Inconceivable (18 page)

“You are scaring me. I am coming over now.”

“Amny, I can’t let you do that. I know Sean told you that no one is dying, no one is sick. I can add that our marriage is fine, and that no one has done anything illegal. Stop trying to guess because you will never figure it out. It is not anything that has ever happened before, and because it is so upsetting to me, I don’t want to explain it more than I have to. You have to wait, but it will be okay.”

Amny was exasperated, but the only way to do this was as planned. She would just have to wait.

Amny wasn’t the only one who freaked out upon receiving the call from Sean. By the time we arrived at church, our friends had dreamed up every horrid scenario under the sun. They had us divorcing, terminally ill, or leaving the Church. As if we would hold a meeting at church to announce that we were leaving the Church. No one came up with anything close to reality. I guess that speaks to how unbelievable our circumstances were.

When we got out of the car in the church parking lot, I grabbed Sean’s “mega” binder and carried it into the meeting to cover my obviously protruding belly. I wore my new maternity top, a shirt that clearly showed I was pregnant. As we entered the room, a hush fell over the crowd.

We took our seats at the front of the room. Then I looked up and surveyed the men and women I cared deeply about in our town. These were the moms and dads we had worked with, grown up with, and sat with in the freezing snow at soccer games. They all had been to our house many times for beers and barbecues. Sean had coached almost all of their kids in one sport or another. There were members of my book club and prayer group in the room, and
many of them worshiped with us every Sunday. I was so touched that they had all dropped everything—some of them even postponing trips out of town—to be with us at this moment.

Sean cut to the chase very quickly, as we had done in all of our other meetings. I was staring down, but looked up just as Sean was saying, “Another couple’s embryos were transferred into Carolyn. She is pregnant with another couple’s baby.” My friend Shannon’s eyes closed as if she was trying to make what he said go away. As if she could just open her eyes again and it would all be a bad dream.

I also caught the gobsmacked faces of my friends Kris and Katie. Kris had been someone to whom I reached out after my miscarriage in 2006. Her eyes and Katie’s eyes immediately filled with tears. Kris was gripping the edge of her chair as if she was trying not to fall over. She was white-knuckled.

When it was my turn, I skipped the line about being devastated that had made me cry the night before and instead explained what would and wouldn’t be helpful to us.

“I know you all are wondering what you can say to us to make us feel better. I don’t have an answer for you. I guess it would be more comfortable if we could pretend that this was not happening. I don’t want to be the elephant in the room…literally.”

That got a laugh.

“Since I know you may not know what to say, I’m going to give you a few tips on what not to say.”

Again, they all laughed.

“There are three things that well-intentioned people have already said to us that are not helpful. The first is this: ‘God only gives you what you can handle.’ I don’t believe this. I have seen in my life many people who have landed in situations that they couldn’t handle. I hope we are strong enough to handle this, but I will never accept this as a test from God. I don’t think God tests people.

“Another one that gets to me is the idea that ‘this is God’s plan.’ That theology doesn’t work for us. We don’t believe that God sits
up in heaven and decides who gets what tragedy or blessing. We are certain that God didn’t do this to us. We just know it happened, and now we are going to lean on our faith, and on you, to get through.

“The last thing that I would be happy to never hear again is: ‘Something good will come of this.’ I have no idea what is going to come of this, but I can confidently tell you that, regardless of how this turns out, we will never, ever look back on this event and say, ‘Good thing that happened.’

“I hope I find the strength to get through this. I was inspired while listening to Jackie Frisch talk last night. She is so strong and full of grace. I am not where she is. Maybe someday I will be, but right now I’m not. I’m really going to need your help.”

I finished my part and looked up for the second time in the meeting while Sean moved on. I noticed my friend Anne in the back of the room next to her husband Mike, with tears streaming down her face. I saw my friend Kathleen, who was clearly panic-stricken. I learned later she had missed the beginning of our talk and thought we had found out that Mary Kate wasn’t ours and we were going to lose her. My friend Melanie quickly explained the situation to her. Kathleen burst into tears out of relief, until she finally understood the real problem. Then she was sobbing all over again.

