Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

As I write this, it’s just over a year since I took a pregnancy test that was positive. It’s been quite a journey to get to this point. I’m going to merge this with a few words I wrote the night before the family court appointment and this is the wrap up for this part of my blog. I might write other stuff as time goes about #sciencebaby but consider this the final words.

(And so, here’s the bit from the night before the court date.)

Tomorrow, a judge will (hopefully) rule in our favour and grant the adoption order. If he does that, notification will go to DIA and a new birth certificate will be available for #sciencebaby with her dads on it.

It marks the end of a journey that started about 2 years ago when we contacted the fertility clinic to get the ball rolling. At this time last year, I was waiting for my period to come so that we could implant one of the precious embryos and hope for the best.

It all seems a little surreal for me 12 weeks after Jim made her entry into the world. I’ve already gifted my maternity clothes on to another pregnant woman and if I didn’t have a c-section scar, I’m not sure you’d even know from the outside that I’d had a baby.

A huge part of me is really excited for tomorrow. I remember when the adoption went through for their first daughter. It was so beautiful to see them surrounded by the birth parents and their friends and listening to the kind words of the judge who was happy to be seeing the happy ending of a family made. I think I might even have nearly cried.

There’s a tiny part of me that’s a little sad. It’s the melancholy of the end of something that’s been amazing. I’m not sad I did it, but I am a little sad that it’s over. I was talking to someone at work the other day and she said that when she sees pregnant women, she’s a little jealous. She misses being pregnant (doesn’t want more kids, but misses being pregnant). I get what she means. I miss a bit of the daily wonder that is being pregnant; the feeling of a creature curled up under your heart relying on you for breath and food and life. I even miss the feeling of her feet tucked up under my ribs and her hands trying to grab for my hip bones – actually that might be the feeling I miss the most. She’s absolutely wonderful and I look forward to learning all about who she is as she grows but I will also miss that feeling.

And so, on the eve of our appointment at court, I’ll wallow a little in this melancholy but toast the end of a project delivered a week early and completely to user requirements.

(Back to now)

And here we are at the end. The actual court day was pretty emotional. Iris was crying for a bottle when I arrived but once she got one, she was happy as could be. We filled the tiny court room – Iris, her dads and her big sister, their lawyer, me, Megan, Katie the donor and her husband and children and mother, and another friend with her baby. We went through the documents filed with the court and the judge approved the final adoption order. He then told us that this was extra special because in his day to day work, he seems to spend more time working with families breaking down. The opportunity to help build a clearly loving one up was very meaningful. His daughter was also adopted and so it was very special to him. He wound up the proceeding and then came over to congratulate the boys. He had tears in his eyes. Such a beautiful moment. The paperwork was to be filed and a new birth certificate ordered to show that Iris is the child of her two dads.

It was a powerful moment for me. It marked the end of my part – no longer her nominal mother. She will always be very special in my heart though.

This morning, I got a text from Nick with a photo. Nick was holding Iris and Cipri was holding their oldest. They were playing Mario Kart as a family. I helped to make that family and I cannot think of a better accomplishment for any year in my life.

2017 was amazing. Thank you Cipri and Nick for giving me the opportunity to experience such an amazing thing. I am grateful to everyone who supported me on the way. Now, onward to new adventures. Thank you for reading along. If you are thinking about donating eggs or sperm or your womb, please do. It’s an amazing gift that will give back to you 1000 fold.

Recovery

If you’ve been following along, you know that I’ve reached the point in this story where #sciencebaby is now a living breathing creature, completely separate from me. In fact, she was sleeping in the corner of the room while her Tati and I attempted to snooze following a very busy day. I will admit that since I still had tasty drugs on board, I was feeling alright. I wouldn’t be running around any time soon, but I wasn’t too uncomfortable … yet.

I’m thankful that Cipri was able to stay that night. The hospital will allow a parent to stay with a baby and since I was technically her parent, I wasn’t planning to stay that way so they found a lounge chair to drag into my room for Cipri to try to sleep in.

I think Jim was waking up about every 2 hours at that point for short feeds. I woke up to her grizzling, hit the button for a nurse who would bring us formula and check on me, and then I could go back to sleep. Cipri changed nappies and did feeds and hopefully got a few hours in there somewhere. I was still a little loopy and it all seemed quite surreal.

The next day, when my IV drip was done, I was given some yummy tramadol and later in the day, the catheter was removed and I was able to get up and have a shower. That was the absolute best shower I have ever had. It hurt to move around, it was uncomfortable to stand up straight, but I was CLEAN! Heh. While I was in the shower, the team sprung into action and changed my bed again. Clean body and clean sheets – full of win!

The dads alternated nights and we had some visitors during the day. Lovely flowers from friends and colleagues brightened the room. I had #sciencebaby cuddles on tap. It was excellent – well as excellent as a hospital stay can be anyway. The food was dismal but the company was A++.

Friday morning arrived and hopefully we’d all be able to go home. I’d been in contact with the social workers to let them know that I was still happy to go ahead with the plan for Cipri and Nick to take Jim home with them when I was released from the hospital. I was sitting on the side of the bed talking to Cipri who was feeding the baby when my obstetrician came in to check on me.

She was amazed. I had continued my unicorn pregnancy ways with a speedy recovery. She checked my ankles (still no swelling), checked my wound (looked good for a 2.5 day old incision) and she was happy to discharge me to home. Nick arrived to collect us, we packed up everything, and headed home.

As we were leaving, I started to feel a little teary. There were the hormones. I had been warned about the day four blues and here we were! I managed to mostly hold on to myself until we pulled up at the house, and then it all fell out. Luckily Megan was there to hang on to while all the hormones spilled out of my eyes. Lots of hugs and the boys were on their way home and I was inside in the nest Megan had made for me on the sofa.

Every so often the tears welled up and would spill over – triggered by nothing. Breathing, watching tv, reading tweets, didn’t matter. Suddenly the hormones would overwhelm and there’d be more tears.

That night I snoozed on the sofa. Our house is a two story with the bathroom on the main level and the bedrooms upstairs. With my mobility still hampered from fresh surgery, I didn’t want to hurt myself that first night by contending with stairs if I needed to go down. The next morning, though, I braved them to go get clean clothes. That first shower at home was excellent and it felt good to get back to some normality.

Over the next several weeks, I had midwife visits to check on my progress both physically and emotionally. Everything was great and before long, I was back to being relatively mobile and out and about.

Slowly, my life was returning to the old normal. A week after The Birthening, I cracked open my first beer to have with dinner (Beer Baroness Madam Brown for those that might care). It was delicious. In many ways it was almost surreal to think that most of 2017 had been spent worrying about the growing life inside me and now it was all done. My physical involvement was at an end.

Two weeks after Iris was born, I went to my lawyer’s office to sign the consent to adopt. This consent, when filed with the courts, officially handed guardianship of Iris over to her dads. It outlined how Iris came into existence, the details of the surrogacy, and that it had always been our intention for Nick and Cipri to adopt and raise Iris. That was a slightly emotional day. It marked the next milestone in our journey. I absolutely felt good about it but it was another ending all the same.

I took 8 weeks off work to recover. I am glad I gave myself the time to heal – it came in handy. My recovery was smooth – no complications from the c-section and I was able to be gentle with myself since I didn’t also have a baby depending on me. In the last week of my leave, I planned a trip to the South Island with Megan before it was back to work.

The trip was amazing. We did hot pools in Hanmer, beers and friends in Christchurch (and some of Megan’s family too), then a couple of nights off the grid on the West Coast. Exactly what we both needed.

My final weekend was Labour Weekend (how appropriate) featuring my favourite beer festival (Pacific Beer Expo). It was the perfect ending to that part of the journey. I felt like I was back to me.

