Inconceivable

by Carolyn Savage

  “Does your daughter understand that a new baby is coming?” the woman continued, shaking me out of my daydream.

  “No. She has no idea. She just thinks Mama has a bump for her to sit on when I haul her around.”

  We all laughed because that was true. MK had developed a perch on top of this little guy. I think she thought he was a built-in bench.

  “Will this be your last? Do you think you’ll be done after this?”

  I could hardly believe I was navigating the conversation. It was absurd to think that I was pretending to be excited about a pregnancy that was ripping my heart out. Linda quickly saved me.

  “So what parks have you been too?”

  And with that, the conversation took an appreciated turn. I glanced at Linda, who was rapid-firing questions at this woman to keep her from getting back to my pregnancy. I decided it would be best to excuse myself and go to the bathroom.

  I opened the door to the handicapped stall, grabbed a paper toilet shield to protect my dress, attached it to the seat, and sat down.

  Don’t cry. You’ll mess up your makeup. Stop it.

  But it was too late. I grabbed a square of toilet paper to sop up my tears before my mascara started to run. I could hear the host ringing the bells indicating that guests should move to the ballroom for dinner. I took a few deep breaths and stared at my knees.

  You are pathetic. Here you are, all dressed up, hiding in a bathroom stall, sitting on a toilet, your knees in your face, in the Happiest Place on Earth. Get a grip.

  The women’s room door opened.

  “Carolyn? Are you in here?”

  It was Linda.

  “Yeah, I’m here.” I stood up, pretending to finish my business by flushing the toilet, and came out of the stall.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” I said as I washed my hands. “I’m fine. Now you know why I don’t go out anymore. I can’t do that day in and day out.”

  “I get it. You did fine.”

  I took a deep breath, and we left the bathroom together, her hand on my back comforting me in a gesture of sympathy and pushing me in an attempt to make me face my life.

  CHAPTER 13

  Turning Toward Hope

  CAROLYN

  MY LITTLE MAN WAS a mover and a shaker, a person who was sure to make his way through the world no matter what blocked his path. I didn’t remember any of my other babies moving as much as this little guy. I would wake up in the morning, in those precious moments when my mind is opening up to the day, and feel him wriggling his way around, struggling to get free. I’d smile at the idea of him crawling down our hallway to his next adventure and finding something that caught his interest: a color, a shape, a sliver of light on a vase. That was the agony as we passed the halfway point in this pregnancy. Little Man was real to me, and every time I pictured him I could only see him in my arms or in our house tussling over a toy with Mary Kate. Every time I allowed myself to open to those happy ideas that sunny scene would end with a stab of despair.

  He will not be toddling through your playroom, Carolyn. Stop this right now!

  Yet I couldn’t stop. How often had I pictured our family of four children? He just seemed to fit here. Throughout my years of infertility, I’d had a recurring dream of being nine months pregnant and driving to the hospital to deliver the baby. In that dream I was happy, excited. Then I’d wake and think, Damn, it was just a dream. As the pregnancy progressed with Little Man, that dream came more frequently. Only this time, when I woke from it, I actually was pregnant. As the baby became more real to me, the horror of the delivery room scenario terrified me. I simply couldn’t think about it without tears.

  For reasons I cannot explain, over and over again during the pregnancy I’d feel hope and joy yet seconds later find myself in the depths of sorrow. Several times a day I was swinging on this pendulum, as I had been when speaking to that woman at the party that night in Florida. My yearning for another child was so deep that the merest suggestion that my being pregnant was going to lead to this joyous event instantly set off happy thoughts and anticipation. Then I’d swing back the other direction on the pendulum, chiding myself for indulging that joy. As we came to the close of the second trimester, that despair was deeper than anything I’d ever felt.

  My last shred of hope hung on the results of the DNA test. If the lab was so screwed up that it transferred the wrong embryo into me, there was a chance that its paperwork was off too, or that the way it filed the embryos was a jumble. Maybe when I got the DNA results I’d learn that these months of agony were misplaced emotions and this baby was really ours.

