Just because you weren’t crazy back then doesn’t mean you’re not crazy now.’ Justin slapped Jon on the shoulder.
I smiled as I followed the boys up the path, Andrew behind me. It was true, people change, and the way I felt now wasn’t necessarily the way I’d feel once the baby was born, but it was my hope I’d still feel the same.
This time we would each meet Meredith individually to discuss the results of our psych tests along with a group meeting about our surrogacy plan. I went first, Andrew, Jon and Justin waiting in another room. Meredith settled into a chair, draping her long skirt over her legs as she crossed them. She flicked through paperwork, reading over notes. My gaze wandered, studying the floor-to-ceiling wall of books.
She cleared her throat to get my attention. ‘Now, Shannon, I have your personality assessment here so I’ll get straight to it. The results are calculated by the answers you gave in the psych test and it tells me that you have a tendency to portray yourself as being relatively free from the common shortcomings to which most individuals will admit. It appears you’re reluctant to recognise faults or problems in yourself.’
I swallowed and sank back into the couch. ‘Oh.’
‘But in saying that, there’s no indication that you’re attempting to present an overtly false impression of yourself, and it’s more likely that this is your covert manner of coping in life. This actually fits with many other pre
-surrogacy assessments which I’ve done. However, you have a tendency to be impulsive, and to partake in antisocial and sensation-seeking behaviour.’
She could tell all that about me from some questions? I was reminded of the small plane I had jumped from while skydiving just eight months earlier. Was that sensation-seeking behaviour?
‘Right.’ I sighed, taking in the ornate cornice bordering the white ceiling.
‘Sensation-seeking behaviour is not uncommon in women offering to be surrogates, in that the offer to do so is outside the usual norms of behaviour.’
Another silence fell between us, and I felt the urge to explain myself. ‘I guess my philosophy is that the more you put positive thoughts out into the world the more positive things come back to you, and the same goes for negative. It’s the law of attraction – like is drawn to like. I don’t dwell on the negative in me and try not to in regards to others . . . Sometimes that’s not an easy thing to maintain, but I do feel that focusing on negative things is a waste of time and energy, so I like to focus on the good. I don’t do it one hundred per cent of the time, that’s impossible, but all I can do is try.’
‘Yes, and there’s nothing wrong with that at all. From your results I think that you’re a confident and optimistic person who approaches life with a clear sense of purpose and distinct convictions, and these characteristics are valuable in that they will allow you to be resilient and adaptive in the face of most stressors. I think most people would see you as a warm, quiet individual who is fairly eager to please. Does that sound right?’
I laughed and let my shoulders relax. ‘Yes, that does sound about right. I want to be happy and I want everyone around me to be happy too.’
‘There’s no indications of concern in your report and I’d say you’re best characterised as open, genuine and conforming.’
I bunched my lips to one side, nodding my head. ‘Conforming? Okay.’
‘On another note, I have to thank you for the email with your plan attached. In all the surrogacies I’ve dealt with over the years, yours was by far the best and most detailed plan I’ve received, so well done.’
Labour of Love Page 6