It Takes A Village

When I reflect back on the last two years, I cannot help but think of all of the people that have been a part of this journey. It feels a little like a joke “How many people does it take to make a #sciencebaby?”

There are all of the professionals who contributed to the science and legal parts of the process.  There were two lawyers, two counsellors, three doctors, several nurses, an embryologist or two plus all of the admin staff who made it all happen.

Then there was the wonderful woman who donated the eggs, the loving dads who delivered the sperm, me who provided the uterus.

Then, there were the people who supported us. Without them, who knows where we’d have all been. Katie, the egg provider, had her wonderful family who supported her while she went through the hormone crazies and the doctor appointments associated.

I’m sure the dads had several people too who were excited about how things were going and were there for them.

And me. I had so much love and support. In my counselling, it came up a few times how I thought I would cope being single and pregnant. Honestly, if I was single and pregnant and planning to raise a baby on my own, I’d have probably had many many freak-outs. At no point, though, did I ever feel really alone. Jim’s dads were always there when I needed them (and I am really crap at asking for help). Cipri regularly made sure I had chocolate milk and chocolate eclairs to satisfy my sweet tooth at work. Nick was a ready hug and there to do anything I needed.
I had great support from my family. My mom and my sister were regular sources of information about the magic that is pregnancy. My family has always had my back and everyone should have one like mine. My friends were amazing and hopefully didn't get too tired of most of my topics of conversations being the weird stuff happening with my body.

Finally, I had tremendous support from The Sainted Megan. I’m sure there were many days over the last year when she rolled her eyes and resented me being incapacitated or less helpful or just snoring on the sofa every time she came home from work in the evening. She was there for my minor freak-outs, for making sure I ate healthily, for enabling me when all I really wanted to do was lay on the sofa snoring.

She was my rock on the day Iris was born.

She held me during my first hormonal full body weep the day I got home from the hospital. She watched with worried eyes all weekend as I waved her off every time I suddenly started crying. Hormones are a bitch, I tell ya. She’s there even now, keeping a stealthy eye on my mental health.

While I will forever tease her for going back to work earlier than she had planned, it was only because I was well enough. If I had needed her with me, she’d have dropped everything and been by my side – mid election or not.
Thank you Megan for being there for me. I’m sure it helped my family too, knowing that I was well take care of while I was so far away. You’re the best.

It took a cast of a thousand to bring #sciencebaby to the world and I am thankful for every person who helped us along the way.

The Birthening

Right from the beginning – well, the first obstetrician appointment anyway – I knew that I was going to be induced at week 39 if I didn’t go into labour before. My age was the main factor for this – older mothers can experience a degradation in the placenta towards the end of pregnancy which, if not caught, will mean that the baby will no longer be receiving nutrients from the mother. This is a scary thing and probably the only thing that I was really paranoid about. It’s why they tell pregnant women count the baby’s movement and that there’s no such thing as too paranoid about whether you think the baby is moving or not. (If you are pregnant and you are wondering, just give your midwife a call. This is one of those things that waiting until tomorrow or Monday isn’t going to sort out.)

I worked right up to the end. As I wasn’t going to be taking Jim home with me, I didn’t see the point in burning through my leave just to sit at home and worry about Jim and birthing and all the things that work could distract me from.

I was scheduled for induction on the 29th of August. Orders were to present at the hospital labour and delivery ward at 7:30 AM and they would check me in and get us started.

A week before, on the Sunday, I was sure I was going to start labour on my own. That evening and all night I kept having Braxton Hicks contractions. It was uncomfortable and I barely slept all night. Just as I’d drift off, they’d start again. I knew it wasn’t real labour because I’d roll over or shift position and the contractions would stop. They did eventually stop, though, and then they didn’t come back. So, I worked that last week making jokes about my waters breaking on the new carpet.

I spent the day before repacking my bag and overthinking everything. I slept better than I expected to and woke up Tuesday morning to shower and get ready to go. I posted a 39 weeks photo to Instagram and Megan and I waited to be picked up by the dads.

39 weeks pregnant and ready to head to the hospital

We found a park, headed in and checked in with the staff. They took us to a lovely room – as lovely as a sterile hospital room can be anyway. There was a bath in the corner should we want that, and there was plenty of room for all of us to relax. It could have used more comfortable chairs but we did alright.

My amazing medical team arrived featuring my midwife Katie and my obstetrician Jay. I was put on the monitor so they could take some readings of Jim before we started and then they checked to see where I was in terms of dilation. The answer: 0cm. I was not dilated. At all. OK, so starting from zero – can only go up, right? So, the first application of prostaglandin gel was given. What’s that? It’s a hormone gel that’s used to soften and open the cervix. The obstetrician warned that given I was not dilated at all, it was likely that we’d need to do another application and would likely be there overnight. Oh well, I thought. No point stressing about it. The midwife let me know that I might feel something like cramping in a few hours – or I might not. They recommended we go for a wander, get a coffee and meet back in the room at 12:30 to check to see how the gel was doing.

I put my leggings back on and off we went into Newtown to get coffee and a muffin and relax. We were all a bit keyed up, and ready for things (I assume we all were … I certainly was). While we were waiting for our coffee, I thought I was starting to feel a few twinges. Were those what Katie was talking about? Maybe? By the time we were heading back to the hospital, I was pretty sure I was feeling contractions. They weren’t particularly strong yet and they weren’t consistent in frequency but they definitely felt different from the Braxton Hicks of the week before. No amount of rubbing my belly or movement made them stop. It appeared we were on our way!

We headed back to the hospital and Cipri brought out the treats he’d purchased the day before. I had requested chocolate eclairs from Louis Sargeant (my fave). We had a wee snack while we waited for the return of our medical team. I wandered around a bit as the contractions were starting to feel stronger and a little more regular.

Katie arrived at 12 and hooked me up to the fetal monitor. We could see when the contractions were happening. It was cool to share that with Megan and Cipri and Nick. We all watched as the blips appeared and then disappeared. Jay (my OB) arrived at 12:30 and they had a look. I was 4cm! Everything was definitely a go. Next up, she broke my water (with what looks like a giant crochet hook) and then asked me if I wanted the epidural before they started me on the syntocinon drip or if I wanted to try without first and see how I go. I thought about it for a few minutes and then decided that with the contractions I had already felt, I was probably ok with not really feeling any more. The advice of so many women to “Take the Drugs” echoed in my ears.

The call was put out to the anaesthetist and we waited for them to arrive. In the meantime, we watched my contractions on the monitor and continued to make inappropriate jokes while waiting. I got one more chance to go to the bathroom on my own before they put in the epidural and the catheter.

A woman’s body is an amazing thing. A woman’s body in labour is a remarkable study in the forces of nature. The forces of a contraction are not something that you’re necessarily prepared for. As chance would have it, when I was about to get off of the bed, a contraction started. Picture if you will, a water bottle with a small hole in it. Just laying there, it will leak a little but if you squeeze the bottle really hard, it will gush out. This is what happened as I got out of bed. Sigh. One thing that being pregnant and in labour taught me was that bodies are gross sometimes and there’s nothing you can do about it so let it go. My wonderful support crew lept into action while I was in the bathroom and cleaned up the mess on the floor and changed the sheets on the bed so that I had a nice dry bed to crawl back into.

