Authors: Carolyn Savage
I thought of the day of the transfer, of those embryos floating down to her womb, and then of Carolyn lying sick in bed this morning.
“Does the other family know?” I asked.
“Not yet. I wanted to see what you and Carolyn were going to do. I didn’t know whether you would want to continue with this pregnancy. Actually, I thought I would reach Carolyn at this number,” he said. “Can you give me her number?”
“No,” I said. No way was I giving the doctor that number.
“I think you must consider carefully if you want to continue this pregnancy,” the doctor said. “With Carolyn’s health at stake and the emotional toll….”
“Call this number in an hour,” I said.
After we hung up, I sat at my desk, unable to move. My mind bounced from one urgency to another, like a super ball trying to find a spot to settle. I had to relay this news in person. Carolyn had been my rock, my soul mate, for more than twenty years. We had
always done the heavy lifting together; neither one of us shouldered big burdens alone. It was a partnership in every sense of the word. Thinking of how much this would hurt her made me sick to my stomach.
Stand up, grab your keys, and get home
, I thought.
I had made the sixteen-minute drive home so often that I could do it in my sleep, which was good, because I wasn’t focusing on the road.
This is a life-changer
, I kept thinking, but I couldn’t process much beyond that. Mostly I was trying to decide what words to use when I told Carolyn.
As I pulled into the driveway the pounding of my heart shook my bones. I knew Carolyn was in the bedroom resting, and I thanked God that the boys were off at the neighbor’s and our youngest was with my mom. I walked upstairs in the silent house, filled with trepidation.
The bedroom curtains were drawn, and the room was nearly dark. Carolyn looked weak and tired in the dim light. I approached her side of the bed, startling her.
“I have some really bad news,” I said. She sat straight up in bed. “You are pregnant, but the doctor transferred another couple’s embryos into you.”
“What?”
“They made a horrendous mistake. Another couple’s embryos are inside you. The doctor called to tell me.”
“You are joking,” she said.
I shook my head no.
She repeated loudly, “You are joking!”
I shook my head no again, and terror flitted over her face.
“You are joking!”
I moved to comfort her, but she flew out of bed. I stood back. She walked toward me with her finger pointed at my chest, as if she was going to make me take back what I just said. Then she stopped. I watched tears building in her eyes, while tears of my own ran
slowly down my face. I was her husband, and I was not able to help her. No one could.
CAROLYN
Sean’s face was ashen and his shoulders slumped, his body drained of his usual confidence. Deep down, I realized he wasn’t kidding. As the seconds passed and I understood what he was saying, I lost control.
Sean reached to comfort me, but I didn’t want to be touched. I ran toward our bathroom. He followed. I ran from the bathroom to the closet, back to the bathroom, to the bedroom door, and back to the bed, as if I needed to get away, but there was no escape. The problem was
inside
of my body. I realized I was gasping for air. I caught a glimpse of myself in our bedroom mirror. My skin was covered in red blotches, and my eyes were bloodshot and swollen.
Get a grip, Carolyn
, I thought to myself. Then I looked at Sean, who was standing in the corner of our bedroom, tears streaming down his face. I’d only seen him cry twice before: the day his dad died and the day Ryan was born, when I nearly died. Once again, he was crying tears of helplessness. He didn’t know what to do for me.
I plopped down on the bed, grabbed my pillow, and hugged it to my chest. Staring at the wall, I tried to catch my breath. I couldn’t look at Sean. I couldn’t look anywhere.
After a few minutes of silence, Sean moved closer. He hesitated and spoke softly.
“You know, the doctor wants you to terminate.”
“What? They want me to do what?”
“He said it would be best for you to terminate.”
Our fertility doctor didn’t believe in abortion. How could he go against his personal ethics?
I looked up at Sean, and our eyes locked. We both knew what the other was thinking. This was a human life, and we would pro
tect it. It didn’t matter that this child was in the wrong womb. That wasn’t his or her fault. I put myself in the place of this child’s mother. If I were her, I would be terrified that my child’s life was going to be taken away because he or she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. What if my unborn child was in the wrong woman? Would that woman be merciful and allow my child to live?
