Inconceivable (12 page)

When he found them, I pictured him removing the catheters where my embryos were stored, a procedure that is supposed to happen just before they are thawed. He would have lifted them out of the tank and stared at them for a while. I feared that he had thrown all protocol out the window at that point, laying the catheters on the counter while he double-checked my chart, hoping and praying he was reading it wrong. My embryos would have been thawing with every second that passed. I imagined that it took him a few minutes to gather himself and put my embryos back into the tank. By then, the damage would have been done.

I would force myself to turn away from the horror of that image and hope and pray that my embryos harbored one or two more children for our family. Not all of them were likely to be viable; nevertheless, I thought,
Surely God will reward us for saving this baby. Surely there is a baby for us at the end of this nightmare
. So I prayed for them. Just like I prayed for Drew, Ryan, Mary Kate, and the baby I was carrying. I prayed that God would protect my future children and deliver them safely to me…sooner rather than later.

I also wanted to do something for us. For me. It felt like everything we had done since February 16 had gone toward helping this
unborn child and the other family. I just wanted to have something to hope for, something to look forward to.

Long before we ever did IVF, Sean and I traveled to see a doctor in the Indianapolis area for a consultation. He had an excellent reputation and had helped friends of ours finally achieve their family after ten years of failures. He was the first doctor to recommend that we seriously consider IVF. Although we did our first IVF with our local doctor, the doctor in Indianapolis was the first one who popped into my mind as I tried to figure out what to do with our remaining embryos.

I called his practice and asked to speak to the head embryologist, who seemed very sympathetic to our situation. The plan we made was for me to pick up my embryos at the old clinic, which would place them in a portable cryopreservation tank about the size of a fire extinguisher, and then strap them into MK’s car seat with bungee cords and drive them to meet with the new embryologist and doctor.

A few days after my birthday, the phone rang. I recognized the number as the Indianapolis doctor’s office. I expected that it would be someone confirming all the plans for the big move. Instead, it was the embryologist. He sounded contrite as he asked me how I was doing. I sensed that something was wrong.

“After much discussion, we have decided we are unable to help you,” he said.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“We are not going to be able to accept you as a patient here. So it won’t be necessary for you to move your embryos here next week.”

Panic washed over me.

“We don’t know where else to turn,” I blurted out. “We don’t have a relationship with any other fertility practices. I don’t even know how to start a search for a new clinic under these circumstances!” I could feel the tears streaming down my face.

“I’m sorry. I feel really bad about this. If you want, I’ll look into some other options for you,” the embryologist said.

“No. No. We’ll figure it out. I have to go. My boys are getting off of the bus. They can’t see me crying.”

I shook my head as I hung up the phone, frantically brushing away tears. His office probably didn’t want to be associated with us, and I couldn’t blame him for that. Who would? After all, I knew I was likely to become the poster child for the humdinger of all assisted reproduction disasters.

I began wondering what I was going to do. What if no one wanted to help us? What if no one wanted to be associated with our situation? I knew we had done nothing wrong, but it was just a matter of time before the media would be all over this story. No one wanted to be mistakenly seen as the clinic that did this to us.

I could hear the boys in the kitchen rummaging around for an after-school snack. I collected myself by splashing some cool water on my face and then went downstairs with a smile on my face to help with homework and cook dinner.

To the Genetic Couple’s Lawyer

April 1, 2009

Attached please find the most recent ultrasound picture provided by my clients. It was taken yesterday, March 31, 2009. As depicted in the picture, the baby is measuring 10 weeks and 3 days. The heart rate was 184 beats per minute. These are both signs of continued healthy fetal development.

My client’s next prenatal appointment is scheduled for Wednesday, April 8, 2009. Results from that appointment will be forwarded that afternoon.

SEAN

Soon after learning that we would have to find a new clinic for our embryos, we had our weekly appointment with Kevin. Carolyn
explained that she felt as though our embryos had been disregarded by everyone but us. He asked, “Are you familiar with the concept of equanimity?”

Carolyn and I shook our heads.

“Equanimity is the idea that when things are going well, we are at peace. And when things are not going well, we are at peace. The ideal in a spiritual life is to be at peace with what is and always react steadily.”

We must have looked dumbfounded.

“Have you heard the story ‘Maybe, Maybe Not’?”

Again, we answered no. So he told it to us.

There was a farmer who used a great horse to help him on his farm. One day his horse ran away. His neighbors said to him, “Farmer, that is awful. You lost your horse.” He replied, “Maybe, maybe not.”

Within a few days the farmer was surprised to find that the horse had returned—with three additional wild horses. The new horses could be quite useful on his farm. His neighbors marveled at his good fortune. “Farmer, you are so lucky. You now own several horses. You will work so much faster in your fields.” The farmer replied, “Maybe, maybe not.”

The next day the farmer’s son tried to ride one of the wild horses but was bucked, resulting in a broken leg. The neighbors came to visit the farmer and said, “Farmer, this is tragic. Your son cannot walk.” The farmer replied, “Maybe, maybe not.”

Soon an army troop stormed the town, kidnapping all of the town’s young men to press into service in their war. The troop was attacked, and all of the town’s young men perished. The neighbors came to the farmer and said, “Farmer, you are so lucky. All of our sons have died, yet you still have yours because he was too injured to go with the soldiers.” The farmer replied, “Maybe, maybe not.”

This was an “aha” moment for both of us. I had never viewed the events of my life in this manner. Carolyn’s eyes were lighting up
as she processed the concept and the story. Was this the worst thing that had ever happened to us? I certainly thought so. Could we learn something from it? Hard to imagine, but…maybe, maybe not.