The wonderful lady with the drugs arrived and everyone skittered over to the other side of the room so as not to see her thread a line into my spinal column. I can’t say I blame them. I sat on the side of the bed with my feet on a chair pulled up to the side. From there, I hunched over to curve my spine. There was a bit of local anaesthetic and then in they went. It was a pinch and felt a little weird but I think the psychological discomfort was way worse than the physical. They taped the tube up my back and then attached the delicious drug cocktail and handed me the self-release button. I could have a fresh dose of meds as needed but no more frequently than every 10 minutes. The trick is to find the balance where you don’t really feel it. I didn’t think I needed more frequently than 10 mins (certainly not in the early stages). You still feel the pressure, but the pain part is gone so you can still rest. The cool thing was feeling the cool medicine run along the line over my shoulder when I pushed the button.

Next up was to turn on the syntocinon which encouraged my labour to continue. We spent the rest of the afternoon watching my contractions get closer together, listening to music, and continuing the inappropriate humour that I love so much. If you’re reading this and pregnant, make sure you have someone who makes you laugh with you. They’ll be a life saver for you. If you are reading this and you’re a support person, they aren’t kidding when they say laughter is the best medicine. It helps to pass the time and makes the atmosphere stress free (provided that’s something your pregnant person enjoys).

At about 5, the OB was back to check on how I was progressing. A quick look at my business showed I was 8 cm dilated and so the baby should be coming in the next couple of hours. She wasn’t quite in the right position though, so they got me to roll onto my side to try to get her to slide into the right spot. At this point, I was starting to get a little tired and I was paying less attention to what was going on around me. I think that hearing the baby would come in the next couple of hours made it all the more real to me (as if it wasn’t real already). The contractions were definitely coming closer together and keeping up with the drugs was becoming important to me. Mmmmm drugs. I spent the next couple of hours mostly listening to my body and quietly thinking back to my yoga classes – concentrating on my breathing along with my mantra – I used it to measure my breaths and keep them focused. <inhale> I am one with the Force <exhale> and the Force is with me. Why yes, I am a nerd. Why do you ask?

Over this time the midwife was in the room for most of it. At 7, Jay came back to check on me again. Back to my business they went to see if I had progressed. Less than ideal news. I was still at 8 cm and Jim was still not in the right position. There was signs of swelling and it was unlikely that I was going to progress any further. Emergency c-section it would be. At this point the mood in the room changed. Where before we were in waiting mode, now it was down to business (not that everyone wasn’t professional before but the joking was now mostly gone). It was time to remove jewellery and prep for the operating theatre.

Funny story, I had a piercing in a more sensitive lady area. I’d had it about 8 years and it hadn’t ever been removed. When we were waiting for the epidural, Katie leaned over and asked me if Jay had talked to me about the piercing and if it would be ok to remove it if I did have a c-section. Of course it would, but I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to remove. Turns out, not so easy. After each of them gave it a go (with apologies for tugging around down there followed by “Oh, you can’t feel it anyway”). Without any success, Jay went to get something they could use to grip the ball at the end of the bar better. Just as she came back, Katie managed to get the ball to come off. As they started to cheer, one of them said “Oh no! Don’t go in there! Come back!” Yes, the ball had fallen off and I was 8cm dilated so I’ll let your imagination take you to where that might have been. Fortunately, it didn’t go far and was quickly retrieved.

Now that we were waiting for the theatre to be prepped and there was nothing else I could concentrate on, I started to get nervous and started to feel a little nauseous. Keeping to chanting my mantra was much harder as I thought about the fact I was about to go into surgery … where I would be awake … and hear stuff … and maybe see stuff … and … deep breath.

Fortunately, the hospital was allowing both dads into the theatre with me so they didn’t have to flip a coin to decide. Sainted Megan who was a steady rock for me to this point was off to the family waiting room where a service dog was having a snooze and gave her cuddles – lucky! In we wheeled and the team went to work moving me onto the bed and getting me hooked up to the even better drugs. Soon after, I went from numb just from my navel to the top of my thighs to being numb from the bottom of my boobs down. I quietly let the midwife know that I was feeling nauseous and she and the anaesthetist helped to settle me. He gave me detailed accounts of what was going on the whole time which really helped to calm me down. I was still a little nauseous but my focus was coming back. The dads were tucked at my left shoulder out of the way of the crew and my obstetrician went to work. At about 7:50, Katie the MW grabbed one of the dad’s phones and took photos of Jim being lifted from my abdomen. And then there she was. She was beautiful. Suddenly everything was worth it and it was incredible. I am sure I shed some tears but who knows. The nausea was gone. They whisked her over for the quick checks and then brought her back to me for first cuddle. They put her on my chest and I touched her soft skin and looked into her eyes. It was the best moment I think I will ever experience in my life. I made that. This creature had lived under my heart for the last 37ish weeks and every discomfort, every time I peed myself a little, every time her tiny feet kicked my ribs, it was all worth it. Kind of like the Grinch, I think my cold dead heart grew three sizes that day. I then handed her off to her dads so that they could cuddle and welcome their beautiful daughter to the world.

After that, it gets quite boring. It took longer to put me back together again than it took to get her out. There isn’t much to say about that. Once I was back together and all surgical instruments were accounted for, it was off to the recovery room. The dads had already brought Jim out while they finished getting me sorted. Someone collected Megan from her happy place with the puppy. One of the other midwives brought me an ice block and found me some ice cream (ice cream is the standard treatment for ouchies in my family). Those both went down a treat while I waited for feeling to return to my legs. Then we were wheeled to the room that would become our home for the next few days. All a bit anticlimactic, really. Megan and Nick went home shortly after and Cipri stayed with Jim and I for the night.

And then it was time to sleep. I had done it. I had brought a sweet life into the world and it was good.

Hearts for eyes over Iris AKA Jim AKA #sciencebaby

Self Love - no, not that kind

Before I got pregnant, I had an ok relationship with my body. For the most part, I’m pretty content with it and what it does for me. I have good days (where I feel like I might actually be the most beautiful woman in the world) and bad days (where I feel like I’m the troll under the bridge waiting to snatch small children for my lunch).

Most days, I’m somewhere in the middle but lean towards to good side. I am pretty content in my skin. I recognise that I have some privilege in that as many women don’t.

Getting pregnant was a fascinating experience. Before and during, I read a lot about the changes that would happen and was regularly in awe of what a woman’s body goes through as part of gestating. First of all, learning about conception and all the things that need to align in order for an egg to be fertilised and then implant into the uterine wall. Admittedly, I wasn’t there for the fertilisation part – that was facilitated by an embryologist – but I assume there were dim lights and candles and probably a little Barry White on the stereo.

Also cool was sharing these things with friends who had never considered what goes into making babies (turns out it can be more complicated than a drunken shag in the toilets at Malthouse). “Why would you have to watch for ovulation, wouldn’t they just pop it in and hope for the best?” Or, my fave question from a male friend: “Why if it doesn’t work the first time would you have to wait an entire month to try again?” I was actually talking to two male friends at the time and I just looked at them and gave them a moment to think about why a fertility thing might be one a monthly-ish schedule. They clued in pretty quickly.

Also fascinating is all the changes that a body does to accommodate a growing being. Megan and I were hanging out one day talking about organs and things – it was late into my pregnancy – and I wondered where my ovaries were since I knew that the top of my uterus was up into my ribs.

There are some great animations that show where the organs slip to while the baby grows. It’s fascinating – and it becomes really clear why pregnant women always need to pee. I’m pretty sure I would need to pee again the minute I left the bathroom.

So, from a science perspective, my body was a wonderland (you’re welcome for the ear worm). What about emotionally though?

Normally I’m pretty comfortable with physical contact. In my first trimester though, I didn’t want anyone to touch me. I was a bit worried about that. I love good hugs and massages and pedicures and if I wasn’t keen on touching, none of those things that are normally comforting would be available to me. Fortunately, around the time that there’s the hormone shift into trimester two, physical contact came back on the cards. I was very glad of that.