I looked at Sean knowing this was one of those decisions we didn’t need to discuss.
“We’d never do that,” I said.
Sean nodded his head in agreement. And that was it. We would endure this pregnancy. I looked up at him, but his eyes had drifted to the portrait of our family on the beach that hangs over our bed. I closed my eyes. I wanted to shut it all out. When I opened them again, Sean was sobbing.
In the Name of Family
SEAN
A
S
I
LOOKED AT
Carolyn, I saw tears running down her face and also felt tears on mine. I could not believe we were in this place. How did our life’s journey lead us here? So much of what had driven us since we met was our family. We had sacrificed and spent so much, all for the ideal of having a large family.
The first time I saw Carolyn, at a party that my Miami University of Ohio fraternity hosted in 1989, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She looked just like the woman I had imagined I would marry. She was dressed conservatively, but I noticed a spark, a light she brought to her corner of the room. I asked some friends to arrange an introduction. Up close, I found her in a playful mood.
“Have you ever seen a hair dance?” she asked me.
“No,” I said. She plucked a strand of her long blond hair, and I followed her to a beer-drenched table.
“Watch closely as I place this piece of hair into that puddle of beer,” she said.
I dropped my head for a better view, and she urged me closer. When I was within a few inches of it, she stretched out her hand and splashed beer all over my hair and face. Bold! I loved that she had the guts to try a trick.
I really like this girl
, I thought.
We decided to go to a party at a fraternity nearby, but that party had ended. I offered to walk her home, and she accepted. We didn’t take a straight line back. It was nearly midnight, and the weather was a balmy seventy degrees, unusual for Ohio in October. We strolled up High Street, past the lovely old colonial-style brick buildings that dot the campus, laughing and talking so easily, in our own world. It just felt right. She let me steal a kiss at her door as we said good night.
The following few weeks were a little hit and miss, but by Thanksgiving we were dating exclusively. Two days after Christmas I drove five hours from my parents’ home in Toledo to Champaign, Illinois, to see Carolyn and meet her family. All the Higginses were waiting to meet me: Carolyn’s dad Byron, her mom Linda, and her brothers, Mike and Andy. Byron was the chief counsel for the University of Illinois and knew how to take someone’s measure, particularly where his beloved daughter was concerned.
Linda served an elaborate, multi-course dinner. Afterwards, I was looking forward to excusing myself from the table for a night out with Carolyn. As we stood up to go, Linda urged us to please sit down for dessert, and she set a piece of her famous cherry pie before me. I hate cherry pie. It makes me gag, but the pride with which Linda presented it alerted me to the fact that I’d better eat it if I wanted to make a favorable impression on the Higgins family. I choked down the slice of pie, slipping several bites to their dog Bailey, who waited eagerly underneath the table, and expressed my compliments to the chef. I passed the test. The reward was sharing an “I love you” with Carolyn for the first time as I was leaving.
The summer arrived, and I had a job back home in Toledo pounding nails at a construction site. Carolyn was on my mind most of the time. Nearly every weekend I traveled to see her in Champaign, or vice versa. The commute to visit her was epic. One Saturday in July, I finished work at 3:00 in the afternoon, immediately jumped in my car, still dusty and sweaty, and arrived at her house
around 7:30. On Sunday I had to be back in Toledo by noon for a family gathering, so I left Carolyn at 7:00
A.M
. I spent ten hours in the car to spend twelve hours with Carolyn.
As our one-year dating anniversary approached, I wanted to give Carolyn something special. On our anniversary—October 29—we drove to Cincinnati, where I bought her a beautiful Irish Claddagh ring. I put it on her finger as a placeholder for the ring I planned to give her in the future. I had no doubt we were moving toward a life together, a life with family at its center. During one happy evening early on, we imagined sitting at opposite ends of our kitchen table with our raucous children in between. We even named them.
