Designer Baby

by Aaron Elias Brunsdon

  “To my birth mother Porn, thank you for bringing me into this world. I will never ever forget you. Love always, Roman.”

  There is also a gift of money, a token of our thanks. We wanted her to have more. In our thoughts, no money in this world can outweigh the generosity she bestowed on us. She has given us a dream; infinite money wouldn’t match the kindness. She leaves the apartment appearing sad, but she has honoured her word. I take my hat off to her, one of the four people who helped make Roman. She is a one-of-a-kind mother. There are all types of mothers in this world but her type is unique. She is his surrogate mother.

  36

  iBaby

  Kay organises a meeting with Dr Pisit, who has repeatedly asked her to bring his celebrity Australian patients to meet him at his new clinic. He wants to congratulate us and meet our new son. We want to see him so we can thank him for our bundle of joy and find out how he is.

  Kay drives us to the upmarket area of Bangkok’s Lumpini, a stone’s throw from the former All IVF clinic we visited less than a year ago to see Dr Pisit. We arrive outside a five-star hotel, the Plaza Athénée. I ask why we are stopping here and Kay says Dr Pisit has moved into the luxurious building. His clinic is situated on the twelfth floor of the adjacent building. We are impressed, wondering how he has managed to afford the space for his clinic despite the decline of business and attacks on his livelihood.

  “Dr Pisit’s business is very quiet now. He lost all his old clients, he now only does IVF, mainly Chinese patients.” Kay tells us they come from mainland China hoping to conceive.

  “I think Dr Pisit’s business is funded by Chinese investors, they own more than half of his business,” she divulges.

  The lobby’s interior is out of this world, with an imported terrazzo floor, large pillars, a state of the art multimedia system, wall-to-wall artwork and an abundance of security that feels unpleasant. We are asked to register at the counter to obtain a pass allowing entry into the elevators and clinic. Somehow it all seems complicated; guards hovering over you like you are entering a Swiss bank, Fort Knox even. After struggling with closed-circuit doors, we pass security and take the elevator to the twelfth floor. The lift door opens to a luxurious clinic spread over 400 square metres, the entire floor surrounded by views to kill. A gigantic neon iBaby sign sits above the reception desk.

  “Oh my god, it’s like a Dior boutique, like something you would find in the avenue Montaigne in Paris,” Jayson says while he marvels at the decadence.

  The clinic is almost entirely white. Giant chandeliers reminiscent of a Versailles palace adorn the space, while the furniture is French Rococo, Louis Quinze inspired and a huge gilded urn filled with white Phalaenopsis orchids sits in the middle of the floor. The reception area is tended by a team of staff in pink uniforms. No wonder he wants Jayson to design new ones; Kay asked Jayson on Dr Pisit’s behalf a few days ago. There are seven rooms on the floor, each serving a different purpose: a consultation room, a surgery room, a paediatrics section – where Mrs Pisit, a paediatrician herself, is situated – and the rear office at the far left corner is Dr Pisit’s.

  “I have never seen anything like this, especially in a clinic,” I say, surprised at the extravagance, since All IVF had been small and mostly packed with shoeless patients.

  On one of the walls in the clinic is a big pinboard with press clippings and about fifty photographs of babies and their parents from all over the world, clients who had achieved their goals to become parents.

  Though we can’t believe the opulence of the clinic, one important factor is missing; there aren’t any patients. At most, apart from us, there are about four others, all Chinese nationals with shopping bags from Hermès, Prada and Dior, making it obvious they had been out shopping before visiting the clinic.

  Everyone comes rushing at us like magnets, curious to meet Roman, and soon a group of nurses, staff and patients are gathered around him. I recognise some familiar faces. Spurm, the nurse who gave Folitropin injections to Rebecca in April, congratulates us. She askes to carry Roman and within seconds disappeares with him to the other side of the clinic. The Chinese clients joins her and take photos of him.