In April, when I was 21 or 22 weeks pregnant, I appeared in a show called Naked Girls Reading. It is what it says on the tin. Naked women, on stage, reading. Each show has a theme and ours was Fantasy. I read a bit from The Hobbit, from a book called Uni the Unicorn about a unicorn who is teased for believing in little girls, and an essay about the place of fantasy in our lives.

I was nervous about appearing nude on stage especially pregnant, but having been to a few of these shows before I knew that they’re very positive and warm events. I can confirm that I mostly forgot about the fact I was naked pretty quickly. The stage lights were nice and warm and my company on stage was wonderful. I had several friends in the audience who were very supportive and seemed to also enjoy the show.

The thing that sticks with me the most, though, came after. I was approached by a woman who was a few weeks further along than I was. She had really been struggling with how she’s felt with the changing shape of her body. Seeing me in my imperfection owning my body as my own, it changed how she felt about hers. Maybe not enough to be in love with it, but to admit that if I can feel beautiful in my overweight and pregnant form, maybe she could too.

I nearly cried at that. To me, she was beautiful. Women’s forms in all their shapes and sizes are but I especially think it’s important to make sure that pregnant women feel extra beautiful. My yoga instructor used to rave about how sexy she thinks pregnant women are. She’s not wrong. There’s something extremely earthy and wonderful about what a woman is capable of. Yes, even when your acne is out of control and every joint hurts and you just peed yourself a little because you laughed when I called you beautiful.

Everything But The Kitchen Sink

This is a quick one. Packing for the hospital – what do you take?

Google is again your friend. I paid particular attention to the ones about what people took to the hospital and then took home untouched! Note that the dads packed stuff for the baby so I haven’t included any of that in my list, however I can confirm that they brought a crap ton of nappies (think changes every couple of hours for several days), wipes, burping cloths, clothes for several days,  that sort of thing.

For me, here’s what I took and used:

• Socks
• Slippers (or those no skid slipper socks. I actually had 2 pairs of those and they were A++)
• Robe
• Sports bras – if you’re going to breastfeed, choose something you can feed out of. You’ll want to support your boobs
• Undies – many of them. Granny panties will likely be the most comfortable. Something you don’t care if you ruin. I bought 10 cheap pairs and wore them for the first few weeks.
• PJs – I actually bought some men’s singlets that were giant and long enough to cover my butt. They served as good nighties under my robe and in bed, easy to move out of the way for checks, and not too warm.
• Trackies in case I wanted to cover my bottom for a hospital wander.
• Toiletries (toothpaste and brush, hair stuff, shampoo, soap, deodorant) – that first shower is most excellent
• Lip balm
• Face moisturiser
• Lotion
• Granola bars – excellent snacks during the day you’re labouring and good for while you’re in hospital too.
• iPad or tablet of some description with movies / books / entertainment
• Bluetooth speaker for playing tunes – we played music from my iPad in the delivery room. It was good to have my own tunes.
• chargers for phone, tablet, speakers and every other bit of electronics you take
• Sanitary pads – use the hospital ones, they’re super absorbent (and take some home with you if you can) but take some of your own too. Get the ones for the heaviest absorption possible. You’ll need it. Trust me.
• Clothes to wear home - I actually wore my last clean singlet/nightie and my trackies but you might want something else. Remember that you'll likely not be suddenly skinny so bring something comfortable with stretch.

That covers what I used. I ended up in hospital for 3 nights in total. Plan for about that for clothes – if it is less, that’s ok, you’re carrying a bag anyway. If you are there longer, odds are you have a partner or friend who can bring you more if you need it.

I asked Megan what she packed, as one of my support people.

• Comfortable shoes for wandering around the hospital in search of coffee.
• Layers - different parts of the hospital are wildly different temperatures
• Toothbrush and deodorant.
• Chargers.
• Snacks - for Michelle, for me and the dads, for the nurses and midwives.
• A book and/or a tablet
• Spare bags for taking things home - flowers, laundry, presents etc.
• A change of clothing, just in case.
• A sense of humour, and a willingness to do whatever is asked of you.

Final note from me: That last thing that Megan brought was infinitely helpful and much appreciated. <3

The Best Laid Plans

If you google birth plans there are so many links and opinions. There are plenty of handy templates and there is a lot to ponder. Do I want a birth pool in my lounge surrounded by my favourite aromatherapy candles while Tibetan chants play on the stereo? Do I want to be knocked-out the minute I feel the first contraction and wake up the next day with a baby and a flat-ish tummy? Somewhere in the middle?

Birth plans are one of the things you talk about in antenatal classes. Depending on the philosophy of the person conducting the class, it will either be really relaxed and they’ll explain your options or they’ll have pretty strong opinions about everything – and generally in the direction of “natural” etc. I didn’t go to classes. I didn’t need to know about newborn care (and this wasn’t the first go for Jim’s dads) and I had a great medical team supporting me that I could talk to about my wishes. Also, while I do have a stationery fetish, I didn’t see typing one up on pretty pink or blue paper and laminating multiple copies for the hospital like so many blogs seem to suggest.

Birth plans tend to have two parts – the first part is about the mother and who will be there and what she’ll need. The second is about the baby and what you’d prefer for the initial post birth moments for them. As Jim wasn’t mine, I was more concerned with part A but her dads had some decisions to express about part B.

At 36 weeks, we booked a double length appointment with the midwife to go over my birth plan – or as we dubbed it, my birth preferences. I much prefer that phrasing. Things rarely go to plan. My “plan” was to have a couple of contractions, a big sneeze, and then there would be a baby. That’s totally reasonable, right? In reality, we talked about the possible interventions and complications and how I would want to handle them. Generally, I’m a pretty laid back person and was keen to go with the flow. Also, I had a team of medical professionals I trust completely and know that they had both my best interests and Jim’s in mind when helping me make decisions on the day.

What we agreed was that I wanted there to be as little medical intervention as necessary but wasn’t against whatever was necessary to prevent unnecessary stress on Jim (and me). I knew from the beginning that I didn’t want a c-section (an elective one was offered right from the beginning but I was afraid of the surgery and the recovery so wanted to avoid if possible – even though with my age there was a 50% chance of one).

Next up – who would be in the delivery room? I had 3 people with me – Jim’s dads and (sainted flatmate) Megan. If everything went “by the book”, they’d be there until Jim slid out. The rule was that anyone without medical training needed to stay above my belly button.

If I ended up with a c-section, I wanted the dads with me (or at least as many of them as the hospital would allow. The rule is only one support person but when their older daughter was born, the hospital allowed them both into the operating theatre). I chose to spare Megan from the horrors of an OR – she was already a saint to agree to come to the hospital with me.

Every woman I spoke to (and a few of the men whose wives had been through childbirth) all recommended taking the drugs. I certainly wasn’t against it, but I was worried about being stuck in bed if I had an epidural. My preference was to be offered it until I either accepted or it was too late to accept. As I was being induced at 39 weeks, once I was put on the drip I would be on a monitor and stuck in bed anyway so I might not have much option to move around anyway.

Next was the most important, in my opinion – who would get first cuddle? I was quite insistent that it be me. This is something that I have felt strongly about since I started thinking about the surrogacy. I wanted to welcome this precious life to the world and then pass her on to her dads.

Funnily, I think it’s the only thing I had a strong opinion on for the whole process. As for the rest – who got second cuddle, who cut the cord, I didn’t have an opinion on. I know cutting the cord meant that one of the dads (I doubt Megan - who is more than a little squeamish - wanted to do it) would be below my belly button but I suspect that at that point my lady parts would no longer be the focus for anyone – but especially for me.

