Designer Baby

by Aaron Elias Brunsdon

  I receive a report later that night. Porn’s uterine lining is 8.2 millimetres thick and egg transplant is confirmed for 3 May.

  Mission accomplished, I think.

  A chauffeur-driven car picks me up to take me to my cousin’s apartment in the northwestern suburb of London, Hendon. As sick as Raphael is, he booked a car with one of his Middle Eastern driver friends, Ali. As we drive through the neighbouring suburb of Golders Green, a Jewish area with many kosher restaurants, I feel a sudden wave of tiredness slowly washing over my body. I am aching from running on nervous emotions and hardly any sleep on the flight. I try to relax but I can’t. Maybe I won’t be able to calm down until tomorrow, after I hear from the clinic saying how many workable eggs we have. Ideally, there will be some extras. They could freeze the spares in case we decide to have another.

  Get real, Jayson will never allow it, I say to myself. Listen to me, thinking of a second child already!

  I am glad and sad to see my cousin Raphael. He looks frail, sick and skinny, like a prisoner of war. My heart aches. I feel like crying but I hold myself together. I remain positive by trying to cheer him up.

  “I am here, cuz, your ring leader.” Something he called me when we were kids.

  We are close, like brothers. He always followed my lead, which got him into some serious trouble. He has led an interesting life himself – absconded from Singapore just before national service, studied at a yeshiva, became a rabbi, got matchmade and married, had five kids, and years later left his wife to come out of the closet. His story and transformation from God to gay sent shockwaves through the entire Sephardic Jewish community in London and Singapore. Why he didn’t give his mother time to “save face” was the other subject the community brooded and gossiped about for months.

  Raphael manages a weak smile and hugs me tight, despite his fragility. I almost lost him in those ten days in an induced coma. He nearly perished. I would have been lost without him. We lie down restlessly in a tight embrace. I hear whispers of a cry, the first time I have heard the grown man give way to grief. There is nothing to say except that we are happy to see each other, and happier still that he is alive.

  It is ICSI day today! It sounds complicated but today the clinic’s laboratory will perform a process on the egg called intracytoplasmic sperm injection. This is when Jayson’s sperm is injected into Bec’s eggs to fertilise them.

  Out of the eleven eggs extracted, we are told, ten are able to be fertilised.

  The results come back. Six of the ten fertilised eggs have become one-cell embryos. Four didn’t make it, for no apparent reason.

  “You have six zygotes, Mr Elias,” the nurse tells me on the phone when I ring.

  Zygotes? Sounds like an alien invasion, a space odyssey of some kind.

  “I had rather you not be so formal with me, and please use terms like eggs and embryos so I can understand.”

  “You have six embryos, Mr Elias,” she rephrases.

  “Zygotes mean embryos?” I ask.

  “No, it’s six workable eggs that will cultivate into embryos in the next five days. Day two, we want them to become a two-cell embryo. Day three, they are eight-cell embryos and day four, the embryos go into morula stage.”

  “Morula? English please?”

  “Morula is the last stage of an embryo’s development. Because on day five, the embryo becomes a blastocyst, the stage before it hatches and allows implantation into Porn’s uterus,” she explains.

  “Ah, Bob’s my uncle, better hope they all bloody hatch.”

  “You’re killing me,” I moan at the next day’s report. I am about to have a fit and my stress levels have increased dramatically. Our embryos need to be at least eight cells big by this stage but they are saying only one of them is there. The others are late bloomers! Growing much slower than normal. They grade our embryos with scores of 1 to 4, 1 being Excellent, 2 Good, 3 Fair and 4 is Poor. You don’t want 4s; in Chinese, the number signifies death.

  “Presently only one of our eggs is in grade two, the others are just fair and poor!” I cry to Jayson on the phone. “Why is this happening?” I am a mess about them, I can’t help it.

  “Relax, be positive, they may shoot up in the next few days. Give them a chance, would you please?” he consoles me.

  How can I relax? My embryos have had a setback. They don’t want to grow.

