Two weeks earlier, a photographer from Brisbane named Tony had driven down and taken a series of photographs for the article. He took shots of me in my lounge room, asking me to hold my belly and smile, as well as on my back deck and in front of the weeping bamboo. I had two outfit changes, one grey and one black maternity dress.
‘Okay, Shannon. Photos are done, so now let’s set up for the video.’
‘Video?’ My head snapped back, dread rippling through me at the thought of talking on camera. Tony had mentioned via email that he wanted to ask me some questions and tape my responses, but somehow I had thought I’d get out of it one way or another.
‘Don’t look so concerned, you’ll be fine. I’ll just ask you a few questions, film your answers and we’re done,’ Tony said, pulling a tripod from his bag.
‘What exactly is the video for?’ I asked, regretting the tone to my voice.
‘It’s for the Sydney Morning Herald website, so people can click a link from the online article to a video of you and the two other women talking about why you’ve become surrogates. I know it’s hard to do impromptu like this, but you’ll be fine. Just speak from the heart.’
I nodded reluctantly, dragged back to memories of public speaking at high school. Tony motioned for me to sit on the lounge. As he set up the shot I ran through possible questions in my mind, gathering up answers, bunches of words I had to put together in an eloquent sentence.
Just speak from the heart. I breathed.
‘Well, I . . . ah, decided . . . oh . . . sorry’
Tony stopped filming as nerves took the words and I tripped over my tongue. We both laughed.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I chuckled, straightening my back to regain my collectedness.
‘Don’t worry, your answer to the last question was great – perfect, in fact.’
I struggled through the other questions, hoping to convey a clear message – the reason why I had chosen to take such a journey. When Tony left, I wondered what I’d got myself into. I stood in my lounge room for a moment, gazing down at my belly. I hope it’s a nice article, Baby JJ.
Now, at my squeal, Andrew rolled over. ‘“Oh my God” what?’ he said.
‘Mum just texted, the article’s out and she said I’m on the front of the Sydney Morning Herald.’
‘Oh no! You didn’t want that?’
‘Well, no, I didn’t think I’d be on the front page of the Sydney paper. I was hoping to hide inside the magazine where no one would find me.’
‘I’ll go and get a couple of copies after breakfast.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, leaning over to kiss Andrew’s forehead. ‘I’m actually scared to see it.’
A couple of hours later, Andrew walked in through the door holding two thick papers. He laid them down on the dining table as I hovered by the kitchen bench, heart pounding. Even though Dawn had assured me it would be a ‘feel good’ article, with all the bad press about surrogacy of late I wasn’t sure what to expect.
I walked over and stopped short, as if peering over a cliff, calculating the fall. Beneath a picture of Greg Inglis in his Rabbitohs jersey, I spotted a small picture of myself in my grey maternity dress, side on, hands around my belly as I looked at the camera. The caption read: Another woman’s child.
‘Oh no.’ I covered my mouth with my hand.
‘You look great,’ Andrew said, putting his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close.
I smiled, kissed his cheek, then sorted through the paper and pulled out the Good Weekend magazine. Sliding a chair out from under the dining table, I opened the magazine to find a full-page picture of me and my belly. I shook my head in disbelief: I had not expected to find myself so out there. Reading the article, I devoured the answers of the other women, fascinated with their journeys and ideas on surrogacy. Rachel Kunde had donated her eggs three times and then started to think about surrogacy, going on to meet a couple online, then progressing but unfortunately suffering a miscarriage. Later Rachel gave birth for a different couple and then, years later, went on to have twins for a gay male couple and I recalled seeing her face on the Insight program. She expressed how difficult the twins’ pregnancy was for her: having to give up work by 12 weeks as it became very painful to walk. It put a strain on her family and she lost quality time with her children and then at 27 weeks, Rachel started bleeding. The article mentioned that Rachel was about to be a surrogate again for the third time and that she felt that it was her duty (to be a surrogate); it was something she could do, and she thought, ‘why not?’.