And so, we had my preferences. The only plan was to have me and Jim split into two separate and hopefully healthy beings. Everything else would fall into plan as it happened. The thing to remember, whether you’re a surrogate or not, is that it’s all about you and the baby. The end goal is to end up with a healthy birth mom and a healthy baby and everyone in the delivery suite is working towards that goal. Feel free to be as particular as you need to be to feel comfortable. I believe that with so little of what’s been happening to your body while pregnant you can actually control (ie basically nothing), it’s important to find the things you can and work with them.

Tell me about your feelings ...

As part of the whole process that is the Ethics Committee submission, everyone involved needs to attend 2 counselling sessions plus one group one. In our case, that was me, Egg Donor and the Dads. Our joint session was a very crowded affair with 2 counsellors, 2 dads, ED and her partner, and little old me.

So, what do you talk about?

In my first session, we started talking about the ECART process through to the implantation. The mechanics and science of the process we had embarked on was discussed in some detail. I had done plenty of research and I had a basic understanding of what would be involved for my part at the back end of the IVF process so I was pretty comfortable and didn’t have many questions.

Then, however, we moved on to the part I really don’t like. Feelings. Feelings are something that you shove down into a tiny ball to be released at an appropriate time (usually in tears walking home from the pub on a Saturday night). I am not a fan of talking about them. But there we were.

Unlike most women who choose to be surrogates, I have not had any children of my own. I didn't know what being pregnant would be like. I didn’t know what childbirth would mean (I mean, intellectually I understood what was involved but emotionally, no freaking clue). I had no idea how I’d feel at the end handing over a baby that I’d gestated for the better part of 40 weeks to their parents. But I had thought about it. I assumed it would be hard. Hard on me. Hard on my sainted flatmate who had pledged to support me through it all. And ultimately, I thought it would be worth it.

I went into this fully prepared to need more help after the baby was born as well. I’m not averse to seeking professional help should I require it (and think it takes incredible strength to admit you need help and seek it out).

We talked quite a bit about that. The counsellor had a few articles from other surrogates with their stories that she gave me copies of to read later. Then we talked about after the baby is born. What’s the plan / expectation about what this child will know about where they came from? First off, once the facts of life become known (babies come from mummy’s tummy) and they have two daddies, there’s no way to hide that other people were involved in the conception / gestation / creation of this incredible person. I know that in some cases, the surrogate / gamete donors don’t have contact with the child produced. For us, that wasn’t going to be the case. We’ve all been friends for about a decade and that wasn’t like to change. I’ll be Auntie Michelle (like I am to their first child). This wee one will know that she has two other half sisters biologically. It’s a pretty complicated family tree, in the end, but one grown with love. In the end, normal is what you make it though.

Then the counsellor asked me a question that made me pause. Paraphrasing: children, as they figure out their place in the world, will try to map their context to their friends and the world around them. Their friends have a mom and a dad. So, they must have something similar … where’s their mom. Mom is the one who gave birth to them. Therefore Auntie Michelle = mom. What if they start calling me … Mom?

I’d never considered that. In all my thinking about this, I’d never considered that word as part of what I was doing and it threw me that this would be something that could happen. I mean, none of my DNA was involved. I am “only” gestating. (Yes, I know “only” gestating is a big thing to some people but still. It’s how my brain thinks about it) I’m glad that she brought it up. It was good to think about and something that the dads and I discussed so hopefully if it ever happens, I won’t freak out and they’ll be able to talk to Jim about where she came from.

Once we’d rolled over that minefield of thoughts and feels, the rest of our chat was pretty straightforward. The next challenge was to make sure that we all knew what our rights / responsibilities / feelings were on a variety of the awful things that come up in conception and pregnancy and make sure that we were all on the same page. The counsellors gave us (me and the dads) a worksheet with questions for us to answer ourselves and then discuss among ourselves. The second counselling session would involve going over our individual answers and anything else we wanted to discuss. The group session would then go through them as a group - again making sure that we all understood where we were at.

What were the questions? Well, they largely were around the conception and pregnancy. Because of the way the law is written, until consent to adopt is given by the birth mother, she is the one who is responsible for making decisions related to the foetus and for her own health. The nice thing to do is to include the wishes of the intending parents, but by law, their choices do not need to be considered. This is very important for all parties to be aware of and I cannot stress the importance of this enough. When you are discussing the health issues that could come up, you need to be sure that everyone is on the same page. If your beliefs do not line up, it will end poorly. You cannot just hope that everything will go smoothly and that in the heat of the moment you’ll be able to make a decision that you’ll agree on. A lot of time and money and heartache has gone into this from the intending parent side, and your physical and emotional well being isn’t necessarily going to be their first thought. It’s not necessarily something you want to think about - especially if its friends you’ve known forever - but you should absolutely talk this through in advance.

So, that means talking about views on abortion, chromosomal anomalies, pregnancy complications, twins or triplets, failed implantations, miscarriages, trying again, involvement during the pregnancy of the intending parents, the care of the birth mother during pregnancy, vaccinations, lost wages, death of intending parents, change of circumstances for intending parents (stressful times can break up relationships), plans for the birth, if you don’t get permission to take the baby home before the 10 day stand down before consent to adopt can be signed - what’s the plan, what about post birth - care of birth mother + involvement of birth mother, what will the child know about where they came from, plans for adoption of the child, how do you intend to handle disagreements.

If you have disagreements on any of these topics, you need to sort them out before you start. It’ll give you a starting point should disaster strike while you’re in progress.

For us, in our submission to ECART, they specifically commented on the thoroughness of documentation from our counsellors. It was clear that we had talked through all the issues and they were careful to write everything down. Where the ethics committee would have had a concern (I was single, in my 40s, never had kids of my own) we had clearly talked about how we’d handle the issues that might come up from any of those things plus all of the other things above. I am thankful to them for the hard work they put in to make the ECART deadline and ensure that we were successful through that hurdle.

And once all the counselling was done, I could finally go back to ignoring my feelings, right? :)

Tempus Fugit

I've written a few drafts since the last post but haven't quite finished any of them. Work has been busy and somehow an age has passed. I'm suddenly 28 weeks pregnant and haven't updated nearly as much as I intended. Mea culpa.

I'd intended to, at a minimum, write the standard weekly post about being pregnant but in the end, I don't think I've really had much to say. I'm grumpier than normal. My temper is definitely shorter - whether that's tired, hormones or just general irritation with some people and feeling less like jollying them along is anyone's guess. It's probably a combination of all of the above.

Generally though, I've had a textbook easy pregnancy so far. First trimester, I was absolutely exhausted but had no morning sickness (I did vomit once but that turned out to be a mild case of gastro that happily fled my body in less than 24 hours). Second trimester was really relaxed. I'd heard that it's easy for at least the first part to forget you're pregnant and I suppose that I kinda did. My body started to change shape around week 14. Around week 17, I started to feel little flutters that I thought might be Jim wiggling around - and feeling that while watching her wiggle on a scan at 20 weeks confirmed that's what I was feeling. At 28 weeks now, I can both feel and see her rolling and wriggling around. Fortunately, either she sleeps nights or I just sleep really soundly (I suspect it's the latter - I'm a pretty good sleeper).

So, that's your quick update in the life of Michelle and #sciencebaby. Hopefully I'll get some of the posts done, send them to my editor to work her magic, and posted soon. xx

28 weeks - thanks science for stretchy fibres for jeans!

The First Fifteen

No, I’m not talking rugby - just the first 15 weeks of this pregnancy. I thought about breaking it into a bunch of posts, but there really wasn’t much to say.