  Dr Pisit is busy with a patient, but after ten minutes he comes out to greet us. We take photos of him with Roman. He smiles proudly at yet another achievement.

  “Words alone can’t describe the feeling inside, the fact we are fathers. We have you to thank,” I say.

  He receives our thanks humbly.

  We are relieved to see how well he has survived the ordeals he has faced in his professional capacity. It’s nice to know he is still around. Karma is cosmic and what you give out to the universe, you get back. Dr Pisit got back what he did for others.

  Kay and Dr Pisit engage in an intense conversation with each other for ten minutes. When Dr Pisit returns, he asks me about the spectacle the media in Australia has created around surrogacy.

  “I hope my association with you as doctor didn’t contribute negatively in any way,” he says.

  “We never discuss you with the press and the stories generated from Roman’s birth have been positive,” I tell him.

  “I am happy to hear this. Please, if you could send me the newspaper clippings when you get home – I like to display them on the pinboard. Did you see it when you arrived?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  On the way home, Kay tells us about the intense conversation she had with Pisit. It was about surrogacy in Thailand being far from over. Many of his counterparts, other IVF doctors and clinics who once participated in the field, are doing everything they can to have the junta’s ruling overturned. Daily, they are at conferences and conversations that are taking place with professional medical groups on how they can and will reopen surrogacy in Thailand.

  Dr Pisit is optimistic, seeing a light at the end of the tunnel and feeling it won’t be long before the system cracks from enough pressure to allow it to resume. If all fails and they are unable to overturn the law, he will continue to work with Kay by opening shop in Cambodia, at a new clinic, to which he will redirect his patients. The clinic has a long list of clients wanting surrogacy services and they are willing to pay anything for a consultation. Dr Pisit knows how influential he is in IVF. His name and qualifications are not to be reckoned with, especially in the field of reproductive technology. His services are in high demand.

  “Dr Pisit is no longer under any investigation in Thailand. His problem with Shigeta has been dropped. He did not organise the surrogate mothers, he only got the embryos ready for Shigeta,” Kay tells us. Looking at what he has achieved, a new clinic with such wealth behind it, there are no surprises. Dr Pisit isn’t finished with surrogacy yet, far from it.

  We consider ourselves fortunate to have met him. Somehow, the universe brought us to him. From the first time I spoke to him discreetly in his office, everything he said he would do, he did.

  “If it’s only one child you want, I will deliver,” he said nine months ago.

  He knew the chances were slim and we had many odds against us, previous testicular cancer being one of them, but he broke the odds, facilitating the successful pregnancy for us that many intended parents sometimes try over and over again to achieve. He knew from the outset how important this was to us and he delivered the dream. He felt we deserved the chance. He gave us success on the first attempt, which says it all.

  How wonderful the reality is! Not a dream anymore, but happening right this minute. We were lucky to find Dr Pisit. Seeing him again closes that chapter for us, and that was our intention.

  It is Australia Day today and I feel terribly homesick. If I was in Sydney I would venture out to Kings Cross to play “Two Up” in one of the local pubs. I would down a couple of Fosters in the spirit and to commemorate the day. Today in Bangkok there are no upsides in being far away from home.

  We are going to the embassy to pick up Roman’s Australian citizenship by descent. It seems weird that it is a public holiday in Australia but the emba
ssy stays open. Trudy says embassy staff decided between Australian and Thai holidays and Australia Day was not considered the most popular holiday for staff.

  On this day, 7,500 kilometres away from home, my son will become an Australian citizen. Trudy takes us to the Immigration office and, after a few minutes wait, an officer returns with the certificate bearing our national coat of arms and the name “Roman Elias Brunsdon” printed boldly, certifying him to be a full Australian citizen by descent. We stand proudly as an Australian family in the embassy. Trudy takes photos of us for the embassy’s records, with the certificate prominent in the picture.

