‘The best outcome for a successful pregnancy and birth experience requires at least 6 months preparation with Chinese medicine,’ said Kim. ‘We need to improve the circulation of your ch’i and blood, remove some dampness from your system, and strengthen the kidney and liver function. So weekly treatments would be best if you can manage it.’
‘Sounds good. I’ll do whatever I can to prepare myself for the transfer.’
As I walked down the stairs from Kim’s apartment I felt like I’d been wrapped in a warm blanket and cuddled for an hour. She had a gentle way about her that made me feel comfortable and cared for.
That night I texted Jon, letting him know that I had started acupuncture in the hope that it would improve my overall health and fertility. He insisted that he and Justin pay for the treatments. At the suggestion, a knot twisted in my stomach. It was a grey area. Could it be seen as a gift for a surrogate? Gifts weren’t allowed. Yes, the treatment was intended to help with fertility and hopefully result in a successful transfer, but my body was also benefiting on a weekly basis, improving my own health and wellbeing. So was the treatment for me or for the surrogacy? I screwed up my face as I stared at my phone, remembering the legal agreement I had just signed.
As a potential surrogate I felt a duty and responsibility to take my health into my own hands. I couldn’t offer to carry someone else’s baby if I wasn’t looking after myself and offering the best possible environment for a baby to grow. Guided by the knot in my tummy, I wrote back declining their offer to pay for the treatments. I explained that it was very important for me to be healthy for the task that lay ahead, not only the transfer but the pregnancy and beyond.
Jon replied, insisting that they should be paying for the acupuncture.
I laughed and put the phone down on the couch, looking at Andrew. ‘What do you think? Should the boys be paying for the acupuncture?’
Andrew turned his gaze from the television and shrugged. ‘That’s a tough one. Maybe they could pay half?’
I bit my bottom lip, my stubborn nature rearing its ugly head.
‘I think you should let them pay for the fertility side of things and, of course, any treatments once you’re pregnant,’ Andrew added, pointing the remote at the television.
On the surrogacy forums I frequented I’d read about some surrogates being out of pocket at the end of the journey, some even having to go into debt because the intended parents refused to pay for certain things like pregnancy vitamins and clothes, even medical expenses. I picked up my phone and texted back, suggesting that the boys could be responsible for the payments once Kim started to work on the fertility side of things, as that meant she was preparing my body for the transfer and pregnancy.
Jon agreed that that would be fine and thanked me for my dedication to the surrogacy. You are going above and beyond our expectations, Shannon. We couldn’t have asked for a better surrogate.
I read over the last sentence and smiled softly, touched.
If I was healthy, then there was a good chance the baby would be too. That’s all I wanted for them – a healthy baby. That’s all any parent truly wants.
10
Little disappointments, new friends and Beyoncé
One.
Out of all the embryos that were produced, only one was viable and was selected to be frozen. When I received the call from Jon, I realised just how fragile life could be. He seemed deflated and even shocked by the outcome. I think he thought that because Sereena was young and healthy they would have plenty of top-grade embryos to choose from. Having just one embryo meant we had only one shot at this. It raised the stakes, the pressure felt by us all.
‘Justin said that’s okay, that one embryo will be our baby. I hope he’s right.’ Jon sighed.
‘I thought you’d get more too, but at least you have one,’ I said, trying to look on the bright side. ‘If Justin’s correct, that’s your baby right there.’
‘Yeah, I hope so.’
‘So we get one chance at a transfer?’
Jon exhaled into the phone. ‘I don’t know. We might have to ask Sereena to do another egg collection so we have more chances. What if this one doesn’t take and then we’re left with nothing?’
‘That’s something you’ll have to discuss with Sereena,’ I said. ‘But it’s so fantastic you have one. There are people out there who have none. Look, it just means that in four months’ time I could be pregnant with your baby.’ I laughed.
‘Let’s hope so.’ Jon’s voice grew more animated.