I’ve been extremely fortunate, and this pregnancy has started off really easily. We were lucky to hit the jackpot on the first embryo transfer. And while I was tired from the first introduction of progesterone, the worst thing I had to complain about was that at 8:00 in the evening I was out like a light. I’m one of the lucky few who didn’t experience morning sickness (and I totally recognise the privilege of that). I think my sister (the mother of my absolutely genius and adorable niece and nephew) is a little grumpy that I wasn’t sick. Sorry Heather!

It has been a busy time, nonetheless. Before we had the scan at 7 weeks at the fertility clinic, I found an obstetrician to be my Lead Maternity Carer (LMC). I went with an OB as opposed to just a midwife and my GP like most women because of the additional risks associated with my age (especially gestational diabetes and preeclampsia). She works with a particular midwife practice and so following my appointment with her, I also booked in with the midwife.

I had my first appointment with the OB at 10 weeks. We talked through the care plan, the risks, and what we should do next. She also has ultrasound equipment so we had a quick peek at the wee one as well (I have especially loved that part - seeing the development at every appointment). She put me on a low dose aspirin and on calcium supplements in addition to the prenatal vitamins I was already taking. They will work to mitigate the risks with preeclampsia.

We also talked about the chromosomal risks. The egg donor is 35 and so she’s on the cusp of being in the higher risk for chromosomal anomalies. The traditional plan is to use the 12 week scan measurements and some of the bloodwork to come up with a risk profile. Then, if the risks are higher, amniocentesis or CVS are then used to collect cells for definitive testing. There are risks with that approach - the invasive procedures carry a risk of causing miscarriage. It also takes time, so if there is a problem, it can be another several weeks before complete diagnosis is available.

There is an alternative. In Australia and NZ, there is a non-invasive prenatal test (NIPT) available called Percept (this sort of test is available other places, it’s just called Percept here). Fetal DNA can be found in the mother’s blood in significant enough quantities from about 10 weeks to collect. This DNA can be tested for the three trisomie conditions (Down syndrome, Edwards syndrome, and Patau syndrome) with a greater than 98% accuracy. It is non-invasive to the fetus and the mother is likely having other blood drawn anyway. The results take 3-5 days. It’s not currently free in New Zealand though. As a result of the testing they do, they can also determine sex with a >99% accuracy. If you don’t want to know, and you’re having the test, make sure you tell your medical practitioner. We found out because one of the dads wanted to know.

Between that and my 12 week scan, I had a last minute work trip to Singapore and a planned work trip to Sydney. Hiding my pregnancy from work colleagues was a bit of a challenge - I’m normally the one up for a beer or two. I was able to claim jet lag to cover how tired I was. Plus 2 days and 16 hours in Singapore wasn’t enough time to really have to hide much.

I also had my 12 week scan. Jim (the working name I’m using for this creature in my belly and how I’m likely to refer to her from now on) was quite wiggly and was sucking her thumb. That was amazing to see. That scan takes heaps of measurements to ensure that morphologically everything is happening as it should (spoiler alert: everything was as it should be).

Our next appointment with the OB was at 14 weeks. We had another look at Jim and then chatted about my midwife appointment, booking in the next OB appointment and scheduling the 20 week scan. It was a pretty quick visit.

The afternoon after this appointment, I booked a meeting with my manager to bring him up to speed. I work with one of the dads so we told him together. He said it was the best thing he’s heard this year. It was good to hear. I know that it won’t be easy to work around us both being off for a while but it is what it is I guess. I also posted the announcement on my blog/facebook/twitter.

Mentally, it’s been … interesting. In the early days, I developed a real aversion to being touched (let me tell you that makes things like Dr visits and blood tests very uncomfortable). I’m one of those people who will pop into a nail shop for a cheeky mani/pedi but the idea of someone touching even my hands was too much. I’m a hugger and even that was a struggle for me - and I know some really great full body huggers. I think I was adjusting to my body not being just mine (and at my age, I’m used to it being mine to do with as I please). Every decision I was making involved thinking about another person. It was an odd experience for me. Happily, I’m past that point, and pedicures are back on the menu.

I’ve also been curious about my overall moods. When I was about 6 or 7 weeks along, one of the apps I have on my phone pointed me to an article about hormones and moods. (It had some “Daddy, remember that mommy is feeling off” BS in it that I’ll probably talk more about in another post.) It also said that I was at a point where I would become emotionally unstable and at risk of bursting into tears or rages at the drop of a hat. I didn’t _think_ I was particularly unstable, but I was curious. So, I sent to Megan (my sainted flatmate and platonic soulmate) what would, to most people, be the most frightening email they’ll ever receive:

Overall, I’ve been #blessed with an easy first trimester. As I approached trimester two, I started getting my energy back - I can even stay awake until 10:00 some evenings! I’ve started pregnancy yoga (the fitness of my pelvic floor is of utmost importance). I’m keeping my fingers and toes crossed that we continue down this textbook cruisy pregnancy route (knock on wood and every other superstitious thing).  

Why did I do it?

This is a question I get reasonably often, along with its friends “I don’t think I could do that” and “I’m not sure I could give a baby away”. It’s surprisingly difficult to come up with an articulate answer.

If you look at gamete donation in general, there seems to be very little stigma involved in men donating sperm. In some countries, making a “deposit” at a sperm bank seems like a quick way to earn a buck without considering consequences. It’s a mostly anonymous process that depending on the laws in place could remain that way. In New Zealand, the sperm donor is recorded and it’s possible for the resulting children to request contact when they reach age.

Egg donation, weirdly, has a bit more stigma involved. First off, I suppose, it’s a more medically involved process. You can’t just lock yourself in a room with a dirty magazine and masturbate out an egg or two (oh, if only it was that easy). It’s medically risky for the donor as there are risks with the hyper-stimulation of ovaries to produce eggs. Plus, the procedure to extract them is described by various women I’ve spoken to as ranging from uncomfortable to excruciating.

In my case, I’m donating neither. The child currently gestating in my womb (I really hate that word) is not a genetic relation to me (although some of its DNA is currently travelling around my bloodstream). I’m sacrificing about a year of my life, the firmness of my abs (ok, stop laughing), and the possibility that complications could mean an end of my reproductive system, but that’s really the end of my commitment. And yet, perhaps it’s the time frame that makes it seem to some as a really big deal.

Yes, there are health risks for me. I’m a middle aged woman in my first pregnancy. Who knows how my body will react to this. Will I develop gestational diabetes? I’m at higher risk for blood pressure problems - pre-eclampsia is a real increased risk. While there are things I can do to mitigate some of the increase, the risks still exist. It’s not pleasant to think about, but one of the things I clarified with my lawyer was what if I die in childbirth without having signed the consent for the dads to adopt. So, why would I put my health at risk?

Well, first, I don’t want children of my own. By my own definition, I am “finished my family” because I have exactly as many children as I want. I know, though, that there are women and men out in the world who would give anything to be a parent but through the vagaries of biology are unable to. Generically, I’m not averse to helping those people.

Specifically, my friends - they’re wonderful people. They moved to New Zealand over a decade ago to live in a country where they could openly be together. They’ve made this country their home and I believe they’ve made the lives of the people they’ve welcomed into their world better. In fact, their friends are really their family. They are giving and amazing and they deserve having their dreams come true.

This isn’t the first time I offered to be a gestational surrogate. When they talked about having a family several years ago, I offered. Because of my age (even then), I wasn’t willing to play genetic Russian roulette. Fortunately, another friend was up to the challenge and she was a traditional surrogate for them, resulting in their wonderful daughter. When she offered to donate eggs this time around, I offered again to be a surrogate. The rest of that process I’ve already talked about.