Sean finished, and we asked if anyone had any questions, at which point my dear friend Rachel piped up. Rachel will say anything, so I braced myself.

“I sure hope you are going to sue the doctor responsible.”

Leave it to Rachel to blurt out the question that I’m sure everyone else was thinking. Sean explained to her that we were going to keep that part of this private. There were a few more questions about how we were telling our kids, and we explained that we had told our kids the truth earlier that day.

“We’re not going to tell you how to handle this with your children. That’s your job as their parents. But if for any reason you
decide not to tell your kids, please let us know. We’ll do our best to stay away from them until the end of the pregnancy,” Sean said.

With that, we stood up as the meeting felt complete.

“Well, I guess you are pregnant,” Amny said.

We all chuckled.

“I just want you to know that I think what you are doing is awesome,” our friend Jenny said. “You are saving this baby’s life, and he is darn lucky he is where he is. I am proud to call you my friends.”

Everyone kind of “hear-hear-ed,” and I choked up.

The meeting had gone perfectly as planned. Until we went to leave.

One thing everyone should know about Sean is that he is not a man-hugger. Sean will gladly kiss and hug any woman around, but when it comes to showing affection to men, a firm handshake does him just fine. As people stood up to leave, we were surprised that everyone lined up to express their condolences, just like Sean’s siblings had. There were lots of tears, and there were hugs for me, and of course Sean was lapping up the affection from my girlfriends, since they are not a bad bunch to look at. However, there were some awkward moments when Sean didn’t know what to do with the men. Handshake or man-hug? By the time it was over, Sean was sweating.

“You okay?” I asked as we got in the car to go home.

“Yeah…but I could have done without the hugging. I didn’t know what to do. Is he leaning in to pat me on the back? Do we hug? Uncomfortable.”

I burst out laughing. I guess I should have added to my little speech on what not to say that Sean would not be hugging any men tonight, so don’t try.

We laughed on the way home. We were relieved. Our secret was really out, and we hoped we would now get the support we yearned for.

C
HAPTER
12

The Elephant in the Room

CAROLYN

I
N THE WEEKS AFTER
we met the Morells and told everyone of our troubles, Sean and I decided it was stupid to continue communicating with them through attorneys. They seemed nice enough and were very respectful of us during our meeting. We needed to get to know each other, to trust each other, and to find a way, I hoped, to support each other through this. If we could pull that together, then we’d have an easier time staying close after the baby was born.

Although I was warming to Shannon, I couldn’t forget the effect that her first letter had had on me. To keep communication with her from leaking into my everyday business, I created a new e-mail address that I gave only to her. That way, I could open that e-mail account only when I was mentally prepared to receive a message from her. Shannon was happy to get my e-mail and phone numbers. She was enthusiastic about any sign that I would allow her a closer view of the pregnancy. The morning before I was scheduled to have the amniocentesis test, I sent Shannon an e-mail letting her know when the test was happening and invited her to call me that night to check on how the procedure went.

Sean and I met at the lab half an hour before the test so that
we would have plenty of time to fill out the paperwork. When I entered the maternal fetal medicine waiting room, the receptionist handed me a clipboard, a pen, and a stack of forms to complete.

“Here. You do your part,” I said, handing Sean a stack of papers. For this test, he was considered the birth father, which meant that he had to sign numerous waivers promising not to sue if the procedure went poorly.

As he started filling out his forms, I studied my questionnaire.

“I can’t fill this out. Look at these questions,” I said.

The first question was the age of the mother at the time of conception, then the age of the father, and the health history of the baby’s genetic relatives. I flipped page after page to see whether I knew the answers to any of the questions.

“The only thing I know is Shannon’s age at the time of her original IVF. That’s it. I can’t answer a single question.”

“Carolyn Savage?”

We followed a nurse into a consult office.