  Finally the day arrived when the lab results appeared in the mailbox. I opened the unmarked envelope eagerly, unfolded the single piece of paper, and immediately directed my attention to the bottom line, where the numbers revealed the stark truth. There was 0 percent chance that this baby was ours. Not even 1 percent. I thought surely a little bit of my soul had crept into him. But I guess the DNA test couldn’t measure my contribution.

  I folded the test, shoved it into my purse, and turned my attention to the wonderful distraction I had that day: buying Drew a suit for his eighth-grade graduation. My feelings were all mixed up as we fitted my growing boy, my young man, for his first real adult garment. We found a sleek black suit with pinstripes. The coat fit well, but the pants needed to be altered because our ungainly son had a 27-inch waist and a 32-inch inseam. We had to special-order his dress shirt because he was a 14.5 neck with long arms, and he also needed dress shoes because he wore an 11, meaning he couldn’t borrow Sean’s size 9s. I reveled in pride as the tailor pinned his pants, thinking what a handsome young man Drew had become.

  When we got home, I was planning to call Shannon to discuss the test results. What I didn’t know was that the lab had also sent the results to the Morells, since Paul was tested as a probable DNA father. That night when the phone rang I saw that it was Shannon on the line.

  “Well, the baby is ours! There’s no doubt about it now,” she said joyfully. “I guess you were right in insisting we do this. It is better to know.”

  “Yes,” I said weakly. I had to be careful with my voice.

  “You know, we didn’t want to do this test. We didn’t do an amnio with the twins. The risk was too great.”

  “I know. We never did an amnio before either. This is a different situation, of course,” I said.

  “Paul didn’t like doing the test. The whole thing felt creepy,” Shannon continued. “The lab he had to go to was in an unmarked office, and something about it made him feel like he was sneaking in through a back door.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry he was uncomfortable doing this,” I said flatly. “I’m sorry he had to go through this.”

  I’m sorry I have to go through this too. I wondered if I should tell her how I was really feeling. I knew I couldn’t speak up without falling apart, and I didn’t think that would benefit either of us. If I cried, she might tell others that I was emotionally unstable, “a mess.” Or she might worry that I was having second thoughts about keeping the baby. Most important, if I cried, I might cause her to feel guilty. I knew she was struggling. I didn’t want to make her feel worse than she already did. That would be cruel. Nope, I had to stay quiet.

  I ended the conversation by agreeing that I would undergo a 3-D ultrasound at twenty weeks so that Shannon and Paul could get a good look at the baby. I was dreading this event. We knew from my pregnancy with Mary Kate how vivid those images were. I wouldn’t be with Linda at Dr. Read’s office because they don’t have the right kind of equipment for 3-D imaging. I was glad that Sean would be with me for this ordeal.

  Before I knew it, the day for the ultrasound was upon us, and as we entered the exam room I was struck by how dark it was and how it lacked the cheerful atmosphere of Linda’s “office.” I positioned myself on the table with a feeling of dread. There was a part of me that didn’t want to look at the screen, but I knew I would be unable to look away.
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br />   The technician spread the ultrasound gel across my belly, and before I could get too upset, up popped a perfect baby boy.

  The tech was in a very sunny mood. She obviously loved giving happy parents a close-up of the baby they would soon hold in their arms.

  “It’s a boy!” she said cheerfully, manipulating the wand to give us a glimpse of all of his dimensions. “Let’s count his toes. He’s got ten of them. And ten fingers too!”

  I couldn’t stand it.

  “I called ahead to explain our situation. You know this baby isn’t ours, right?” I said.

  “Oh, of course,” she said, shaking her head up and down gravely. I thought she understood. She didn’t, though. Apparently, the sight of the baby swept her away.

  “He’s got a perfect little heart, you can see that,” she said. Sure enough, there was the powerful pulse of his beating heart. She moved the wand around, scanning for something more until his beautiful face filled the screen. “What a handsome guy! And he’s got a beautiful head of hair, the little charmer.”

  I looked at Sean trying to get a reality check, but it was clear that he was as shaken as I was. Who could blame her? A baby is a joyful event, a cause for celebration that everyone except us could participate in, even strangers who would never see him again. Would we be strangers to this child too? No. That couldn’t be, because we were both hopelessly in love with this baby.