When I talk about my motivations, I suppose there are things that I’ll never really be able to articulate in a way that other people will understand. There is the love I have for the dads. They’re amazing and I’m thrilled to help them build their family. There is the great science experiment - I love exploring all the weird and wonderful changes in my body. I’ve recently starting to feel flutters that I’m reasonably sure aren’t gas. That’s pretty rad.

What am I getting out of it? Well, nothing? Everything? Financially, nothing except maybe all the savings from my craft beer hiatus. Physically, stretch marks, an ever expanding cleavage, bizarre cravings for mashed potatoes and bizarre anti-cravings from time to time. Emotionally, the experience of making a new human, the extra love and understanding for what people go through to make their families, the delight that is hormones.

In the end, I guess I don’t have a firm answer on why I’m doing this. The best I can come up with is that it feels like the right thing to do.

Frozen Embryo Transfer

So. The day was finally here. Transfer day had arrived after nearly a year of paperwork, appointments, and So.Much.Waiting.

At the beginning of July, the intending dads went to the fertility clinic to make their donations and near the end of July, the wonderful egg donor did her part and they collected 18 eggs. Yep. 18! Out of those, 13 were introduced to sperm with 8 fertilising as they should. After 5 days of cells dividing in a dish, the clinic had four embryos to freeze while we waited for the quarantine period to complete.

There were 18 eggs - why are there only 4 embryos? First, when there are so many eggs produced, it’s likely that they aren’t all perfectly formed and fit for fertilising. That’s how we lost the first 5. Then, some eggs fertilise and some don’t, leaving us with 8. Finally, some fertilise well and divide and become viable embryos and some just don’t. Having four viable embryos to freeze is actually considered an excellent result.

Why a quarantine period? Well, as with any fertility procedure where the materials aren’t from a couple already in a relationship, you need to wait a period of time to ensure that any of the nasty communicable diseases don’t exist in the donor(s). Since I am in a sexual relationship with none of the people involved, we had to wait. I was able to sign an informed consent form to reduce the period from 6 months to 3. This meant we would target my first period after the end of October. The intending dads and the egg donor had their blood tests at the end of October (all clear for everyone) and we were in business.

After finally ovulating (see Day One) our frozen embryo transfer (FET) was scheduled. As luck would have it, it was a Friday morning so I booked the full day off work. I’m not sure I’d have been much use at work for the rest of the day anyway.

It was a lovely sunny day (weird for Wellington summer). I had 750ml of water between 9:15 and 9:30 AM and then sipped on another 250ml until our appointment at 10. (The water is to make the bladder full which makes the ultrasound of the uterus clearer and puts the uterus into the correct position and shape, I’m told.) The dads and I (and my flatmate aka my platonic life partner Megan) headed to the clinic for our 10:00 appointment.

The embryologist met with us first and showed us a picture of our beautiful blastocyst. She let us know that our blast was considered a 5AA grade - ie textbook perfect (I did think from the photo that it was particularly good looking). It did send me home after to look up blastocyst grading. I found this great article that explains it well. Basically, the number refers to how the embryo expands - the higher the number, the more expanded. A 5 on day 5 means that it is starting to “hatch”. The first letter (A to C) indicates the quality of the inner cell mass (with A being the highest). The second letter (A to C, again with A being the highest) indicates the quality of the cells that will become the placenta and other non-embryonic bits after implantation.

In short, we had an excellent starting point. The embryologist then ran us through the process for the transfer and gave me additional progesterone pessaries to continue taking. Finally, we talked about what the next step was post transfer - the pregnancy test.

As I would be due to take the pregnancy test on Christmas Day, I would be unable to actually get to a lab until they opened on the 28th of December. Never before have I wanted people to not have holidays quite so much. She gave me a home test that I could take if I couldn’t wait. Have I mentioned how bad I am at waiting?

Then it was time to take my last sip of water, slip into a “sexy” hospital gown, and get down to the baby making business.

The dads, Megan, the doctor, the nurse, the embryologist and I were all in the room. The dads and I held hands while my uterus was located with the ultrasound and then a wee catheter containing our embryo was inserted. We could see the fluid come out the end of the catheter on the ultrasound. That was our wee embryo. A quick zip with a microscope over the catheter to ensure that the embryo had, in fact, gone with the fluid and we were done. It was a bit surreal. I was now, technically, pregnant. Following what might have been the most satisfying pee of my life (a full bladder with someone pressing on it isn’t a good time - although, I understand I’ve got a few months of that coming up very soon), I got dressed and we left the building.

I was buzzing (as were the dads). One of them went back to work (foolish man) and the other and I went for brunch. We talked about next steps and what ifs and the whole surreal nature of what had just happened. I kept wanting to touch my belly. There was a fertilised embryo in there. Potentially, it would become a real person. I was full of feels (which is unlike me). I texted a photo of the embryo to my family (who have been very supportive). My mom replied and said “It looks like <dad2>”. My mom is adorable.

The next couple of weeks passed mostly in a blur. It was the lead up to Christmas so there were plenty of distractions. The dad that I work with and I went to the pharmacy and bought several more pregnancy tests because who can wait, right? Finally, on Christmas Eve there it was: definitely positive test! So exciting! The dads and I kept it under our hats - leaving Christmas about Christmas but it did relieve some of the pressure on the 28th for the blood test. Those results also came back as positive with good hCG levels (the pregnancy hormone indicators they test for).

Over the next few weeks, I did weekly blood tests to make sure that my hCG levels continued to rise, and to check my progesterone levels. I was able to stop the pessaries after a couple of weeks as my body was producing adequate amounts all on its own. Yay bodies.

Then came the moment of real truth - an appointment at the fertility clinic where they would do a scan to check that the embryo had implanted properly and things were progressing as expected. There on the screen, I saw it - the tiniest flutter of a tiny developing heart. It was real. I had a welling of tears. There were the beginnings of a tiny human starting to grow. It was more than just a few cells in a dish. I was 7 weeks pregnant. Miraculous.

Surrogacy in New Zealand

In my research into surrogacy, it was really hard to find resources about surrogacy from a surrogate’s perspective, and especially with a New Zealand slant. The fertility clinics have great resources about how to approach surrogacy as intending parents but the experiences and details from the surrogate point of view are really light. There are a few stories out there, but no real collection of resources for a surrogate to use as part of advocating for themselves and having an idea of what they’re committing themselves to.

As I mentioned in a previous post, there are two flavours of surrogacy: traditional and gestational; I’m the gestational kind. The advantage to a traditional surrogacy is that you don’t necessarily need to involve a fertility clinic in the process. It’s probably good if you do at least get everyone checked over (both from a general / reproductive health perspective and from a random STI perspective).

Gestational surrogacy needs the assistance of Science to make it all work. This means spending time with the lovely folks at a fertility clinic. It also means a paperwork laden trip to ECART (aka The Ethics Committee) to gain approval. Their job in the process is to ensure that the birth mother, the intending parents, the child that’s the hopeful result, and all other family members involved are well considered and taken care of; that everyone knows what their roles and responsibilities are; that everyone is aware of the risks of the process from physical, mental and legal points of view.

In the case of surrogacy, documentation from lawyers (for both the birth mother and the intending parents), documentation from counsellors (for everyone involved), and documentation from doctors (for everyone involved) are required. Additionally, because of how the laws in NZ are structured, pre-screening and approval in principle to adopt any resulting child needs to be included from Child Youth and Family (CYF) (the NZ children protection agency).

And so, our particular journey began with the intending parents making contact with Fertility Associates in Wellington to discuss how we could proceed. When they started the journey with their first child, it wasn’t possible for a single man or a gay couple to get to the Ethics Committee (ECART). The guidelines required an Intending Mother who had a reason for not being able to carry a baby. As of December 16, 2013, following a consultation process, new guidelines for ECART were published by ACART which made it possible for single men and male couples to apply. Side note, according to our clinic, we’re apparently the first male couple to successfully make it this far.

