As I began to acknowledge that she wasn’t as unreasonable as I’d believed, I also admitted that by trying to be right and to win our fights I had been contributing to the situation. I decided that in the future I’d be willing to apologize first, to say I’m sorry for something I didn’t even know what I was apologizing for, and even to get a little “mud” on my face so there would be peace in our home. It wasn’t always easy; it was a process. At first the “natural man” in me would say, “I didn’t do it. I’m not apologizing. She’s gonna apologize to me.” But I was learning that God can’t heal a situation where there is no forgiveness. If two people are at an impasse, someone’s gotta take the first step. And that is the major part of leadership. The spiritual man in me decided I was willing to go first.
“I’m sorry, Angela. I’m not quite sure what I did, but I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
“Courtney, you didn’t do anything…”
While I studied Angela, I also practiced performing the task Doc had challenged me with: making the effort to walk like Jesus by loving and serving my wife. I started asking her new questions:
“Is there anything you need, baby?”
“How can I help?”
“What do you want me to do next?”
Rather than “keeping count” of who had done what for whom, I began looking for ways to please and serve Angela. I started focusing specifically on making sure she was happy. I took responsibility for being the “priest” of our household and bringing love into our home. I knew that Angie liked flowers but wouldn’t buy them for herself. So on Tuesdays and Thursdays I started getting up at six in the morning and going to the wholesale flower mart. Believe me, I didn’t want to get up at six but I did it anyhow. I’d buy flowers for the whole house and arrange them in vases so she could put them wherever she wanted. By the time she’d get up, the flowers would be lined up on the kitchen counter and I’d be off to the gym. I wouldn’t even bring it up. I’d fill the refrigerator with groceries and not look for “extra credit.” I’d cook for her when she wasn’t expecting it. I started planning little surprises for her birthday and our anniversary. For her fortieth birthday I told her I was going to treat her to a weekend on the town in New York. I wined and dined her and took her to functions and plays. But the trip was a diversion; back home, I was throwing her a party. When we landed back in L.A. she wistfully said, “I guess that’s it, huh?”
“Well, there’s one more thing back at the house,” I told her. “There’s something for you sitting on the front steps.”
She picked up the package and I opened the door for her. As soon as she stepped in, all her friends yelled, “Surprise!” She was in shock. All the people she had just seen in New York, plus her mother, D’nette, all her L.A. girlfriends, Mama Bear, almost everyone was there.
Another time for a birthday gift, I had the backyard landscaped and lighted for her. On the night of her birthday, I held an “unveiling.” Then fifteen of our friends jumped out and we had a surprise dinner party on the patio.
I planned little trips and couples outings with people we liked. I tried to make sure there was a smile on her face.
As I began to serve Angela by submitting my ego to God, the way she dealt with me changed. I was amazed by the results! A thaw started to happen. We stopped fussing and fighting almost altogether—today we rarely get in an argument. She responded to my needs and she gave me the respect I needed. She raced to do things for me before I could do them for her.
We soon reached a point where we both started to want to do things to please the other person.
“Well, I was going to do that for you.”
“Oh, I was going to do it for you.”
“Ohh…”
When that starts to happen, the marriage kicks to another level. I began to feel more like the man I aspired to be in our relationship. I didn’t feel insecure. When we’d go out in public and the photographers would call her name, I’d encourage her to step forward and I’d move out of the way. While the flashbulbs were popping and people were calling her name, I’d chill and talk to the publicist. In a few minutes she’d call, “Honey, come over here. They want to take some pictures of the two of us together.”
Doc informed me that I was experiencing one of God’s many dichotomies: “When you humble yourself before God, he exalts you. Humility,” he said, “is the greatest virtue in the kingdom of God.” I was seeing how wonderfully it worked. And in a society that focuses so much upon women submitting, it was amazing for me to learn “the power of a submitted man”!
Chapter 21
Fearfully and Wonderfully Made
Over the first two years of our marriage, Courtney and I got our differences ironed out. For the most part it’s been smooth sailing since then. I was forty-one when we began trying to have children. We started the old-fashioned way. About six months passed and nothing was happening, so we added in temperature taking—charting when I ovulated by measuring my temperature. I had this chart by the bed and when my temperature rose over 98.6 I knew I was ovulating.
“Come here, Courtney!”
Well, that was fine by him. Early on. But I’ll tell you what—love on demand can become a drag.
So we did the temperature thing for a few months, but it wasn’t working. The doctor would ask me, “Are you under stress?”
“I don’t feel like I’m stressed.”
Maybe I don’t know what stress is if it’s not anxiety or butterflies in my stomach. I didn’t have any butterflies, anxiety, worries or fears. I was just trying to figure it out. Then there were months when we didn’t keep up with it because one or both of us was working on a project and we weren’t physically in the same place. We weren’t so conscientious that on the day I was going to be ovulating one of us would jump on a plane. We didn’t take it to that degree—that would have added stress to our life. It was just we’re here, my temperature is up, let’s try it this time around.