  As I drove home from the ultrasound, resentment flooded my mind. I was so distraught, and I couldn’t see how I was going to rid myself of my toxic, bitter mood. I needed a break from this whole thing. I needed some time to concentrate on myself and my family, and in order to do this I was going to have to try to put Shannon out of my mind. I recognized that opening up communication with Shannon had made things harder, not easier. Shannon went on about her plans for her nursery, buying clothes for Little Man, and needing a new car in order to accommodate three car seats. I assumed that she meant no harm. She was just trying to reach out, but what she didn’t realize was that her innocent messages were causing me incredible sadness and bitterness. I needed to turn away to get to a better place. The only way I could do that was to pull back on my communications with her.

  The amnio was done, the 3-D ultrasound was complete, and the pregnancy was healthy. There was nothing else to do, no reason to communicate with Shannon until my next prenatal appointment in a month. I pledged to take the opportunity to focus on our own family. I would refocus my attention and energy on Drew, Ryan, and Mary Kate and on the search for a gestational carrier.

  After sixteen years of marriage, Sean still surprised me from time to time, as he did when I brought up the idea of finding a surrogate. I thought we’d be arguing about it for the duration of this pregnancy, but I was wrong. All it took was three discussions and one canceled appointment before he agreed that we shouldn’t waste any time and that this was the only course if we wanted to give all our embryos a chance at life. We had our lawyer Mary Smith begin a search, and I started to look at the women who had posted their biographical information on surrogacy websites. There were some afternoons when I was surfing the web for surrogates, caring for MK, and trying to manage my pregnancy symptoms and I’d just have to pause for a while to marvel at this life we were living. I wanted to get away from it. I needed some rest. I decided that as soon as we had chosen a gestational carrier I was going to get out of town. I wanted to spend some time with my mom and dad, who would be happy to take care of me, and the visit would be great for MK and the boys too.

  SEAN

  As I drove to pick up Carolyn for the meeting with Jennifer, the woman we thought might be the right gestational carrier, I thought about the fact that a year before I didn’t even know what a gestational carrier was. Now Carolyn and I were meeting a candidate to be our gestational carrier.

  I resisted when Carolyn introduced this idea, but I know now that one reason for that reaction was that I didn’t understand the process. It was more, however, than lack of understanding. With everything else going on, we didn’t need another task to tackle. Slowly I embraced the idea, but only after learning more and concluding that we really had no other reasonable alternative. As I anticipated meeting Jennifer, a woman who seemed like a good candidate, I hoped the beautiful day was a good omen. The memory of the harsh and anxious winter seemed to evaporate in the seventy-degree temperatures. As we got off at the exit Carolyn’s cell phone rang. It was Jennifer.

  We had agreed to meet her at a spot halfway between our home and where she lived in Indiana. Carolyn picked an exit off Interstate 69 and searched the web to find a place where we could meet. She chose a Huddle House, a setting that would add another layer to the surreal experience.

  “Jennifer says the Huddle House is out of business,” Carolyn repeated. “She wants us to meet her at the Dairy Queen just down the road.”

  I nodded yes.

  “Sean, what’s that grimace?” Carolyn asked.

  “Dairy Queen! That’s a place for post–basketball game celebrations. Now we’re going to use it to have one of the most important meetings of our lives.”

  “Nothing should surprise you about this at this point,” Carolyn said. We smiled. She was right.

  I pulled into the Dairy Queen parking lot and saw a neatly dressed woman with perfectly coiffed hair sitting at one of the picnic tables. Carolyn identified her instantly from the picture she’d posted on the surrogacy website. As we shook hands she stared at Carolyn, not knowing what to say about Carolyn’s pregnant belly. I am sure that at that moment she was thinking: How fast can I end this meeting? Are these people so crazy they do not realize my services are not needed?

  After exchanging handshakes and introductions, silence descended. Who was going to start?

