Luckily, we still arrived at the hospital in plenty of time. The staff working that night were great and well-prepared for a situation with a surrogate and two dads. You might think a birth is a birth, but that’s not true. Every little thing counts and sometimes it’s the littlest things that make the biggest impact. For example, there was a whiteboard in our room where the nurses wrote:
SURROGATE—OUR SURROGATE’S NAME DADDY—MY PARTNER’S NAME PAPA—KEVIN
Having this information in plain sight for everyone to see helped ensure the staff knew the appropriate language to use when coming into the room. That way a nurse didn’t come in and ask our surrogate questions like “So, are you excited to be a mother?” There was no confusion on who the actual parents were and this made all the difference in the world.
Our hospital experience was amazing and when our daughter, Hana, was finally born, we were lucky enough to cut the cord. Then the baby was whisked away for cleaning and when the nurse brought her back, she handed our daughter to us first. Again, as a gay couple, it was nice to be recognized as the parents. We all spent the night in the hospital together where the staff had set up a room with three beds and a crib. The next morning, we left for home to begin the biggest chapter of our lives.
Hana was an incredibly contented baby. She slept through the night from three months on (I had created a spreadsheet of her eat-sleep-poop routine and posted it all over the house) and we seemed to be taking everything in stride. I worked a nine-to-five job while my partner stayed home tending to childcare. We’re still in touch with our surrogate and have a great relationship with her. She comes to birthday parties, sends Christmas cards and sometimes goes on day trips with us.
One of the difficult parts about being a gay parent is that we constantly have to explain ourselves. Sometimes people will ask questions like “Whose is she?” as they try to find out who the biological father is—in their eyes, the “real” father. This is not an issue of being “his or his.” We are both her parents. Language can have negative implications on children without us even knowing, so it’s important to be mindful of the words we choose to say.
Our daughter started to have a lot of questions about our family when she was in second and third grade. Some of the kids at school asked why she didn’t have a mom and a dad. We explained to her that she is very lucky, because she has two dads when many people don’t. She also has an auntie (our surrogate), who helped carry her for her Daddy and Papa. She understands it and the other kids get it too when it’s explained to them in an age-appropriate way. Kids are much smarter than many people give them credit for. When we chose an egg donor, we also checked a box that gives Hana the ability to contact her when she turns eighteen, if she chooses to do so. That way, if other complex questions surface later on down the road, she has a way of getting more detailed answers.
A few years after Hana was born, the relationship between my partner and I started to unravel. We were arguing, fighting and shouting all the time. We were no longer on the same page. Life was veering off track and alcohol was playing a lead role. After two more painful years, I decided the relationship was no longer salvageable. With a heavy heart, I moved out of that once-lovely family home and returned to the city, scratching my head and thinking, “Now what?”
Within a few months, Hana and I were back in the Castro District, living in a modest rented flat. I was now learning how to juggle the demands of being a single, working gay dad while also starting up a new real estate development venture in the worst recession of our times. Gone were the cars, the showcase house, the full-time nanny and the post-boom trappings. Hana’s diabetes made the juggle even more challenging, as did negotiating an exit from my prior business partnership, which left me emotionally and financially drained. And somewhere in all of this mess was the realization that I was now a forty-year-old single working gay dad without a road map.
Fortunately, moving back to San Francisco was one of the better—if not the best—decisions I made. Living in the Castro District again reminded me that this community has always been full of trailblazers, constantly forging ahead into new, uncharted territories for a greater cause. Everyone seems to be on a mission, leading the way by example. And as I have discovered, I am not alone. Strollers and children are now a common, growing and important evolutionary thread in our gay community. However, it struck me that meeting other gay dads by happenstance wasn’t going to produce many remarkable or reliable results.
In the spring of 2009, I created a social networking group called “Castro Dads.” Within weeks, nearly a hundred dads had signed up. While online networking has its advantages, my goal was to create real community connections and relationships offline. So with the support of our openly gay District Supervisor Bevan Dufty and his daughter, Sidney, we reinvigorated an old tradition of a weekly drop-in gay dads dinner.
After a few short weeks, gay dads and their kids packed the restaurant, sharing stories, advice and support for each other. When Hana came up to me smiling at one of the dinners and said her new friend also had two gay, separated dads just like her, I could finally see my road map. As all the gay dads got to know each other and the kids too, I knew we were on our way to creating a connected and visible gay dads community. Watching this happen and helping nurture it along gives me the sort of joy that no working perk could ever do.
Somewhere between that bold, youthful declaration of having a soccer field full of kids and the reality of life kicking in, I have happily shed the fantasy of double-digit children and am instead raising one beautiful daughter, who turns six in January. Because I always saw myself having kids while also growing up cognizant of my sexual interest in men, I consider myself to be extremely lucky. I’m an openly gay man who had a child without denying my authentic sexual identity.
PART 4
ASSISTED REPRODUCTION
When lesbian couples decide to have children, it is very common for one person in the relationship to carry the baby. There are a few different ways that can be achieved:
1.A doctor can transfer a donor’s sperm into a woman’s uterus through a process called intrauterine insemination (IUI) so that natural fertilization can take place.