  “Why are these embryos not growing faster and what the hell is wrong with them?” I ask.

  Could it be the motility of the sperm? I think, but say differently to Jayson.

  “Could it be because Rebecca is a vegan and her regimented diet of tofu and boiled goo are making the eggs slower to react? Even Auntie Esther thinks eggs need fat and that only necessary nutrients like a big slab of red meat can fatten tissues.”

  “How ridiculous are you both!” Jayson exclaims. “Would you just chill for a minute?”

  Maybe we will get better results in a day or two.

  “I will be praying twice as hard tonight and you go to the church to light a candle,” I say to Jayson. Those freaking eggs better grow overnight!

  “Houston, we have a problem.” It’s implantation day and we only have three embryos ready. Only one remained at ‘good’ and the other two are fair for transfer. “Only bloody fair,” I sigh, venting frustrations on Raphael who is too sick to comment.

  One embryo has only just started to compact to grade 3, the second is in the early stages of grade 3, not all that exciting either. The third, our winner, has expanded to a blastocyst grade BB, the best for orbiting. The remaining embryos are premature and cannot be considered for implantation or freezing for later use. Which means we only have one go at impregnating Porn.

  “What are our odds for pregnancy?” I email Kay.

  “Your chances increase if we deposit all three embryos, this means you have a fifty–fifty chance. But if it doesn’t happen this time round, we can start almost immediately again. How would you guys like to proceed?” she responds.

  If it doesn’t work? Are you kidding me? Don’t put that out there. It has to work. I have spent three weeks in Bangkok and I have no intention of doing this all over again. In fact, REPEAT ISN’T AN OPTION, I scream out loud to myself, stressed to the point of no return while I think of what to say to her in my email.

  “What does this mean?” I email to ask further.

  “Worst case scenario all three embryos took, you could have more than three babies – or more if the eggs split.”

  Although this increases our chances, it also places us at risk, the risk of having…an army of babies? I don’t want to consider the prospect.

  “One baby is ideal for us, it’s all we want. Twins we could possibly cope with, though it would mean a lot of changes. But triplets or more, it’s a recipe for disaster, it’s impossible for a couple like us to manage,” I tell Raphael.

  I remembered the time when Kay told us about the German couple she represented. Without much choice, they had opted to implant all three embryos to increase their chances. Unfortunately, two of the eggs split, resulting in a pregnancy of quintuplets for their surrogate. The couple when told became alarmed, obviously not knowing what to do. They consulted with Dr Pisit and after serious consideration of their ability to cope, and to reduce the surrogate’s risk associated with the pregnancy, miscarriage and still births, the couple decided to do a reduction.

  Now, don’t let me start on the subject of reduction. Selective reduction, also known as multi-foetal pregnancy reduction, reduces pregnancy of three or more to a lesser of two. Around eight to twelve weeks of the pregnancy, the doctor injects a potassium chloride solution into the expecting mother’s uterus. With the aid of ultrasound technology, they select the foetuses to be terminated and then inject the solution to stop the foetus’s tiny little heart. So small is the foetus or foetuses, her body readily absorbs it. It’s a horrible thought, don’t you think? I am sure it would have been crushing for any mother to go through this. I have nightmares for days,
praying that I would never have to make such a decision. Damn, what would I do? I know it’s not really a formed child yet, but the thought of it felt like “manslaughter” in my Jewish mind. Call it lame but – the termination of a foetus when such a blessing as multiple pregnancy had been bestowed upon me, especially when I have tried to conceive against all odds, and then to inject the poisonous liquid into the foetus – heaven forbid my participation.

  Kay told me one of the hardest things she has had to do was to give the doctor the go-ahead after the decision was made by the parents.

  “I went to the Buddhist temple every day for a whole week. I asked Buddha for forgiveness for my doings. Too painful for me, I do not like to do such thing, big sin to kill.” She squirmed at the idea.

  “Oh no, let’s pray we don’t ever come to that situation,” I replied.