In the late spring of 1992, just after I graduated, I got down on one knee in the Formal Gardens at Miami University and proposed. Carolyn said yes, and the wedding plans began within minutes. On May 29, 1993, one hundred days after my father, John F. Savage, passed away, we wed in St. John’s Catholic Chapel in Champaign, Illinois. Carolyn joined me in Toledo, where I worked for State Farm Insurance as a corporate employee and Carolyn taught eighth-grade language arts at a Catholic school. Within a few years, I joined Savage & Associates, the financial services firm that my father founded, later run by my uncle Bob Savage. By then, we had two sons and Carolyn was working on her master’s in education and would soon be the principal of an elementary school. What could stop us from achieving our dreams?
In a word, infertility.
CAROLYN
Though Sean fell for me immediately, I took a little while longer. Sure, I let him kiss me when he walked me home, but a few nights later we passed each other on the street and I didn’t recognize him. I think there was some beer involved in that episode too. I guess I needed some more time. The first time he came to visit my apart
ment, my roommate and I were looking out the front window as Sean approached, wearing a shiny blue tracksuit to our first date! She chuckled. “Well,” she said, “maybe you can teach him how to dress, ’cause he’s even cute wearing that.”
Despite our beginning, when I fell for Sean, I fell completely. He is quick and witty, and like me, he never shrinks from a challenge. In each other, we truly had met our match. Besides our ambitions, we shared a faith, the same goals, and, at the center of it all, a desire for a big family. We both thought raising children was the best show on earth. I could spend my entire day snuggling babies, burying my kisses in their necks, and listening to them giggle. We agreed to have at least four children, but I wouldn’t have been opposed to five or six, if we could support them. Sean is the eighth child of John and Kate Savage’s brood of nine, and his description of growing up in a big family appealed to me.
I met the Savage clan for the first time when Sean and I had been going out for about six months and he took me home for his sister Patti’s wedding. As we drove toward the church that afternoon, Sean warned me that I’d be introduced to more than a hundred of his blood relatives at the ceremony. How would I keep all those names straight? Sean didn’t make things any easier on me with his stories about his brothers.
“You should be glad this is a wedding and not all of us sitting around the dinner table. My brothers all rate the new girlfriends when someone brings one home.”
“Excuse me?”
“Like sometimes one of them will bring home a date for dinner, and we all just shout out numbers while we are eating.”
“That’s awful!”
“Not really. She never knows what we’re doing. We just ask for ‘three rolls’ or ‘seven green beans.’ Don’t worry. You’d get some high numbers.”
Some
high numbers? After the ceremony, my mind was tied
up in knots as we pulled into the driveway of the Savage home, which sat amid five acres on a hillside in a suburb of Toledo. The Savages were hosting four hundred guests at a beautiful reception in a hall nearby. Honestly, I hardly noticed the food. Most of my energy went into memorizing the names of all the siblings and their spouses. There was John and Cindy; Kevin and JoAnn; Jeff and his girlfriend Carol; Scott and Julie and their one-year-old, Kristen; Brian and Beth; the bride Patti and her new husband Pat; Kelly; and Sean’s younger brother, Aaron.
“Then there are my cousins,” Sean said. “My dad has eight siblings.” I must have looked dumbfounded. “Don’t worry. I don’t even know all of their names. My aunts make everyone wear name tags at family gatherings.”
This was the large family I wanted for my children. Of course, I had a happy childhood and love my family with all my heart. I have wonderful memories of sailing on Lake Huron in the summers. And our family dinners, every evening at six o’clock sharp, were precious to me. Yet the grand scale of this family captured my imagination. I definitely saw a place for myself among the Savages.
Part of what drew me to them was their faith.
My family was religious but not active in a parish, which was tough for a little girl who liked ceremony and regimen. The Savage family life was intertwined with the life of the church, something I also craved: a community that watched out for each other, linked through the ceremonies of life—the births, the deaths, and the holidays. In Sean’s family, all of it was held in place by the power and charisma of Sean’s dad.
Revered in his industry, John Savage also was a motivational speaker with engagements all over the world. He easily could have paid for college for all of his children, but he devised his own motivational scheme to build character in them. The kids would pay for half of their college education. On the day they graduated, their father would give them back all the money they had put in.