Linda Kirkman, another woman, said she’d read about the traditional practices of Pacific Islanders, where, for centuries, sisters had been having babies for their own sisters and she knew her sister wanted a baby but unfortunately had just had a hysterectomy. It made her ponder whether she could do it, but she knew she couldn’t use her own eggs.
Linda went on to have a baby for her sister, their other sister, Cynthia, donating the eggs. The child is now a young woman of 26, a journalist and in a loving relationship. Linda mentioned that people had warned her that the child wouldn’t know who her mother was, but she believed that to be nonsense as they were always honest and the child knew of her origins. At the tender age of ten years of age she presented at an international reproductive technology conference declaring that she had three mothers and three fathers, but she always knew who her mum and dad were.
Fundamentally we all chose altruistic surrogacy to help a couple in need and even though I didn’t know these women personally, I felt a connection to them, their ideas and beliefs similar to mine.
Straight away, I started receiving text messages from friends and family who’d seen the article, all of them saying it was lovely. Dawn Barker, true to her word, had written a positive article about surrogacy in Australia, outlining why each of us had chosen this path. I felt grateful and honoured to be part of it. After almost two weeks of feeling unwell, the article had given me a much-needed boost.
I had turned a corner. I was still sick – my chest congested, lungs crackling as I breathed, body sore and in need of sleep – but my attitude had changed, shifted, a bright light switched on before my eyes.
I picked up the magazine and walked into Keira’s room, where she and Jaxon were playing. ‘Who’s this?’ I said, holding up the article.
‘It’s you!’ Jaxon said, jumping up and smiling.
‘That’s right, it’s me.’
‘And Baby JJ,’ Keira said, turning her head, shoving a Barbie into a hot-pink plastic Ferrari.
‘Yes, and Baby JJ.’ I was humbled by Keira’s comment. Once again, it wasn’t all about me. It was about Baby JJ, and I just had to focus on that, the sole reason I was doing the surrogacy – for Baby JJ and for her parents. Yes, it was also my journey, my experience, my pregnancy. Nobody could know how that felt, not even Jon and Justin, but as a collective, we were all on the path to the birth of their daughter, we each had a part to play. The article showed me that I was doing something worthwhile, something not many women would offer. It showed me that I was strong and that to doubt myself was to forsake all I believed myself to be.
I was more determined than ever to shape the rest of my pregnancy around my own thoughts, not the opinions and judgements of people I didn’t know. After struggling with these thoughts, I knew I was the stronger for it, ready to take on the last eleven weeks of the pregnancy with a renewed sense of direction and wellbeing.
A week after the article came out I had another appointment with Dr Wright. A student midwife named Ashleigh came along with me for support. She was referred to me by Allie. For her studies she needed to follow six women a year throughout their pregnancies, coming to appointments, making notes. I was happy to allow Ashleigh to follow my pregnancy and she was delighted to see first-hand how surrogacy worked.
Hopping onto the scales in Dr Wright’s room, I gasped in shock. Due to my illness, I’d lost almost three kilograms since my last visit.
Dr Wright performed his r
outine ultrasound and noted on my yellow card that the baby was lying breech. My fundal height measured twenty-seven centimetres, and Dr Wright’s eyebrows came together in concern.
‘You’re twenty-nine weeks and two days, so you should be about twenty-nine centimetres.’ He seemed to stop and ponder his next comment. ‘I’m going to send you for a growth scan at radiology, get bub checked out. Particularly given that you’ve been sick, we need to make sure that everything’s okay.’
Leaving Dr Wright’s rooms, Ashleigh and I walked in silence for a moment before she spoke. ‘Don’t worry about the growth scan, Shan. I’m sure it’ll all be fine. It’s just a precaution to make sure Baby JJ is growing.’
‘Yeah, I’m fine. I know she’s okay. I can feel her kicking all the time. She’s strong. I guess I do worry about her, though, after everything we’ve been through over the last few weeks. I just wish I knew what was going on in there.’ I knew she was small. I could tell the difference: she wasn’t occupying the space my children had; she had room to move and lots of it.