  Jayson and I have to discuss this embryo transfer. Dr Pisit is waiting for our decision on whether or not to implant all three.

  “We have no time to fart-ass around. No dilly-dallying,” I say. “What is it then?”

  “Do it. We’ve got one chance, so make it or break it,” Jayson replies.

  We have come this far and our decision is based on increasing our chances. We consider the fact that the embryos aren’t exactly of excellent grade. It’s unlikely all three will take, but not so unlikely that two might.

  “So be it! If it is twins, we will work out what to do later.”

  “We may have to move from our small city apartment and relocate to the suburbs. We will find a full-time nanny to come live with us,” Jayson says.

  We have decided. We email Dr Pisit and Kay immediately.

  “Yes, transfer all three, please.”

  What the hell are we doing? I question myself after pressing the send button.

  That afternoon, Dr Pisit transfers the three embryos into Porn’s uterus. The other three, still in stage one or two, have to be discarded.

  “Let’s hope! We have one chance only.” There goes our future if we want more babies with the same genetic composition.

  “We won’t have room to consider another baby, especially if all three embryos take,” says Jayson.

  It is going to be a nervous wait for the next ten days until 13 May, when we will discover whether or not Porn is pregnant and how many eggs have taken.

  We do not want to repeat the process if all three don’t take.

  20

  Results

  It is the longest ten days of our lives. I am home in Sydney so I can be with Jayson when the news of our pregnancy breaks. It is hard to have left Raphael behind in London, knowing he still needs me there for his recovery.

  Jayson and I spoke daily about our fears and concerns when I was in London. In Sydney, he went almost daily to church to light a candle. Family and friends prayed for us and everyone sent good vibes for a successful single conception. Our chances sat somewhere in the middle, or fifty–fifty I would say, so we discussed Plan B: what to do if Porn didn’t conceive.

  “We will repeat the process. Maybe this time, explore the egg donor program at All IVF.”

  It is not because we don’t want Rebecca in the mix anymore; we feel it would be wrong of us to ask her to go through the whole process again. There is a bank of eggs, both white and Asian, at the clinic. Maybe this is the most reasonable option.

  The number thirteen has never resonated well with us, especially not after Jayson was diagnosed with testicular cancer on Friday 13 June six years earlier. Our business had entered into administration three years ago, on the thirteenth. The number didn’t seem to exist much in Thailand.

  My extreme superstitious trait has led me to believe that thirteen is the Omen number and when an important day falls on thirteen, I do not take it lightly.

  The All IVF clinic is on floor 12A. On our first visit there, we realised that the thirteenth floor did not exist. The building had intentionally omitted the floor, substituting it with 12A. It is a good sign for us. It rids the clinic of our ominous number and whatever negative spell it might have cast on us.

  So when Kay tells us that we will find out Porn’s results on 13 May, it sends shivers up my spine. How would we get out of this one?

  I forgot to mention that I am an expert in numerology. When the numbers don’t work for me, I do a report and challenge them. This allows me to weigh the odds and avoid the number I fear.

  “Does this make sense or have I lost you?” I say when I tell Jayson, who thinks I am crazy with my hocus pocus, occult ways of thinking.

  “If you sum up the entire date, thirteen, zero, five, two, zero, one, and four, we get twenty-five. The sum of two and five is seven, which is now a single number. I will study what seven means on that day and how it will reflect on us as an overall.”

  In numerology, seven is a number of spiritual perfection. In Judaism, God created the world and rested on the seventh day, and it is the number that appears most often in the Torah. In Buddhism, Thailand’s main religion, Buddha is said to have walked seven steps at birth. I am putting my money on number seven, banking on the idea that it organises creation and it indicates spiritual achievement. It is a birth number.

  I feel more positive now. Call me silly, superstitious or whatever you want, but my evaluation made some sense. Perhaps it offered a way to look at things in a different light. “Will we have a positive pregnancy?” I put out positive energy into the universe.