2.A woman can be inseminated through intracervical insemination (ICI), which is similar to IUI, except the sperm is placed near the cervix, rather than into the uterus. The cost of this procedure is typically much lower than IUI, since the sperm is placed farther away from the fallopian tubes.
3.A woman can be impregnated through a process known as in vitro fertilization (IVF), where the egg is fertilized prior to it being transferred into her uterus.
4.A woman can use the good ole do-it-yourself method. This doesn’t mean that actual intercourse needs to happen, but there is always the “phone a friend” option where a male can help a female get pregnant without going to a doctor. Use your imagination.
There are many benefits that come with choosing assisted reproduction. Women in same-sex relationships can go through the experience of being pregnant together and support each other along the way. As a couple, they can participate in various things together including doctor visits, Lamaze classes and even birth.
If you choose to carry the baby, you will have full control when it comes to prenatal care. You can decide how many doctor visits you go to, how much exercise you get and whether or not to use prenatal vitamins and/or eat healthy organic foods. You can also refrain from using substances such as alcohol, drugs and tobacco that have been linked to birth defects.
Assisted reproduction gives you the benefit of being involved in your child’s life from the moment he or she is conceived. You’ll have the opportunity to see the baby’s sonogram and even listen to your child’s first heartbeat. If you are both in the same room during the actual delivery, your partner or spouse can support you by holding your hand, helping you with your breathing and comforting you along the way.
If you choose to move forward with assisted reproduction, you’ll need to decide wheth
er you want to use a known donor (for example, an acquaintance or friend) or an unknown donor. There are pros and cons in both scenarios.
When the donor is known, your child can develop a relationship with the donor as he or she grows up. Your child will have a better understanding of where he or she came from and why he or she might have certain characteristics and traits. However, there is a greater risk that the donor may later try to claim parental rights. There may even be a possibility that you or your partner could lose custody. When using a known donor, it is recommended that you consult with an attorney and have a Known Donor Agreement signed. Keep in mind that a Known Donor Agreement will not necessarily terminate the donor’s rights, even if it says so. That’s why consulting an attorney beforehand is crucial, especially since the laws vary by state.
If you choose an unknown donor through a sperm bank, you’ll have access to the donor’s comprehensive medical history and the ability to control your child’s exposure to problematic genes. The specimens can also be quarantined and tested for sexually transmitted diseases. This can reduce the risk of passing anything on to you or your child. However, when using a sperm bank, the costs can add up depending on what services you select. Many insurance companies will not cover alternative insemination unless there is a diagnosis of “infertility” or if you have tried to inseminate without success for a period of time. Make sure you ask your health insurance company how they define infertility, what treatments are covered and if their policy covers insemination for same-sex couples.
One thing to keep in mind is that there is no guarantee that one of you will become pregnant after going through assisted reproduction treatments. You could wind up trying multiple times, which can become expensive. Costs can add up quickly. Also, cryobanks are not in every city, so you may not have a local clinic near you. This can make things a bit difficult when you have to arrange multiple doctor visits.
In this section of the book, you’ll learn how a few women who were in same-sex relationships chose to get pregnant through assisted reproduction. Some of the couples enlisted their male friends to help them. They explain how the eggs were fertilized at home without having sex and how many times their male friends actually had to make donations. Their experiences are completely different from those who sought the help of fertility clinics.
Along the way, you’ll hear how some women dealt with various unexpected occurrences, like the the devastation of having a miscarriage and being treated differently at the hospital during birth.
Elaine Boyd and Cathy Smith
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
It was an ordinary Tuesday night, except we were sitting around a dining table with friends, laughing our asses off over a game of Pictionary. Oh…and I was waiting for a sperm delivery from our friend Dave.
Our game was full-tilt when I saw the clock and realized Dave was going to knock at the door any minute, delivery in hand. Even the most self-assured man in the world most likely didn’t want to face the knowing smiles of four women at such a moment. We needed to wrap our game up quickly. Our friends could not get enough of the scene. “Oh darn it, now where did I leave my keys? It will take at least twenty minutes to find them! Wait, wait…How about if we answer the door and tell him it’s the wrong house?”
It wasn’t your everyday scenario.
How did we get here? It starts with my partner, now spouse, Cathy. She resisted the idea at first. We were reading quietly in bed one evening, six months into our relationship, when I casually mentioned I’d always wanted a kid. Cathy looked surprised, fixed her eyes on my face and asked if I was serious—I was. Her reaction suggested that Cathy and I were miles apart on that issue—we were.
Given that response, I was surprised when Cathy e-mailed me several website links on “pregnancy after thirty-five” the next day. Maybe she could warm up to this idea?
Cathy and I had the beginnings of a good relationship. She is smart, compassionate, sane, super-cute and very considerate. She’s also quiet; I’m chatty. We shared a love of international travel and other cultures and had similar tastes and values in general. We enjoyed each other’s company, but are two very independent people and had no plans of moving in together. In any case, our future together looked promising.