When that didn’t work, the doctors conducted tests to make sure my fallopian tubes weren’t blocked. Some of the tests were kind of painful—shooting dye into me, for example. But that was just part of the process of making this happen. I was willing to go through it. Then they tested Courtney to check his sperm count and sperm motility. When both of those were fine we moved on to artificial insemination. Artificial insemination seemed pretty easy—when you’re ovulating they get the sperm up as close to the egg as they can. But it didn’t work for us. So the gynecologist suggested that we step it up a notch and try in vitro fertilization. In vitro is a commitment; it’s an everyday thing and it’s expensive. Fortunately we’ve been blessed to be able to do it without being concerned about the cost. When you do in vitro they’re constantly testing your blood and you’re back and forth to the doctor. I had to take shots twice a day in my stomach—in the morning and evening—to stimulate the ovaries to release a lot of eggs every month instead of just one. They look at the eggs using ultrasound—there’s one, there’s one, there’s one. Then they aspirate them out of you, put the sperm in them and see which will grow in a Petri dish. An embryologist watches the cells subdivide—first in two cell, four cells, then eight. They then take the healthiest-looking ones, tilt you up and put them back in so that they’ll implant in your uterus.
At some point I learned that the eggs wouldn’t implant; my uterine lining was too thin. But one month, the nurses told me my hormone numbers had started going up. “We don’t want to give you any false expectations, but maybe you will get lucky,” they told me. Well, I don’t believe in luck; I had been praying on this for years and believed my prayers had been answered—and on what better day than on my birthday. And at some point Courtney had had a dream that we would be having twins. I was so excited! It was too early to take a pregnancy test but at my birthday gathering at our home that evening I shared the good news with our friends. Many of them already knew what was going on, but I filled everyone in on what we had been going through and gave them the good news that
we were finally pregnant. It was a wonderful evening. We ate good food, cake, hugged and kissed, and there were kids all around. It was a glorious, glorious night!
A few days later Courtney and I traveled to Martha’s Vineyard for vacation. Now, I’m pretty in tune with my body. Women, you know how right before your period, your breasts get tender or you crave sweets or whatever, then your cycle starts and your breasts are fine or you can walk on by the sweets? Well, nothing like that was happening. After a couple of weeks I was feeling quite like myself—in fact, right regular. I didn’t feel like I was pregnant; it didn’t feel like anything special was goin’ on. I couldn’t wait ’til we got home so I could get to the doctor. And, sure enough, once we got there I learned that nothin’ was goin’ on. The embryo had dissipated. I guess they call it the “miracle of childbirth” for a reason. And maybe that’s also why people tell you to wait three months before you tell anybody.
Needless to say, I felt sad and disappointed. But I didn’t feel devastated—it wasn’t like I wanted to take to my bed and not come out from under my covers or anything like that. It didn’t work out, so I knew it wasn’t meant to be. I thought that maybe God had a bigger blessing in store for us that I couldn’t see with my limited human vision. I know I can’t see what’s going on behind my head and that my peripheral vision is limited. I also know that God holds the whole world in his hands. He’s omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent. I know I can’t be everyplace and know everything. But he can. So I leaned into my faith.
One Sunday at church a guest preacher said, “All women who want to have children, come up to the altar.” I walked forward. This preacher prophesied over me, “I see you with two babies.” People have different spiritual gifts. Some have the gift of prophesy. So knowing that this man had been so clear and so sure, his vision strengthened me.
As we continued through the process, Courtney and I talked to other people we personally knew or heard tell had gone through similar experiences or recommended their doctor. Brooke Shields shared with me that she had gone through in vitro a number of times. I hoped I wouldn’t have to go through it as often as she had. Along the way I actually got pregnant twice without the in vitro. I miscarried both times.
Sometime in the middle of all this, Courtney was offered a recurring role on the television show Law and Order: Criminal Intent. It would require that he spend a great deal of time in New York. Now, Courtney and I are homebodies. We love to spend time together, we have fun together. He loves to putter around the house, doing this, doing that. We went back and forth about whether he should take the role.
“Tell ’em no!” I told him at first. But later I thought, How could I say that? He enjoys what he does; I enjoy what I do. I wouldn’t want him to tell me, “No, you can’t go someplace to do a project that means a lot to you.” I wouldn’t want that for anything in the world. I realized I really had to eat my words. It wasn’t like he was going to the other side of the world. Other people we knew had done the bicoastal thing and done it well. He had other cast members who were married and bicoastal. Some of them make it work even though they have children. We didn’t have to factor children’s best interests into it.
“Do you really want to do it, baby? Will it satisfy your soul?” I asked him. “If you want to do that, then go. We’ll make it work. It will be fine. It will be wonderful. It will be perfect!”
I realized that Courtney’s new job would give me the perfect excuse to go to New York more often. The television-filming schedule is similar to the school year. They start in September and go until Christmas. They break and return in January, then finish in late June. We decided I could visit him six or seven times in the fall—about every two weeks. Then I’d be done with it because New York winters are too cold. He could come home for the holidays. I’d go out a couple of times in the spring. Then he’d be off in the summer and live in Los Angeles. I knew that sometimes it might disrupt our attempts to get pregnant, but we might as well do it while it was just he and I.