‘Oh, I haven’t told you yet, but I’m coming to Sydney on the first of November – maybe we could catch up? My girlfriends and I are coming down to see Beyoncé at ANZ Stadium.’
‘Justin’s going to be so jealous.’
I couldn’t help but smile, picturing Justin fist-pumping the air to his favourite Beyoncé song. ‘Well, we could all catch up for dinner the night after the concert – that’ll be the Saturday night. You could meet my best friends. We’re staying at Rachel’s sister’s house in Maroubra.’
‘Sounds good. I’ll look at some places we could go for dinner around there and get back to you.’
‘I look forward to it. I’ll see you in a month or so.’
A week later Jon called to say that Sereena had generously offered to go through the procedure again in the hope that they would have some more embryos to freeze in case the first transfer wasn’t successful. It would take place in a couple of months, and the clinic had suggested raising the strength of the hormones Sereena was to inject to increase the chances further.
Jon added that he had invited his and Justin’s parents to our Sydney dinner in November, as they all wanted to meet me. The boys had only just revealed the news to their parents about the surrogacy arrangement. They had wanted to make sure that everything was concrete before they told their families.
‘Mum would’ve told the entire world if she’d known from the start,’ Jon laughed.
‘So . . . do they think I must be a crazy lady?’ I asked.
‘I don’t think so, but they do want to meet you,’ Jon said.
‘Yes, of course, and I want to meet them too. It should be a fun night.’
‘They’re all excited at the prospect of a grandchild. Mum’s beside herself.’
As I crossed the weeks off my calendar, I busied myself with family, keeping the house tidy and functional, doing MYOB for Andrew’s business at home while also trying to work on my novel. At the same time, I found myself wondering about other surrogates in Australia, at what stages in the journey they were and how they felt before and after the birth. I still had lingering questions about almost every aspect of the process, and yearned to talk to someone who had been through it. How did the logistics of surrogacy work: did hospitals have a system in place for surrogacy births, how did doctors and midwives approach the care of a surrogate and was it different, how was I to deal with my supply of breastmilk that would be produced and what were the requirements for the post-birth counselling? I searched the internet for sites where I could link up and chat with other surrogates and came across one called Fertility Connections. I registered myself as a surrogate seeking other surrogates for conversation, and received an email from the person overseeing the site. He informed me that the site’s adjudicator was a surrogate who actually lived in my town. He said she was lovely, very approachable, and that I should contact her for any advice about surrogacy.
That’s how I met Allie – a beautiful, caring woman with a heart of gold. What was more, she lived only five minutes’ drive from me! We arranged to meet for coffee in mid-October, and Allie asked if she could bring along a friend who was also looking to become a surrogate. Allie had given birth to her first surrogate baby – a healthy little boy named Joe – six months earlier, and was a wealth of knowledge when it came to all things surrogacy and IVF.
As I walked into the busy café, inhaling the smell of ground coffee, buttery muffins and bacon, I scanned the room and saw a woman wav
ing at me. I knew straight away that it was Allie; she looked confident and friendly.
‘Hello, take a seat,’ she said, smiling. ‘This is my friend Renee. Another surrogate in the making.’
Renee and I smiled at each other and said hello. She had a quiet, gentle manner.
‘It’s a small world, isn’t it? Who would’ve thought there were three potential surrogates running around our little old town?’ Allie laughed.
‘I know,’ I said, placing my hand on my chest. ‘I was so excited when I found out you lived in the same town as me. It was meant to be.’
Over coffee, tea and cake we discussed the ins and outs of surrogacy – what was expected of me and the boys. I told Allie that I was confused about all the things that would be summoned by my body once the baby was born, such as colostrum (the rich yellowish substance that would be the baby’s ‘first milk’), then the breastmilk and also the raging, surging hormones, possible tears. Of course I’d experienced it all before but I was unsure about when the colostrum would be needed and whether I should suppress my milk supply with drugs or ween myself gently as I wasn’t going to be breastfeeding the baby. Hormones was another concern. Some of the people I had told about my surrogacy plans had sown the seeds of doubts as to how I would cope: what if I couldn’t let the baby go? What if I developed depression or anxiety after the birth? What if I regretted what I’d done? The picture I had in my mind was one of surrogacy bliss: a healthy baby born by natural, drug-free labour, and happy new dads. I knew how I thought I’d act during that time, how I’d handle each situation. But would my heart betray my head? In spite of my intentions, would I feel a strong attachment to the baby I carried?