Six days later I was at radiology again, lying on a bed while another technician performed an ultrasound. I had called Jon and Justin after my appointment with Dr Wright and they didn’t seem worried about the growth scan, only that I’d lost so much weight when I should’ve been gaining.
‘So we’re doing a growth scan today, to check baby’s progress,’ said the technician, Chris. ‘It says here you’re small for dates.’
‘Okay,’ I said. I was determined not to worry. All signs pointed to Baby JJ being well and happy: the blood flow to the brain was good, as was the flow through the umbilical cord. As always, her heartbeat was strong and steady, beating out the chorus – Life, life, life, life.
Chris measured the femur bones, her abdomen and head circumference. I studied the numbers on the screen, trying to ascertain if there was any indication of a problem.
‘Is it looking all right?’
‘She’s small, but everything is textbook, just small,’ Chris said, standing back to take a look at my belly as if to calculate her size with his own eyes.
A sigh escaped me. She was fine. I just needed to know from the professionals that there was nothing to worry about, but of course they’d never truly know until she was born.
Chris spoke again. ‘From my point of view, everything looks great, but it’s what Dr Wright thinks of the report that matters.’
I left radiology and walked to my car, glancing down at my belly. Yes, I was small for dates, but that didn’t mean there was something wrong, did it? I had to wait for my next appointment with Dr Wright to find out.
That afternoon I picked up Jaxon from preschool and then collected Keira from day care. When I arrived home I unzipped her bag and found a scrunched-up sheet of paper inside. I smoothed it out on the bench with my hands. It was a picture of three large stick figures with crooked stick arms protruding from their sides. Next to them were two smaller figures. Each one had a round head, a big smile, dots for eyes and a short vertical line for a nose. One of the larger figures had squiggly hair on the top of its head.
I walked over to Keira, holding up the picture. ‘Who’s this?’ I asked.
‘That’s my family,’ she said, glancing up at me with her big brown eyes.
‘It’s lovely. Can you tell me who everyone is?’
She pointed to the three large figures. ‘That’s Jon. That’s Justin with the scraggly hair, and that’s you, the biggest one. Oh, and that’s me and Jaxon,’ she said in haste, pointing at the smaller figures on the page.
‘That’s beautiful, Keira. Very good . . . but where’s Daddy?’
Keira’s head went back, her eyes grew wide as her lips puckered up. ‘Oh no, I forgot Daddy,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘That’s okay, I don’t think he’ll mind.’
‘Yeah, he was at work anyway, that’s why he’s not in the drawing,’ she said matter-of-factly before turning and marching to the back door.
I laughed and rose up off my haunches, heavy, noticing my lack of balance. Arching my spine, I walked back to the bench and laid out the picture. I used my phone to take a photo of the drawing, and sent it to Jon and Justin. Moments later I received a message back. They loved Keira’s picture and felt honoured to be part of our family.
Later that night as I washed up after dinner I thought about the absence of Andrew from Keira’s drawing. Children are perceptive, mirroring their surroundings and the people around them. I wondered if I had excluded my husband and our daughter had picked up on it. Maybe everything was all about Jon and Justin all the time. Almost weekly my children observed me on the phone to the boys, discussing my appointments and of course the wellbeing of their baby. Had I considered Andrew’s thoughts, his sacrifice, or had I once again been too caught up in my own feelings? As I placed a soapy plate in the drying rack, I glanced over at Andrew. He cleaned Jaxon’s hands with a wipe while Keira tried to climb up onto his lap.
‘Thank you,’ I blurted out, my glove-clad hand falling to my side as I twisted around to face him.
Andrew turned his head in a few jolted movements, unsure if I’d said anything, still focused on the kids.
‘Thank you for supporting me,’ I said softly, stepping closer. ‘I mean it.’
He put his arm around Keira on his knee, gazing up at me, a smile developing. ‘Of course I’ll support you. I love you. What brought this on?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been preoccupied and consumed by the surrogacy and I just want you to know I appreciate you and I understand that sometimes you need time for you, to do the things you want to do.’ I leaned over, kissed his forehead.