  After the happy snapshots, we head to the passport office. With the certificate we have been waiting for since his birth, we apply for the “emergency passport” for Roman to travel back home to Australia. The lady at the counter assures us the passport will be ready for pickup within forty-eight hours, Wednesday morning sometime, and we can now start making necessary arrangements for the trip back home. Roman’s five-year passport will be ready for us to pick up a few weeks after our return to Australia.

  After finalising the emergency passport, we enter an office to meet Donna, another wonderful Australian Embassy officer, who explains our next steps with the exit permit. She photocopies some important documents: citizenship papers, Roman’s birth certificate and English translated copy, and our passports.

  “I will have the exit papers ready by Wednesday when you come to pick up the passport.” She confirms that the exit papers will include the Amphoe office certificate.

  “This document is your ticket. It will allow you a smooth exit back to Sydney. We have had no problems since August and there aren’t going to be any now,” she assures us. “Trudy and everyone at the embassy have done everything in our power to ensure you three go home safely.”

  It is reassuring to hear this. Our journey in Thailand is finally ending. We leave the embassy, unable to contain our joy. We have lots to do: pack, organise, and ask for Qantas to reissue our return home tickets. It is our last forty-eight hours in Bangkok – thank goodness.

  “We are going home, darling,” I say to Roman. The time has come to bring him home, be a family, settle and bond properly in our own home, not in some foreign country. In a few days, Roman will meet our friends and family, and sleep in his own cot. We text several close friends, telling them to expect us home on Thursday morning. We are excited but there is a lot to do in the next forty-eight hours.

  37

  Going Home

  It is the morning of our departure back to Australia and we are packing our suitcases. Sara has fallen in love with our baby and asks to stay through the day to give us a hand. He is just adorable, more and more adorable each day. I know I am biased but he is indeed the most beautiful baby.

  I have already packed most of our bags the evening before. Always meticulous when it comes to packing, I ensure everything is in order – neatly folded T-shirts in one pile, pants in another and shirts folded, ready to hang. Dirty clothes live in one plastic bag. I spend hours on every aspect. Nothing beats arriving home and knowing everything is in its precise place; the unpacking takes less than fifteen minutes, such is the synchrony between bags and closet.

  We arrive at the embassy just after 9.30am; never have I been happier to be here, as I announce to the guards at the embassy’s gate. This is the last time we will see them. I pay special attention to the very eccentric guard with plaits in her hair and whose makeup emulates a Chinese Princess from the Qing dynasty. I gesture a plane taking off into the sky.

  “Today, I go home.” They smile, happy for us, as I am sure they are for hundreds of intended parents like us who have dragged their babies into the embassy on departure day. Today is momentous in every way, the day we fulfil our ultimate ambition to bring him home.

  “I don’t suppose anyone will understand what we have been through. I can’t believe we are here,” Jayson remarks.

  “Yes, me too, it seems unreal. By this time tomorrow we will be home,” I reply, but there is an underlying discomfort in me. I can’t work out what it is, but it’s like my intuition is trying to tell me something. I try to ignore the feeling.

  “And no one will know we are home. I think a day up our sleeves was a good call. We will ring everyone on Friday, otherwise your entire family will be at our door the minute they hear we are home,” says Jayson.

  “Bye-bye, Embassy,” I call out candidly.

  “We may have no choice but to come back when Roman grows up.”

  “Well, we can come back when he is older.”

  “He will want to meet Porn and see his birthplace, don’t you think?”

  “We have pictures and we have documented it well. Anyway it’s a long time away so why worry? Let’s get home in one piece first.”

  “This time tomorrow, we will be sitting in our living room sipping fresh soy lattes from Aramis Cafe.”

  “Bloody oath, it’s a month since we had good coffees. I miss the soy lattes.”

  On our way to the passport office, we see Trudy in a white shirt and pencil skirt, Filofax in hand, walking up the stairs. A camera follows her, taking stills for the show. She glances around to smirk.