I’m from a big family and always wanted a kid. On my thirty-ninth birthday, a friend from Los Angeles called and asked, “Elaine, are you still thinking of having a child?” I said yes and she said, “What are you waiting for? You are thirty-nine years old!”
Those old-worlders don’t mince words and those were the words that prompted me to float the idea with Cathy. And to eventually talk to Dave.
“Do you want to have a kid together?” That’s a question I’ve gotten twice over the years, from two different male friends. Both of the lovely gentlemen who asked me about it were smart and handsome. Both were also blonde and fair-skinned like me, a deal-breaker. Growing up in sunny San Diego, a bit of skin-saving melanin is a good thing.
The biological father of my child had to be someone who didn’t pink up like a British tourist after ten minutes of sun. I needed a touch of swarthy. My old buddy Dave leapt to mind. Yes, Dave might be a good one to ask. Smart and funny? Check! Relaxed and good-natured? Check! Winning smile and fun to hang out with? Check and check. Also, I knew that if anything ever went sideways between us, we’d sit down and talk like civilized people, without involving legal dogs.
I called Dave after my thirty-ninth birthday lecture and asked him. We talked about what the situation might look like. We decided for Dave not to have any custody during childhood, but he could see this kid whenever he liked. We eventually had a legal agreement drawn up that essentially said he couldn’t ask me for custody and I couldn’t ask him for money.
He was on board—an accomplice! Two years later, we actually got busy. His end of the bargain was to provide genetic material, delivered to my house in a container. At that time, Dave was not in a relationship, which was unusual for him. We laughed about how the one time he wasn’t “getting lucky” was when he might father a child.
The Essential Guide to Lesbian Conception, Pregnancy and Birth promised me that sperm could live for thirty minutes outside the body, as long as it was kept at body temperature. It also said that the receptacle didn’t have to be sterile, just clean and dry. How about an empty baby food jar? That worked.
Figuring out my fertile days was daunting. I knew straight couples who “coupled” every day for a full two weeks around ovulation time and still didn’t get pregnant. How the hell were we going to get it right with just one or two shots a month?
Everyone and their mother had a different way to know when you’re fertile. One of my sisters had twice conceived near the last day of her period, so that gave me a rough idea of when I was likely to be fertile, too.
For more specific timing, we turned to something called an Ovulite. It’s an internally-lit magnifying glass, the size of a lipstick. You put your morning saliva on the glass slide and if you’re fertile, there is a “ferning” pattern. Yes, like a garden fern.
Most of the time your spit just looks like magnified pond scum on the Ovulite. But sure enough, occasionally my saliva showed the ferning pattern on the glass. On the days I got the pattern, Cathy checked it out too to verify I wasn’t seeing things and then I called Dave.
“Hello, Dave? Yeah, hi. Um, I think today is a good day. Did you get the baby food jars? Can you, um…Would today work out for you?” Dave was as good as his word and said he’d try to make it happen. He got baby food jars too (he figured bananas were an appropriate selection).
Dave showed up at my door with the delivery. Cathy was elsewhere in the house, so I greeted him alone. It was equally weird for both of us, that first time he handed over the body-temperature genetic material. But by the second time, the novelty sort of wore off. We both had the end goal in mind.
One of my sisters, a registered nurse up in the Central Valley, sent me an assortment of plastic syringes for the basting
effort. The conception guide tells you to lie on your back with a pillow elevating your pelvis, suction the sperm from the jar into the syringe, then insert the syringe and squeeze. You stay that way for about twenty minutes. After that, you’re supposed to lie on each side for ten minutes.
As you can see, it was a low-tech operation. No doctors, no hospitals, no frozen or “cleaned” sperm, just a glass jar and a plastic syringe.
One afternoon, after our sixth attempt, I threw my car in reverse while backing out of a parking spot. Twisting back to look behind me, I noticed some breast tenderness—a famous sign of possible pregnancy. It surprised me a little, but I told myself I was just imagining it. Still, I decided to go get a pregnancy test to be sure. I went to the store, grabbed a generic pregnancy test and dashed to the checkout, feeling a little jittery.
It was the only thing I bought, so there it sat on the conveyer belt, its cheap black-and-white packaging screaming PREGNANCY TEST in large, bold letters, a solitary item with separator bars on either side. My wandering mind took no immediate note of it. Then a pang of self-consciousness hit me when I realized what I was advertising to the people around me in the crowded checkout line—this was way worse than a single-item tampon purchase. If I’d had my wits about me I’d have nabbed a loaf of bread to lay strategically on top of the PREGNANCY TEST. I tried to look nonchalant.
I got home, unwrapped the stick and looked at the directions: “Urinate directly onto stick.” I did that and nothing. I felt a mixture of both relief and disappointment.
While reading further over all the directions, I noticed this additional instruction: “Wait at least three minutes for results.” Had I waited three minutes before tossing the stick? I thought I had, but decided to take another look to be sure. I reached down and retrieved the stick from the small bathroom wastebasket. It now had a large, unmistakable pink plus-sign on it, a positive result. I nearly fainted.
Journey to Same-Sex Parenthood Page 14