  “You are mad as a cut snake.” Jayson laughs at me when I tell him.

  The night before results are due, I struggle to sleep, my stomach churning from the excitement mingled with fear at the thought of Porn not conceiving. I told friends the results were going to be later in the week, preparing myself for the worst case scenario. This would give us enough time to deal with the news personally and also to work out Plan B.

  Upon awakening, I receive an email from Scott and Tim from Sydney, whom I met in Thailand at the All IVF clinic.

  “We are pregnant, both our surrogates are,” they announce. I think this is a good sign. Me and signs, a never-ending saga which appears throughout the day.

  A second good sign comes when Jayson, during his morning coffee at home, finds a daddy-long-legs spider climbing up his arm.

  “What does this mean?” he asks on that eventful morning, knowing how in tune I am spiritually to provide a relevant explanation.

  “Spiders, my mum always says, are a good luck omen. Spiders multiply in abundance. Remember Charlotte’s Web and how, at the end, she lays plentiful eggs in the barn, full of baby spiders later,” I say, remembering from the text I studied at high school.

  All morning I eat nothing, nor can I do anything but worry. “Worry” is my best friend and a common trait of mine is to stop eating when under duress.

  Kay emails me a pic of Porn.

  “We are both at hospital, waiting to do blood tests. Good luck.”

  I study the picture carefully. I am sure God has a plan worked out for us, I say to myself. This must happen, please. We are meant to be parents, I beg.

  “I won’t let you down, I promise,” I say to it. “Please, please let her be pregnant.” In my heart the mantra chimes.

  I want to believe she is pregnant but part of me remains sceptical. The odds are moderate but it is a clash between nature and us. I choose to play down my expectations for the moment.

  “I will email you results in two hours’ time, all good here.” It is about 1pm now in Sydney, 10am Thailand time. The clinic has just opened for business. Kay says she will let us know at 3pm AEDT, to be exact.

  About 2pm, Scott messages on Facebook saying he received the news late last evening, around 9.30pm Aussie time.

  “Expect delays, there may be a long time to wait before you get results.”

  There is no way, already on edge and my nerves raw, I am waiting till that late. I need a Valium to calm me down! With suspense building, I google All IVF’s website and read success stories of clinic’s patients. Each and every story I re
ad is positive. Intended parents travelled from all over the world, and Dr Pisit helped them become parents. The success rate is high and it can’t differ for us.

  The time goes slowly. It’s nearing 3pm and we still wait in anticipation.

  “No news from Kay. Why the wait?” I share my frustration with Ellie, who works with us in the office. “Kay’s track record with time is always great.”

  I assume it is unpromising and heartbreaking news, God forbid.

  It is 4pm and there is no news. Jayson is on edge and I feel like I am about to have a baby myself.

  “What the heck, let’s have a drink.” He sends Ellie to the bottle shop to get some wine.

  “Either way, there will be tears,” Jayson teases me. “Whether good news or bad, you will surely cry. Let’s hope for tears of joy.”

  Somehow, an air of tension fills the room. No one sits still. Neither Ellie, Jayson nor I. A glass of wine makes no difference. We are restless, and pace with anxiety.

  “I will ring Kay if I don’t hear from her by five pm.” I sit by the computer and press the send and receive button every five seconds. Like a madman! I won’t leave my desk or go downstairs for a cigarette in case the email comes. I want to be the first to break the news to the office.

  Finally, at 4.45pm, the much anticipated email from Kay arrives. The first thing I see is the heading in capital letters: “GOOD NEWS”.

  The message in the email says, “You have a positive pregnancy. Porn is pregnant.”

  I cry instantly. I scream out so loudly the entire floor can hear me, “She is pregnant! She is pregnant!”

  Jayson and I are jumping up and down like crazy men. It is like we have won the lottery. We are both crying in happiness and relief as well.

  “Oh my God, we are pregnant. Can’t believe it.”

  Ellie, witnessing the outburst, is touched deeply. It is an unforgettable moment. She catches the moment on her iPhone.