CAROLYN

When Kevin asked us if we understood the story, I said we did. To me it meant that the twists and turns of life harbor tragedies that turn into blessings and blessings that give way to tragedy. The farmer quietly accepted the twists and turns of life and waited. He didn’t get too excited about anything because he knew that the world could change for him in the blink of an eye. Instead, he stayed even-keeled, accepting what life brought next and dealing with it in peace. Kevin knew that peace was what we were craving when he shared that story.

We got more than peace, however, from that story. The farmer accepted that his first impression of something as good or bad was not always a reflection of how it would affect his life, but he wasn’t passive about it. He tried to make the most of what life dealt him, never being too attached to the idea of reversal or triumph.

I had been so upset that I was turning forty and this was our last chance at a baby. After that session with Kevin, I understood that this was not our last chance. I thought back to a night a few days after MK was born. I was pumping a bottle of breast milk because MK was too weak to nurse and I needed to start my supply. Suddenly I was overcome by the realization that our baby was here. My stomach was all torn up from the C-section, and I couldn’t have looked or felt more terrible, but at the same time I knew we were living a dream come true.
Thank you, God. Thank you, God
, I said over and over again. We had our beautiful baby, against all the odds. Defying the dour scolding of that doctor in Cleveland, we held a miracle in our hands. Somehow I knew in my bones that my embryos had among them at least one more child. If we were going
to continue to live our values, we had to find a way to give our embryos a chance at life. We needed to start the process of finding a surrogate to carry our child.

I had spoken with Sean years before about surrogacy, but he immediately rejected the idea. We were much younger then, with many years ahead of us in the world of fertility and infertility. He felt that the costs were prohibitive, and no doctor had brought up the idea or recommended that we needed surrogacy to achieve a successful pregnancy and delivery. But now all of those considerations were tossed up in the air.

The choice to start looking for a surrogate changed my feelings about the other family. I was angry at them for assuming I could immediately flip my intentions and become a surrogate. I did not want this responsibility. I resented their lack of gratitude and understanding. But here we were at the end of the first trimester, and the doctor said that there was a more than 90 percent chance that this was a viable pregnancy. I had allowed this baby to grow, and I was hopeful that we would find a young, healthy woman with a big heart who could do the same for us.

I knew Sean would not like the idea. All throughout our marriage I’ve known that there is a specific way to introduce new ideas: with patience. When we had Ryan, I knew early on that we would need a bigger house and a larger place for the boys to play. I had to start talking about it eighteen months before I wanted the new house to be a reality because Sean needed six or seven months to consider the idea before he warmed to it. With the surrogacy, we didn’t have time to play that game. We needed to get going on this right away. I’d have to do some thinking about how to raise the subject, but we were going to have to have that conversation very soon. I knew it wouldn’t go well at first. But I knew, in the end, he would agree.

As I drifted off to sleep every night I whispered to the little life growing inside of me, as I had with all of my babies, “Mama loves
you, sweetie,” repeating those words as I gently rubbed my belly. This baby needed to know that he or she was loved. I pictured some other woman eventually doing the same as my baby grew daily under her care. Mine was a mommy’s love, a universal feeling that linked me to Shannon. I returned to feeling how worried Shannon must be for her baby, just as I would be when our surrogate was pregnant with our child. I was treating this child the way I wanted our child to be treated, and I would work harder in the future to think of Shannon in the way I would like to be honored.
Let the anger go
, I thought, rubbing with that gentle soothing touch of mothers everywhere.
Let the anger go and replace it with mother love.

The Second Trimester

C
HAPTER
9

Charting a Course

April 8, 2009 (sent)

Attached please find the most recent ultrasound picture provided by my clients. It was taken this morning and showed the baby measuring 11 weeks, 2 days. The baby’s heartbeat was 180 beats per minute. These are both signs of continued healthy fetal development.

The next prenatal appointment is scheduled for Tuesday, April 14, 2009. Information from the appointment will be forwarded that afternoon.

CAROLYN

I
CROUCHED DOWN
next to our bed and pulled up the dust ruffle, angling my head to peer into the dim space underneath. Just at arm’s reach, behind the stray socks and dust bunnies, I spotted it: a brown toiletry bag that contained the fetal heart rate monitor I bought when I was pregnant with MK. I had been blindsided by all four of my miscarriages, finding out that the baby had died only when a heartbeat couldn’t be detected. I never wanted that surprise again. With the monitor, I had reassurance whenever I needed it.

A fetal heart beats fast. The wand’s search through layers of fluid and tissue distorts the sound and creates a slight echo. Early on it’s a flutter. As the baby grows, the beat gets stronger, quicker, and much
easier to find. When I was carrying MK, I comforted myself with that sound, which mimics the galloping of a horse. In the morning and at night before bed, I’d listen to my baby galloping toward life with every beat of her heart. Where was this Little One on that journey?

Kneeling by the bed, I unzipped the pouch and found everything in its place: the monitor with its wand that looked like a small microphone, a bottle of ultrasound gel, and the stopwatch.
Maybe I shouldn’t do this
, I thought. Linda had said that it was way too early for me to find the heartbeat with this equipment. If it picked up just my own heart rate and blood flow, I’d end up scaring myself.
But what if I can find it? Then I’ll know the baby is growing. I’ll know the baby is safe.

I lay down on the floor next to the bed and adjusted my clothes. As I squirted the gel, gooey and cool, across my abdomen, I could hear the sounds of spring through the open windows that face the front of our property. One reason we’d bought this house was the peace it offers. The surrounding land is full of wildlife, and out here the stars in the evening skies are undimmed by city lights. As I lay on the floor searching for Little One, I heard the birds singing in the trees. We were having a warm spring. Yet until today I’d barely noticed the change in the season. I had spent much of the last two months in this room moving between the bathroom and the bed.