Next up was a flurry of appointments. I had an appointment with one of the doctors at Fertility Associates to talk about my health and to have a look at me. Because they require women over 45 to see an additional specialist for further tests and discussion of the risk factors for a geriatric pregnancy, we decided that since I was nearly there already we might as well go ahead and get that out of the way. Couldn’t hurt our application, anyway. So, doctor number 2 was scheduled.

In addition to checking my physical health, my mental health was also assessed. I had two counselling appointments to discuss the process, what I might be feeling, what I might be thinking, what I should be thinking that I hadn’t thought about, and any questions I might have. They also gave me (and the intending parents) some questions that we could use to test our own feelings as well as serve as prompts for discussion of the harder issues like what if there are problems with the fetus? Or problems with my health? They sparked a great conversation over lunch with the dads - fortunately for us, we were all on the same page for all of the issues raised.

Finally, there was the legal aspect. I met with a lawyer to discuss the legalities of the whole process. It was her job to make sure that I understood the legal risks I was taking on. Because there are no surrogacy specific laws, until I have consented to the adoption the baby is considered my child. It will be my name (and my partner’s if I had one) on the birth certificate. I could, in theory, change my mind at any point up to signing consent and this is my baby. The intending parents could, in theory, change their mind and decide that they don’t actually want a baby after all and this baby would be mine. There are also inheritance issues to consider should they not complete the adoption. All things that I needed to be made aware of. It’s a lot of risk.

CYF didn’t need to talk to me as part of this initial data gathering phase. They met with the intending parents and their daughter to assess whether they were in a good position to take on another child. They provided a letter to indicate that they’re happy for them to adopt again so we were a go from that perspective.

In addition to all of the doctors and counsellors and lawyers I saw, the intending parents each had medical assessments, counselling and met with a lawyer. The egg donor also had counselling. Then we had one gigantic group counselling session where we talked about all the things we had been talking about: health risks, what-ifs, legal risks, guardianship.

Then we were done. The fertility clinic produced the report for ECART. I saw the bits relating to me, along with the joint counselling report. They did an amazing job. In the minutes from the ethics committee, they commended the counsellors for the completeness of their report as it enabled them to come to their decision despite any concerns they had as it was clear we had talked about those things and had plans in place. I’m also thankful to them. They’re wonderful people.

And then we started the waiting game again. Our paperwork was submitted in April for the early May committee meeting. Then it would take about 3 weeks to hear whether we could proceed. I really suck at waiting …

Day One

When you’re talking about the science of making a woman pregnant, Day One refers to the first day her period arrives. (Interesting side note, this is also the day that they start counting the 40 weeks of a pregnancy if you’re successful in getting pregnant. So, by the time you’ve actually introduced egg to sperm, you’re considered about two weeks pregnant.) I’ve never had so many people interested in the arrival of my Crimson Tide.

 I’d been using a cycle tracking app for quite some time so I knew roughly when it would arrive but it still needed to get here. Finally, on a Sunday morning I woke up to find it had arrived. A quick call to the fertility clinic started the countdown to ovulation.

If there were frozen embryos, why was my ovulation so important? Couldn’t they just transfer when ready? Turns out that they try to make everything line up as closely as possible and as naturally as possible (at least in my case). The embryos that were frozen were 5 days post collection from the donor and so I needed to be 5 days post ovulation to receive them to have the best outcome. While I knew this from all the reading, and it seems so obvious looking at it, this is something that surprised a few people. Hilariously so, often.

This lead to my least favourite part of the process to date … ALL THE BLOOD TESTS. On day 10 I had the first one. They were watching for the hormone surge that would indicate I was ovulating. Unfortunately for my right arm, my veins were hiding and I was already starting to look like a junkie with bad aim after the first one. I had another test on day 12 and then again on days 13, 14 and 15.

After day 15, FINALLY! I got the call that we were good to go. That was my trigger to start the progesterone pessaries. And wow. What a difference that made. When I woke up the next morning, I thought I’d just had a bad night of sleep. Nope. This has been my exhausted state ever since. I was surprised at how instantaneous the change was. One day good, next day completely gassed. Hormones, eh?

Fortunately, it also meant my poor elbow ditches could heal. Transfer procedure was scheduled for 5 days later.

A year of hurry up and wait was finally reaching the next step. To be honest, I had a bit of an emotional meltdown leading up to this. I think that spending a year with my life being planned in tiny increments had finally caught up to me. "Won't hear from ethics committee until the end of May" means that I'm good until June. 'Egg donor will do her thing in July" means that July is good. "Three months quarantine" means that I've got until end of October. I don’t think I was quite prepared for how that would feel. Finally we were at the moment where I had a job to do … well, sort of. I suppose my job was just to think welcoming thoughts and eat well and rest and take care of myself. I could do that.

What even is a gestational surrogate?

When we started this process over a year ago, there was a pretty steep learning curve. As with most subject areas (especially where science and law are involved), there are many new terms to learn.

So, what’s a surrogate and why am I specifically a gestational one? When talking about surrogacy, there are two types of surrogate. The first is the Traditional Surrogate (TS). She is genetically related to the baby.

The other is me: a Gestational Surrogate (GS). A gestational surrogate is not genetically related. The egg is either from the intended mother or an egg donor and the sperm is either from the intended father(s) or a sperm donor. In our case, there’s an egg donor.

Why would we go this route? Well, while I’m willing and able to carry a baby for her dads, I’m not a spring chicken. My eggs are likely past their use by date, given risks of chromosomal defects rise significantly after 35. I wasn’t really willing to take that chance. Also, the lovely woman who donated the eggs was a traditional surrogate for the dads’ first child so these children will be biologically related to each other. Young eggs + biological connection = wins all around.

Of course, there’s other lingo (and endless acronyms) that’ll appear through the course of these posts. Here’s some of it:

HART: Human Assisted Reproductive Technologies - abbreviation used as the umbrella term for describing fertility intervention … in humans. Also ART. In New Zealand, there is a group called ACART (Advisory Committee on Assisted Reproductive Technologies) who set the guidelines for ECART (Ethics Committee on Assisted Reproductive Technologies). They review cases to ensure that ethical standards are being met where ART is concerned. More on that in another post.

IM / IF / IP: Intending Mother / Intending Father /  Intending Parent - this is used to describe the parents that will raise the baby at the end of the pregnancy. As of when we filled in the paperwork last year, it still said IM/IP, assuming a hetero (or lesbian) couple. One of the things you need to indicate is why the IM cannot get or be pregnant. In our case, it’s because neither of the IPs had a womb to gestate in (there’s a Monty Python sketch in here), but our form still had to be doctored to be IP1 and IP2. Hopefully that’s changing.

ED: Egg Donor - this person who donates eggs (of course).

#sciencebaby

When two daddies really love each other and want to have children … their friends with the appropriate bits sometimes step up and help them make their family.

My name is Michelle and I’m a gestational surrogate. That sounds a little like I’m standing up in a meeting admitting to some awful problem but no, this is a great thing. As I post this intro, I’m 14 weeks into this pregnancy. It’s been a long path to get here. There has been plenty of doctors and lawyers and counselling and scientists and lots and lots of love. I’ve got posts saved up about the surrogacy process in NZ, some thoughts about the ethics around surrogacy, and I’ll also be posting the usual pre-natal blogger stuff about being pregnant. (Including threats to snapchat or Facebook Live everything.) As I’m 45 and considered “geriatric”, I’m sure there’ll be some stuff in here about the risks and mitigations along the way.

2017 is shaping up to be pretty exciting.