I sipped my tea, cleared my throat. ‘So when you gave birth, did you feel any attachment to the baby at all?’ I asked Allie.
‘No. None whatsoever,’ she said casually. ‘Of course, I care for him and love him, but I don’t want him. I was happy to go home and be with my own children, cuddle them and get some sleep. I didn’t feel strange or like I was missing anything.’
Renee and I listened intently. Never having met a surrogate before, I was fixated on every word that Allie offered. ‘So, if you don’t mind me asking, Allie . . . it all went as planned for you? No regrets?’ I asked.
‘No, no regrets. Of course it’s not all plain sailing. I had my ups and downs, but ultimately I did what I set out to do.’
‘But what about the breastmilk? What did you do there?’
‘Joe’s mother took hormones to bring on her milk so she could feed him, and I took drugs to dry up my milk, so within a couple of days it was gone.’
‘I had no idea an intending mother could do that. I’ve never heard of such a thing,’ I said, surprised.
‘Yes, it’s amazing, and so lovely that she could breastfeed her child. But what will you do, considering there are two dads in your equation?’ Allie asked.
I pondered the question. ‘I guess I’d express the colostrum when needed and then the milk for the baby as long as they were here, then they could move to formula once they go back to Sydney. That’s what I’d hope to do. They may as well use it if it’s there.’ I laughed, cupping my breasts.
‘Well, that’s right. It’d be a shame to waste it.’
I asked Renee about her situation.
‘I’m going to help my brother and his wife,’ she said. ‘His wife had a hysterectomy, which was devastating for them, but they created embryos before the operation. I have the transfer coming up pretty soon.’
‘I’m going again too,’ Allie said, checking her mobile for the time.
‘Going again? You mean another surrogacy?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, just one more, I’m getting old.’
‘Old?’
‘I’m thirty-six, but I’ve had three of my own kids as well. I’ve got just one more in me. I’ve found a gay male couple too, they’re in Queensland.’ Allie raised her eyebrows and grinned.
‘Wow, you’re amazing. That’s wonderful,’ I said, excited for her.
‘I should be going for the transfer in a couple of months. They have an egg donor – we’ve met and she’s just lovely.’
I stared at the woman sitting before me, taken aback by her selflessness. Only six months after one surrogacy, she was willing to go through another nine months of pregnancy and all the preparation beforehand.
‘Thank you both so much for seeing me today,’ I said warmly. ‘It’s been fantastic. You’ve answered a lot of my questions. I actually feel like I have clarity on some things.’
‘You’re welcome, Shannon,’ said Allie. ‘The hospital won’t know what’s hit them with three surrogates giving birth next year. I hope they’re ready.’
We all laughed, and I imagined the three of us with big, bulging bellies, aching backs and the classic ‘waddling’ walk, banging down the doors to the hospital.
‘We must do this again, especially when we’re all pregnant. We can catch up and see how each other is travelling,’ Allie said, pushing her cup and saucer to the side.
‘I’d like that,’ I agreed.
We said goodbye and I left the café feeling a strong connection to the two women I had just met. We were all on the brink of a life-changing journey. I was relieved to know that I had two women in my home town who were about to experience the same thing as me. It was truly comforting to know that I wasn’t alone.
‘Have another one. You won’t be able to have a drink in a few months’ time. You’ll be pregnant,’ Rach said, lining up the three tall glasses on the dining table.