“Wait right here for Jenny. She’ll be with you in a moment.”

I wondered who Jenny was until I noticed the framed degrees hanging on the wall.

“Oh, man. This is the office of the genetic counselor.”

Before Sean could react, Jenny bounced into her office and took her seat at the desk.

“Hi there. I’m here to talk to you about the genetic test results that you will be receiving about your baby in a few weeks. Can I see your paperwork?”

Begrudgingly, I slid the incomplete questionnaire toward her.

“Didn’t you have time to fill it out?”

“Uh…no. We can’t fill it out. We don’t have that kind of information about the genetic history of my baby.” I was annoyed. The doctor who was performing the amnio knew about our situation, and I explained it to the nurse before I ordered the DNA diagnostic kit. Why didn’t Jenny know?

Suddenly a lightbulb went off in Jenny’s head.

“Oh. This is an anonymous embryo donation?”

For crying out loud. No one had told this woman why we were there.

“No. I’m pregnant as a result of a botched IVF. My doctor transferred the wrong embryos into me. We need to confirm genetic parentage with our amnio.”

Jenny was stupefied.

“I didn’t know that could happen. Did it happen in this fertility clinic?” she said.

“No. It didn’t happen here. Please be clear on that.”

She looked relieved. “If the baby is confirmed not to be yours, are you going to terminate?”

“No. We’re going to keep the pregnancy,” I said impatiently. “We need to make sure that the baby truly isn’t ours and that the people they think he belongs to are really his genetic family. We don’t want to give the baby away if we don’t have to. And we certainly need to make sure that if we have to, we give the baby to the right people!”

I was stressed enough. I didn’t need to get even more upset by having to explain this.

“You know, it seems that we don’t need to meet with you,” I said. “So, can we just go back to the waiting room?”

“Yes, but first let me explain the procedure,” she said. “You’ll lie down on the table. They will date the baby’s gestational age via ultrasound, then identify a safe area in which to place the catheter that will draw up the amniotic fluid. The whole thing will last less than a minute.”

“We’re ready for you,” said a nurse, addressing us from the doorway to the examining rooms. She escorted us to the room where I lay down on an ultrasound table. Sean sat in a chair nearby and pulled out his planner to review his schedule for the rest of the day. Sean hates medical stuff. He had brought a bag full of work, expect
ing that there would be a lot of time to pass. The doctor entered and introduced himself.

“Hi. I’ll be doing the amnio today, and Chris here will be handling the ultrasound,” the doctor said as Chris squirted ultrasound gel on my belly.

“Now, I’m in the camp of not numbing my patients before amnios. I figure by the time I’m done poking you with all of the numbing medications, I might as well have just done the amnio,” the doctor quickly explained.

Holy Moly. No numbing medication? What do you mean it is just as painful as the numbing meds? How many amnios have you had, buddy?

“Okay, are we ready? Now, you may feel some pressure, but this will only take a minute.”

He was holding a metal thingamajigger that looked like a knitting needle.

Seriously? You are going to stab me and my baby with that? I can’t believe women actually consent to this voluntarily.

My first instinct was to jump from the table and run from the room. Before I could flee, he plunged the needle into my abdomen, through my uterine wall, and pierced my amniotic sac.

I gasped as my uterus contracted and pain shot out of my cervix. I couldn’t breathe. This was definitely taking longer than a minute.

“Now, we have to draw up more fluid than normal because of the extra paternity testing,” he said as he started to fill a second vial.

Please be over. Please be over. What if this hurts the baby? What if our need to know ends this pregnancy?

“Okay. All through,” he said as he withdrew the catheter and I took a deep breath. “No leakage. Looks good.”

I looked over at a pale-faced Sean, who looked like he was the one who’d just had the amnio.

“Now, Chris will finish a more thorough ultrasound, and then a nurse will come in to complete the DNA kit information with you. Nice meeting you,” he said and exited.

Chris spent about five more minutes taking measurements of the baby.