Authors: Carolyn Savage
In the early weeks of life, the baby nestles deeply in the protection of the pelvis, and since the wand cannot pick up sound through bone, I’d have to be crafty to hear this Little One. I started scanning my lower abdomen, hearing nothing but a swooshing sound. I sucked in my breath, collapsing my abdominal cavity, and pushed hard on the wand. Still nothing.
Maybe I wasn’t using enough gel. I squirted more on, making quite a mess, but I didn’t care. I kept sweeping, lower and lower, until the wand was practically on the top of my pelvis. Then I pressed down and pointed it toward my toes.
Goodness, don’t press too hard!
Still nothing. I started to move the wand back and forth.
Come on, Little One. Where are you hiding?
Suddenly, I wanted to find this baby so badly.
I squirted on more gel, hoping it would enhance the sound. I heard a sound like wind blowing though the trees: the sound of blood flowing through my placenta. After a few minutes I pointed my toes, exhaled heavily, collapsing my lungs as far as I could to make more space to probe. And I heard it…faint but strong.
There you are!
I smiled broadly as I fumbled for the stopwatch. I took a fifteen-second heart rate. Forty-one times four is 164. One hundred sixty-four beats per minute.
That’s pretty darn good, Little One. You must be a strong little person. You cut in line to get here. You found the heart of a family that would let you grow, and you hung on through a blood clot in your new home. Not bad for someone the size of a marble. I love you, Little One. I love you.
I lay still for a moment on the floor, savoring the discovery, content that I could have this private moment as often as I liked.
Then I thought,
I’m torturing myself, aren’t I?
Every time I sought out that sound, I grew closer to something that I’d lose. I so wanted a taste of something that was going right, to know that the baby was growing, that this child was safe.
I wiped off my stomach and the heart rate monitor, impressed by the amount of gel I’d slopped around in my search. I placed the pieces back in the toiletry bag and shoved it safely under the bed. As I stood, the spell of that time I’d shared with Little One was broken. I glanced at the clock and then to the mess of clothes heaped on the bed. After Mary Kate woke from her nap, we’d be heading out to meet Sean for an appointment with Kevin Anderson.
I had spent a ridiculous amount of time that morning trying to figure out what to wear. I was starting to show very early. I guess that’s what happens when a forty-year-old mom has been pregnant
three times in two and a half years. With the warmer weather, I realized that it was time to pack away the sweaters and long coats I’d used to camouflage my expansion. From the back of the closet, I had unearthed the maternity shorts I bought when I was pregnant with MK, but I couldn’t find a top that fit but still disguised my shape. Before he’d left for work that morning, I asked Sean’s opinion.
“Sean, what about this?” I said, showing him my profile in a T-shirt.
“Too tight.”
He was right. The top part of the T-shirt fit great, but it was so tight around my abdomen that it emphasized my pregnancy. Next I tried a baby doll top, gathered at the yoke and loose around the hem.
“What about this?” I asked, twirling around in the baby doll top.
“Looks like my grandma’s.”
“What about this?” I’d donned a sweater that hung loose over my belly, one that had been my go-to cover-up for most of the month of March.
“Are you kidding? You’ll sweat to death! You know, you might just have to hold MK if you see anyone.”
So I chose the baby doll top. In truth, I just wanted to stay home. I was tired of hiding this pregnancy. I wanted to tell everyone I met that I was pregnant, but that wasn’t in the cards. Also, I was ambivalent about the session. We were going to discuss our upcoming meeting with Paul and Shannon. I didn’t really want to talk about it. But of course, I knew that it’s those times when you don’t want to see your counselor that are actually the times when you really need his help.
I glanced at my profile in the mirror. No one could see my belly in this outfit. Just in case, there would be no errands, no quick stop at the café downtown. If I went directly home after the appointment, no one would ask any questions. I scooped up MK, and
we made our way to Kevin’s office, where we found Sean already standing outside the door with a worried frown on his face.