We were staying at Rach’s sister’s place in Maroubra and preparing for our night out at the concert. Vodka and juice and Queen B’s music, we were three thirty-three-year-old women as giddy as schoolgirls. Of course, we were still stuck in the ‘Crazy in Love’ days, circa 2003, so I’d downloaded Beyoncé’s latest album from iTunes for us to learn the new songs.
Racho appeared from the bathroom holding a mascara wand in her hand, raising her voice over the music. ‘Does this look okay, or should I change?’ She nudged her hips to one side.
‘Nope, you look great. Wear that.’ I sipped my drink then coughed and stuck out my tongue, pretending to gag. ‘Argh, is that one shot or three?’
Rach flashed a cheeky smile. ‘Free pour.’
I enjoyed times like this with my best friends. We very rarely got together anymore, too busy with our own children to enjoy a girls’ night out. On a whim we had decided to try to secure tickets to Beyoncé, and were lucky enough to get them.
While I watched the girls brush their hair between sipping their drinks, I wondered what Jon and Justin were doing. They were so close, around an hour’s drive away. Tomorrow night was our dinner date, the big ‘meet and greet’ with my two best friends and their parents.
I had a ball of nervous energy in my gut at the thought of meeting their parents and, of course, seeing the boys again. It had been nearly two and a half months since Andrew and I last came to Sydney, and I was eager to see them and chat about our plans. Meeting their parents would add another dynamic to our relationship. I wanted their parents to be happy with their choice, to feel that I was the right person to carry their grandchild. I wanted them to know that I’d take great care of the baby inside me and that I wasn’t out to take advantage of their sons in any way. All those things I wanted to say to their faces but I knew I couldn’t, not to four strangers.
‘Bobbie’s here, she’ll give us a lift to Redfern station to catch a train,’ Rach said, distracting me from my thoughts. ‘Finish your drink.’ She elbowed my arm playfully.
I lifted my glass, sculling down the vodka and juice concoction, and we hurried out to the car.
The next morning I woke on a lumpy air mattress in the spare room, snuggled up next to Racho. My throat was dry and hoarse and an ache thumped in my skull.
‘Water . . .’ I croaked.
‘What’s wrong with your voice?’ Racho groaned as she rolled over, her eyes like slits.
‘I don’t know. Maybe I was yelling too much last night at the concert? I hope I don’t lose it.’
Memories of the night before flooded back. The train station packed with people heading to the concert. The homeless man declaring, ‘God bless you,’ as I thrust five dollars in his hand. The three of us running to the arena from the station, high heels clacking clumsily on the concrete. How we’d cheered and screamed at each song, clapping our hands and singing at the top of our lungs. I recalled the sight of Beyoncé’s daughter’s face on two huge screens at the front of the arena and the love and joy in Beyoncé’s voice when she spoke to the crowd of her child, Blue Ivy. That moment hit home, and a tear had rolled down my cheek at the thought of my own children and the baby I’d be carrying for the boys. For me there was nothing better than that, loving someone with a whole heart, wanting only the best for them, hoping they’d find their way in the world without harm, wishing only happiness and love to cross their path, but that if sadness or disappointment arose it gave them an opportunity for growth. I wanted all of that for my own two children, and I wanted that for the baby who was to grow inside me.
Unfortunately, as the day went on, my voice gradually vanished.
‘Oh no!’ I said in a raspy whisper as we got ready to head out for dinner. ‘I can’t believe this is happening, tonight of all nights.’
‘It’s okay, you’ll be fine. I can still make out what you’re saying . . . just,’ Racho said. ‘What I wanna know is – are you nervous?’ We’d been friends from the age of five and Racho knew me, sometimes better than I knew myself.
I took stock of the subtle flutter of butterflies in my stomach. The more I concentrated on them, the more they grew in intensity, a flurry of nerves moving up my chest. I breathed out, my heart pounding. ‘I am now. And I sound like I’ve just smoked a whole packet of cigarettes.’
Racho smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Shan, we’ll be there with you. They’re going to love you, and I’m excited to meet the boys.’
Labour of Love Page 8