  “Well, just to get the obvious out of the way, I’m sure you noticed I am pregnant,” Carolyn began. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you about this prior to now, but due to the circumstances surrounding my pregnancy, we are hesitant to put anything in writing with regards to our situation.”

  Jennifer looked confused and perhaps a little regretful that she had agreed to meet with us.

  Carolyn explained the mistake and that after this pregnancy she wouldn’t be able to carry any more children.

  “Our embryos are still cryopreserved. We wanted to proceed as soon as we found the right person to help us,” Carolyn continued.

  “Oh, how can something like that happen? I feel so horrible for you!” Jennifer said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Well, yes, I wanted to say. That is why we are here today.

  Jennifer explained her background and how she had decided to become a gestational carrier to help others.

  “I’ve been an egg donor a few times to a fertility clinic in Indianapolis, and I’d always thought about being a carrier,” Jennifer explained. “My reproductive endocrinologist recommended me to a couple in 2006, and in December 2007 I gave birth to an eight-pound baby girl. The pregnancy was textbook, and I loved giving this couple the chance to fulfill their dream. That’s what made me want to do it again.”

  I like this woman, I thought. She seemed professional, reserved, and articulate. More than that, though, what appealed to me was her gentle nature and her genuine empathy for our predicament. She shared with us that she was a nursing student.

  “Do you have any children of your own?” I asked.

  “Yes, I have a daughter who is twelve,” Jennifer said.

  “That’s the same age as our second son, Ryan,” Carolyn said.

  “Are you married?” I asked.

  “No, I’m engaged to a man I’ve been with for many years,” she said.

  We talked about the legal aspects of surrogacy, and I was impressed by how much she knew. She wasn’t put off by any of the complicated arrangements we needed her to agree to. I told her that we’d transferred our embryos out of the clinic that made the mistake and to one in Atlanta. Although the embryos were a thousand miles away, if Jennifer agreed t
o be our surrogate, she’d fly to Atlanta for the transfer, but she’d be monitored in Indianapolis where she lived.

  “We want to be part of your pregnancy,” Carolyn said. “How do you envision being involved after delivery?”

  “I don’t expect anything from you after the delivery except a few pictures, and maybe you can let me know how the baby is doing once a year or so. I understand that this would be your baby.”

  In my view, this was a perfect answer. She had found a calling in life that would help bridge things for her economically. She was involved in surrogacy for the right reasons. There was a comfortable pause after she finished speaking. Jennifer had said all the things we wanted to hear, and she seemed like a lovely person.

  “Well, okay then,” I said, sensing that we’d each exchanged enough information. “Let’s talk on Monday after we’ve had the weekend to think about this and to speak with your references, including the family you worked with in 2007.”

  When we got back in the car, Carolyn had a huge smile on her face.

  “So what did you think?” she asked me.

  “I like her. A lot!”

  “Me too. You know, she has such a soothing voice. That’s a voice I know would be great for the baby. The baby would feel the warmth of that voice in the womb.”

  “I was surprised by how quickly she said she only wanted a few photos after the baby was born,” I said. I liked the fact that she was in a city a good distance from Toledo. It would be awkward if we were bumping into her in the mall.

  “I know, but I don’t think it’s going to be that way,” Carolyn said. “I just can’t imagine taking the baby from her at the hospital without maintaining a relationship with her. If Jennifer is our carrier, we will be connected to her forever.”

  “I agree!”

  CAROLYN

  Now that we had found a wonderful, honorable, and genuine young woman who was willing to carry our baby, I felt so happy. There were many things to arrange to make this happen, but I tackled them with joy in my heart. I called our new fertility doctor in Atlanta, who explained that there were several cumbersome FDA requirements to complete prior to getting Jennifer to a transfer. As a result, Jennifer, Sean, and I all had to fly to Atlanta to undergo numerous medical tests. Then we had to make arrangements for Jennifer to be monitored by an Indianapolis fertility clinic, as well as arrangements for Jennifer’s second trip to Atlanta for the embryo transfer in early August. It was a lot of work, and it quickly became obvious to me, with some amusement, that the fastest way to get a woman pregnant with someone else’s baby was to do it by accident.