SEAN
There was so much on my mind that I had starting getting stress headaches that arrived as a band of pain across my forehead. Staying organized was some help, but as I went through my day at work and to and from home or practice, all the free space in my mind churned through all we had to manage. In February I had started dictating into a recorder as I drove. My friend Marty suggested in our initial conversation that I do this to keep track of events and feelings as they occurred. Now I was so glad that I’d taken his advice. Sometimes, rather than making plans and lists, I’d just talk about what was happening and the issues we couldn’t resolve. By the time we got to April I was more comfortable exploring all of the issues out loud. I came to think of this practice of recording my thoughts as a driving meditation, like my running was at night.
I had started to worry about our legal situation with the clinic. In April we were contacted by an attorney who let us know that he would be representing the clinic in the matter of the medical error. I did some research on him and discovered that he was a very well credentialed attorney. He specialized in medical malpractice defense and had an excellent record. When he and I spoke, I informed him that we had not acquired legal representation regarding the mistake. I asked him for a copy of the clinic’s safety protocol and requested that he help us get Carolyn’s medical records so that we could transfer our embryos and records to a new clinic. After making these requests, I patiently waited. As I drove I realized that it had been nearly eight days since I’d spoken with the attorney and he hadn’t yet responded to my requests. Perhaps we needed to seek legal representation to deal with the clinic’s attorney. We hoped not to have
to involve attorneys in this regard, but the nonresponse indicated that we would need some help.
These legal maneuverings caused Carolyn and me to start wondering whether the clinic could be absolutely certain that a mix-up had occurred. Why were they not getting us the medical records? We had not yet been provided with evidence that our embryos were safe and secure or been given an explanation of how the mistake occurred and how it was discovered. We pictured the frantic actions that probably occurred in the lab when the doctors realized what they had done. They probably checked labels and records while adrenaline was running at full tilt. What if they had made a mistake about the mistake? One night, when we were going to sleep, this was our topic.
“They say they know where our embryos are, but how do we have proof?”
“How do they know whose baby I am carrying?” Carolyn asked. “We’re planning to hand over this child to another family, but could there be an even bigger error involved? After all, if this clinic is capable of screwing it up this much, how can we be certain that there isn’t an even bigger mistake? I am not turning this child over until I know it is not our genetic baby.
“It can take weeks to get a genetic match once the baby is born,” Carolyn said. “This child would be in limbo until the test results come. Unless we do an amniocentesis.”
“We’ve always said no to that,” I said. “I don’t want them sticking a needle in you and taking out the amniotic fluid. Even if the risks are small, they’re too great.”
“The odds are against me having any trouble with the test.”
“We had a one-in-three-million event occur, and so I will never be convinced the odds are too low.”
As I drove to work, I was beginning to see her point. If we tested the baby after birth, the baby would be in limbo for weeks without any recognized parents. I could not stand in the way of the amnio, but the concept of the test was frightening.
If the baby was confirmed to be the genetic child of the other family, we could confidently move forward and make arrangements that would ease the change of custody. I wondered how that would work. I guessed that, when we headed to the hospital for the birth, we’d have to call the lawyer as well as the doctor. By being proactive, we could ensure that our names never appeared on the birth certificate. I realized that Paul’s and Shannon’s names should be on the birth certificate as parents (if they were his parents!). It would be good for the child over the long term not to have a birth certificate that was a constant reminder of the mix-up.
While we had to put in place the legal planning for the change of custody, we also had to begin planning for the future of our family. That future would not involve Carolyn carrying any more children. I never in my wildest thoughts imagined having to use someone else to carry our child, but two different doctors told us that this would be Carolyn’s last pregnancy. So, if we wanted to have another child within two or three years of Mary Kate, we had to choose a surrogate soon. The idea was mind-blowing. We started our family when we were just out of college, and at the rate we were going we would be attending high school graduations with the aid of walkers and canes. If much more time passed, I could definitely see Drew or Ryan pushing me there in a wheelchair. The economics were daunting, but I couldn’t let money get in the way. Carolyn and I had always saved and saved for a rainy day, and now it was pouring.
