In October 2012, Mr K and I went to see our old IVF specialist. For anyone who has ever read much of this blog, you probably know already that the ten microscopic frozen embryos that I have in storage represent a huge weight hanging over my head. So we went to see Glenn to discuss the idea of using them via a surrogate, in what would be a last ditch attempt to try and have another child. Glenn seemed happy to see us as per usual, remembered every detail of every other patient I had sent to him, enquired after my family – my mother, my father, both of my sisters and even two friends I had sent him, and told us that our embryos statistically have an 80% chance of ‘taking’ if put back in a normally fertile and healthy woman… as compared the <30%ish chance they always had when being put back in me. It all sounded very positive and doable even (though the cost was going to be prohibitive with a rough figure of approximately $30,000 being bandied about). But then again… Glenn always was very optimistic for us, largely due to my youth, which in fertility terms at the time I was seeking treatments was on my side. He told us that from when we decided to go ahead, it would take about three months in legals and counselling before an implantation to a surrogate could take place. And I remember thinking… ‘That soon, huh?’
Anyway, we talked about it for a while and eventually Mr K decided we would ask his sister if she would act as a surrogate for us. Such a huge… HUGE… thing to ask anyone, and while we have had offers from two other women in our lives, who said they would help us out in this way if they could – it was his sister whom we felt we could most trust with the most precious possession we have in this life… our potential unborn child. It’s a very delicate subject all round and so highly charged with emotions. Mr K’s sister has two absolutely delightful children of her own, so understands the enormous impact of what we would be asking her, as well as fully comprehending the import that accompanies agreeing to enter into such an arrangement. So, Mr K said he would talk to her and see what she said, and eventually in July 2014 (with me hovering in the wings for months waiting for him to find an ‘opportune moment’, trying so desperately every day not to push for things to move more quickly… patience has never been one of my strong suits and I was worried he would change his mind), he spoke with her about it. He decided it would be best to ask her ‘brother to sister’, and I could talk with her later if she wanted any more information about artificial reproductive technologies or the emotional side of complicated fertility or indeed, what this would mean to us.
July he broached the subject with her. A week or so later, I visited and thanked her for considering the situation and told her that I felt she was the person we most trusted to help us with this endeavour. I could not describe how this undertaking felt for me, nor could I adequately put into words my thoughts about how absolutely impossible it would be for us to thank her should she choose to go through with this, and give us the gift of another little person to add to our small family… and then we backed off and gave her space to think. July came and went. And then August… I mentioned to her once in passing that if she needed more detailed information, that I could make an appointment with the IVF specialist for her and he could offer her independent advice on what being a surrogate entails. August behind us, September flew past, all the time… every single day… I fretted. I worried about what would happen if she said ‘no’. I worried about what would happen if she said ‘yes’.
I was scared shitless by the enormity of what we were considering entering into – giving our precious embryos into someone else’s safekeeping in a legal environment that gives all rights to any child born to the birth mother, and not the biological parents. I worried away at it every single day, to the point where I have found it difficult to think cohesively on other things. October came and went and I could feel myself starting to get sick to the stomach every time I thought about it. Convinced that this wasn’t important to her. Convinced that we aren’t important to her. Convinced that our happiness doesn’t matter to others at all. Worried that she had forgotten all about it, or that she felt we shouldn’t have more children or, even worse, when my imagination ran away with me, felt that we didn’t deserve more children.
Then November rolls around and on a weekend while I am out of town, Mr K’s sister tells us that she can’t help us. She doesn’t want to be a surrogate for us and immediately I felt like the very air around me was being sucked out of my lungs. I could not breathe. I was at an event surrounded by friends and strangers… some of them very dear and very close friends, but whom I didn’t feel I could confide in about something so personal or so explosively emotional, without completely breaking down in front of 140 people. There was no where to go, no where to hide, no where to let my pain out. I didn’t have (and still don’t) any details as to why she has decided she can’t undertake this for us or doesn’t want to. In part, I am not sure it really matters what the reasons are behind it – the outcome is the same regardless, but I’d like to know all the same. I am thankful that she even considered doing this for us and by all accounts she seems to have considered it long and hard… but I can’t find the words to describe how unbelievably devastated I feel. Like I have been waiting for the last four years for things to come together for us to be able to consider surrogacy as an option only to find that it’s not an option after all.
I was surrounded by people and yet I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life. I am not sure how I held it together in the hours that followed – I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, I wanted to run away, I wanted to hurl myself into freezing water, I wanted to tear at my flesh with my fingernails and wail about how unfair my whole fucking life has been… I wanted to feel something, anything other than the deep and unrelenting sadness and crushing disappointment that gripped my heart and my mind. Instead, I smiled and carried on with my day… pretending to enjoy the company of my friends and hoping that no one noticed anything was amiss because I certainly didn’t want to explain this to anyone.
And now I feel like a huge bottle of angst waiting to explode. What am I to do now?