When Courtney isn’t here, I enjoy my own company and spend a lot of time with friends. When Courtney is around, it’s me and Courtney. We have a good time and we hang out and I don’t see a good deal of my friends. It actually works well.
Eventually, after three doctors, seven in vitros, two miscarriages, taking drugs, drugs, drugs—drugs to thicken my uterine lining, drugs to make me ovulate, drugs to make me not ovulate—getting acupuncture, drinking those nasty, muddy teas to strengthen my chi because it’s been shown that it might be helpful and some people claim it worked for them, after driving to this doctor, to that doctor, after crisscrossing town to find the right specialist on top of keeping up with work and my life, I started getting a little weary, a little discouraged.
“My gosh, aren’t I doing enough?”
A part of me wanted to give up, but the bigger part of me knew I had to maintain my faith, that it still could happen. I’d pray, I’d cry. “Oh, my God, it’s not going to happen.” If I only knew how many more times I had to go through the process, I knew I could make it. “Oh, four more times? Okay, I can do that,” or “Is it never going to happen? Okay, just let me know.” I knew I could live with it.
Courtney had always said, “If you want to quit, that’s fine with me,” but I knew he really wanted children. I’d seen him with children; he was wonderful with them and seemed to enjoy them so much. I wanted to give him his own. And now that my biological clock was ticking, when I’d see a little baby I’d think, “Ohh, so cute!” I started noticing babies everywhere. They were all so precious. But I’d hear Courtney differently now when he’d say, “You can quit.” In my life I’d learned you’re supposed to keep going, keep going, keep going. And when he’d tell me I could quit, in my own mind it became a bit of reverse psychology; it became a challenge.
“You can quit.”
“No, I won’t quit.”
“You’re tired, Angela. I understand. If you don’t want to go through the blood draws, being stuck with needles, running all over town, reading books about people who have gone through this, talking to people, it’s okay. It’s really okay.”
Eventually I began to consider other options. We began talking about the possibility of adoption. I started talking to different people about it—my mom, Courtney’s sister and her husband, who had adopted a boy; my oldest sister, Jane, who had adopted two children; Courtney’s cousin and his wife, who had adopted a little boy. We were comfortable with adoption; it’s part of our family tree, our family makeup. It’s no big deal. We began exploring the different adoption Web sites.
And that was the plan until I ran into my friend Kathy.
“Angela! Guess what?”
“What?”
“In five months we are going to have triplets!”
“Whaaat?” I looked at her; she didn’t look pregnant. “What are you talking about?”
She explained that she can’t have children, yet her partner always wanted to have a daughter. So they hired a surrogate. They hadn’t planned on having triplets but that’s what happened. “Their coming is a blessing and we’re going to work it out,” she told me.
Oh, my God! I thought. I didn’t know that I felt comfortable with the notion, but could this possibly be the way?
Well, I came home and relayed the story to Courtney to kind of feel him out.
“I was with Kathy today and she told me they’re having triplets, and how it’s happening is through surrogacy.” I explained what little I knew. “What do you think about that?”
“That sounds great, hon. Let’s check it out.” Courtney was very open to it from the beginning. But that’s him, Mr. Quick Draw McGraw. Give him a directive and he’s going to make it happen.
Me? I need to feel it out. I’m just sort of gonna suss it out, feel it out, talk it out, see if the timing feels right. “What do you think? Oh, okay…” Maybe in the days and the weeks to come, I’m just gonna kind of think about it. It may not seem like I am but somewhere in there, I am.
It’s just like how I pack for a trip. You may not see me pack the week before, but I’m thinking about the things I have to take. So the night before, when I finally pack, I’ve already thought it out.
Courtney was so certain, I got kind of scared—because I know him. I knew that if we went into this thing, if we got on this train, we would have to see it though to its final destination, to the end point. The idea was different from anything I’d ever considered in my life, but I had to admit it was kind of intriguing. It would still be our DNA, so we could be the natural parents, which is what we had been trying to do. But it seemed like it could be fraught with problems, expensive, and it seemed unnatural. Did I really want to do this?
I didn’t bring the subject up again, but a couple of days later Courtney nudged me. “What about that idea you mentioned? Maybe we could talk to the woman who helped Kathy.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll call. I’ll set up an appointment.”
We couldn’t be against this idea because it could possibly make our dream come true. I find that when you don’t understand something it’s easier to be against it. But we needed to know more, so we talked to the head of Kathy’s surrogacy program. The offices of the program were located really close to our home. (Hmm…How convenient. Who knew? Was this a sign?) We talked to the woman for about three or four hours. We got info, were just learning, just hearing. What is it about? What is it? How does it work? We learned that there are quite a few surrogacy programs around Los Angeles. California is one of the states where the laws are favorable to the intended parents. In California, the intended parents are legally the baby’s parents, so you don’t have to legally adopt the child from the woman who carried him or her for you. We learned that there are a lot of ways to approach surrogacy in terms of the baby’s DNA. One way involved doctors administering medication that would shut down the surrogate’s ability to ovulate. She would also abstain from sex with her husband. Then our embryo could be placed in her uterus and she would carry the baby to term.
Friends: A Love Story Page 31