‘I love you too, Daddy,’ Keira whispered, squeezing his neck.
‘Me too,’ Jaxon butted in, squirming around me to sidle up next to his father.
There at the dining table we had a Garner family group hug, Baby JJ included – she was part of our family too, as were Jon and Justin. Andrew and I had made that decision together, to invite them into our lives, into our close-knit family. I had to remember that this surrogacy experience was about just that – family. We were all in it together.
A week later I had an appointment at Dr Wright’s rooms, where I spoke to a midwife called Colleen. She said that Dr Wright had read the growth scan report and wasn’t overly concerned. She checked my weight: I’d gained a kilogram, but my fundal height was measuring twenty-eight centimetres at thirty-one weeks and two days.
‘That’s a small baby,’ she said, her eyes widening as she pressed on my stomach, double-checking the fundal height. ‘The report said everything seemed fine, she’s just small. But I guess what Dr Wright has to weigh up is why she’s so small. It could be any number of reasons. If she’s not thriving we have to think about getting her out.’ Colleen dipped her head towards me, pursing her lips.
A zap of electricity fired through my chest. Get her out?
‘Could it just be genetics?’ I said, my voice quiet.
‘Possibly – were the biological parents small babies?’
‘I’m not sure. I can ask them though.’
Colleen nodded, writing on my yellow card. ‘We’ll see you in two weeks, but call us if you have any concerns, love,’ she said, smiling, handing me the card.
‘I will. Thanks, Colleen.’
Days later I received a message from the boys. Jon said they’d been busy getting Baby JJ’s room organised and had set up the cot and change table I’d given them, as they were no longer needed. They’d hung a few pictures and installed some shelves, and the invitations to the baby shower had been posted. Attached to the message was a photo taken in Baby JJ’s nursery. It showed a white cupboard with a beautiful black motif across the doors, tiny love hearts dancing around words in elegant running writing: Twinkle, twinkle, little star. Do you know how loved you are?
I choked up, reading the words over and over. With a little over eight weeks to go, I wondered how the boys felt, if they were nervous. Their lives were ab
out to change forever – were they ready?
I stared at the screen, reading the words again. A tear formed, tipped, trailing down my cheek. I wiped it away, laughing at my emotions.
Laughing because I was happy.
24
Cankles, a pendant, and celebrating Baby JJ
It was time to honour our RSVP to the baby shower, so we packed up and flew the family to Sydney for a holiday. What would a baby shower be without the bump there anyway? We decided to extend the stay and booked a hotel room in Manly before the shower took place at Jon and Justin’s house. Over a few days we caught up with several friends and their children, dining out at Hugo’s on the wharf, strolling down the Corso, eating gelato and walking on the beach. One day we ventured to Taronga Zoo. I’d heard from friends that the outing was a big day, with lots of walking and hills, but I surprised myself, managing the walks even with the weight of my thirty-two-week baby belly. My only afflictions were aching legs and cankles at the end of the day.
Jon had offered to drive to Manly and pick us up the day before the baby shower, and as we drove back out to the Blue Mountains in his car we filled him in on our mini holiday.
‘Keira stuck a pink bead up her nose, Jon,’ Jaxon said from the back seat, deadpan.
‘What?’ Jon asked, slowing the car as we approached a red light.
‘Yeah, yeah, I did, Jon, we were going to the zoo,’ Keira confirmed, nodding her head frantically.
Jon glanced at me, his expression quizzical.
‘Yes, after we’d waited forty-five minutes for a taxi to the zoo, Keira decided that she’d pick up a little pink bead from the gutter and shove it up her nose. We couldn’t get it out and she started to scream, and then the taxi arrived. We didn’t know what to do, so we took the taxi and headed straight to first aid at Taronga.’
Jon grinned. ‘Oh dear. That’s a silly thing to do. How’d you get it out?’
Labour of Love Page 21