  Our ticket number appears on the monitors. The officer, Donna, hands Roman’s passport to us. The almost entirely open-eyed picture of him looks back at us from the passport, the cover of which is grey, the colour for emergency passports, unlike the blue ones Jayson and I have.

  “He is a true blue Aussie and the bearer of a new passport,” I say.

  Donna gives us a perfectly bound booklet containing all the exit papers. The fifteen pages include information on Roman, Jayson and Porn, each role defined and stamped to perfection with the official seal of the Australian government. The consent from Porn is clearly printed in Thai and English, each page signed and endorsed. What I find is that, except for a copy of my passport, there is nothing else in the document which defines my involvement, my relationship with Roman as second parent. But my main concern is that these documents will allow us to leave Thailand for good.

  “Here you go. Everything is there, you will have no problems,” she says.

  “Oh, great. This is wonderful. What do we do with it at the airport?” I check.

  “You hand it over, they stamp, and Bob’s your uncle, you’re on your way home.”

  “It’s that easy?”

  “Yes, pretty much. There have been no problems since September. We have an agreement in place with the Thai Immigration Office; we just faxed the documents to them and they are expecting you.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for this, Donna.”

  “You’re welcome. We have someone waiting for you at the airport. She will chaperone all three of you to the Qantas lounge,” she adds.

  “That’s wonderful.”

  When we arrive home, Sara is bathing Roman. We prepare his outfit, a white cotton onesie, and carry-on bag packed with sterilised bottles for the journey. I worry Roman will be unsettled and disturb other business-class customers during the ten-hour flight home.

  I receive an email from Qantas and Trudy, both confirming our escort from Sydney airport through the VIP exit. Although we were asked not to tell anyone about the pending departure, there is email correspondence between the Qantas media and publicity office, embassy staff and the federal police. I shudder that so many people know already. I tell myself I am just being paranoid.

  The email confirms we will be met on the tarmac in Sydney by Qantas Airport Duty Manager Brad Shields, who has arranged a buggy to take us to the VIP exit. It is the same exit they use to usher famous movie stars like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, as well as murderers and criminals returning home. From there, we collect our luggage, clear customs and discreetly exit to where a car waits to take us home.

  “What glorious service!” We are happy for it, considering we are travelling with a baby for the first time.

  Everything is going to plan, like clockwork – but knowing our luck, someth
ing will go wrong at some point. Let’s not jinx it, I think.

  Jayson is quiet, and I sense a dark intuition is also troubling him but the dream sequence this morning may have reassured him.

  Post-cancer he has acquired a sixth sense – he gets frequent premonitions and predicts things which happen later. Somehow I feel he is nervous about something but he won’t tell me what is bugging him.

  At 2pm the limousine arrives at the Ascott to take us to the airport. I go to reception to pay the bill while Jayson takes charge of our luggage. When I return, we take snapshots with Sara, who is sad, not wanting to let Roman go, hugging him while she pleads with us to come back soon.

  “Definitely,” I reply, not wanting to upset her further with the truth, which is that I have been here enough for one lifetime. Maybe one day in the future I will change my mind but for now, I have had it.

  We sink into the seats of the Mercedes. It is an hour-long drive to the airport and in that time I bid a silent farewell to the city, one I will remember throughout my life as our son’s birthplace. I have grown from this experience, matured here from my first days of fatherhood. It was my calling, I am a better man today. With Roman in our lives, we are complete, a family. He made us understand what it means to have a father’s unconditional love for his child. The infinite joy he brings us each day. There is nothing else I want more now, except his wellbeing and to be the greatest father in the world to him. I will give my life to him.

  Jayson doesn’t say much in the hour’s drive to the airport. I urge him to say something.

  “We are on our way home, back to the comfort of sitting on the sofa to play with Roman,” he says.

  The car pulls up at the airport and while we attend to Roman, the driver helps with the luggage – five pieces in all, three large black Samsonites for us and two medium-sized ones for Roman. They weigh a ton, and thank goodness for Qantas or we wouldn’t have managed to go home with this much luggage.