I wasn’t in the mood for a philosophical or religious discussion that afternoon, but I kept our commitment to see Kevin. The topic of the session that week didn’t even touch on our potential future children: we were to discuss meeting the other family.
I respected Kevin and valued everything we’d learned from him in our sessions, but sometimes he made me feel inadequate when it came to the great philosophical and spiritual ideas. He usually framed an issue by starting off with a story or a saying by a great thinker or spiritual leader that we were supposed to ponder and take
guidance from. Each time he would ask, “Have you heard of…?” I would immediately look down and shake my head no. All of a sudden I was back in front of my eighth-grade teacher, Sister Brenda Rose, confessing that I did not study for the test.
Once in a while I was so glad when he brought up a philosopher he had referenced at a previous session. I could respond, “Of course, Kevin, who doesn’t know who that is?” I was hoping just once he’d start off with something like, “Do you know anything about the Boston Celtics organization under Red Auerbach?” And I would jump off the couch and say, “Hell, yes! I read Auerbach’s biography, and let me tell you a few things about his philosophy!” Not likely, but still, I could hope.
I got to Kevin’s office early and was waiting outside when Carolyn arrived with MK. All of Carolyn’s rest and good nutrition were paying off, and we were very hopeful that this pregnancy would go full term. The baby was growing beautifully. The images from our last ultrasound were vivid. The more detailed they were, the more we bonded with the baby. And now we were going to have to meet the parents. I had a difficult time even forming that sentence.
Kevin opened the door to his office and ushered us in. Each time we saw Kevin I was struck by the gentleness of his manner. We could come in with a significant amount of anxiety, and he seemed to be able to soothe it almost immediately. Sometimes I didn’t get what he was talking about right away, but by the end of the hour it usually resonated within me.
We all took our assigned seats—Carolyn and I on the plush sofa next to one another and Kevin in a chair about five feet from us. Behind Kevin was a sliding-glass door that overlooked the courtyard of the church building. Carolyn was busy getting MK situated on the floor with some toys, so I started.
“I know we have to meet the other family eventually, but I actually don’t see why it has to be now,” I said. It felt right to launch immediately into what was on our minds.
“Is there something that worries you about this meeting?” he asked. “What frightens you?”
“I don’t trust people I don’t know, and I tread lightly when I’m not sure what’s up ahead,” I said. “Nothing about the situation we’re in is predictable at this stage. Carolyn and I were left to read the tea leaves for a number of days after the other family knew what had happened. They didn’t communicate with us, and I was unsure of the reason for the delay. And when the letter came, they said they were grateful, but it also focused on themselves and their struggles. This makes me even more cautious. If Shannon was carrying our baby, I would have offered anything I could to help. I don’t want to make judgments, just observations.”
As Kevin contemplated what I had said the silence became uncomfortable. I stared at the fountain and focused on the trickling water.
Then Carolyn spoke up with her usual unsparing honesty.
“I make judgments,” she said. “I harbor such resentment. I feel like I am being used by them. They’ve done nothing, and they get everything? I’m jealous.”
It pained me to hear her say such harsh things, because she has such a huge heart. But in my book, it’s not so much what we say but what we do that counts. Carolyn’s actions were all about compassion and caring for this other family.
Carolyn started to cry. I put my arm around her. I didn’t know what to say then. Carolyn’s tears sometimes have a way of doing that to me. I feel helpless and like there’s nothing I can do to help make her hurt go away. And there’s nothing I want more in that moment than to make it go away.
“You know why I really don’t want to meet them? Because I know me,” Carolyn continued through her sobs. “When Paul and Shannon become real people to me, I will want to help them and want to like them. Our disaster was their miracle, and after we meet, I will want to find a way to be happy for them. I’m not ready
to be happy for them. I’m not even ready to like them. Part of me hopes they are awful. That way, I’d be justified in all the terrible things I’ve been thinking about them.”