Inconceivable (10 page)

“That doesn’t mean I have to love everybody,” Carolyn said. “Everybody around is sure they know what I should and shouldn’t do, even how I should feel. This is what happens when someone as deeply flawed as me tries to do the right thing. There are many moments when I’m not feeling the way I’m supposed to feel, but I’m trying to do the right thing anyway.”

“Carolyn, once this other couple knows our story and understands the depths of our despair, they will be so thankful that they will do what they can to help us. I could not imagine the other family would intentionally want to make things worse.”

“Well, they have!” she said, and she stomped out of the condo to take a walk on the beach.

Embers were smoldering between us, and the conditions were ripe for a fire to break out. It did not help that Carolyn was turn
ing forty that week, an emotional milestone in the best of times. Carolyn’s mom was planning a big party for her fortieth birthday. Linda was so involved in preparations for the party that she didn’t observe anything different about Carolyn. Carolyn’s brother Mike, his wife, Jenny, and their three boys were beginning their vacation that weekend, and Mr. and Mrs. Corey and their oldest son, Stephen, and his family were also there. Normally, we would have been happy to celebrate with them, but neither Carolyn nor I was looking forward to this get-together.

The night of Carolyn’s birthday party we enjoyed the usual “Linda Spread” of great food, and Carolyn’s dad was busy at the blender making his signature drink, “Byron Blasters.” We knew that they would be suspicious if Carolyn didn’t slurp down a few of her dad’s rum-drenched concoctions, but we had a plan. Earlier that morning, Carolyn had bought some green apple wine coolers (her favorites), removed the bottle caps, emptied the contents, and funneled Sprite into each bottle. Then she screwed the lids back on and brought them to the party as her undercover beverages for the night.

There were twenty-five guests that night, and coincidentally, about half of them also had a birthday in March. Instead of decorating the cake in just Carolyn’s honor, Linda had everyone’s names on it. When it was time to blow out the candles, Linda, who had enjoyed a few blasters that evening, decided there would be a roll call of all the guests with March birthdays. Everyone had to say their age and shout out a signature cheer. She started with the oldest, so Carolyn wasn’t first. Mr. Corey started by declaring his eightieth birthday and then giving us his famous “woop woop.”

As the older guests continued exclaiming their ages and something that they were proud of, I saw Carolyn frantically searching her mind for something to say other than, “I’m Carolyn, I’m forty and knocked up with the wrong baby!”

I caught her eye as her turn grew closer, and I knew she could
see the empathy on my face. Before I knew it, she blurted out, “I’m Carolyn, I’m forty, and I’m fabulous!”

Everyone cheered, and we smiled, but she told me later that she just wanted to disappear. Not only had she just enthusiastically employed one of the cheesiest clichés known to man, but she knew deep down that there was nothing fabulous going on.

CAROLYN

The morning after the big birthday bash, I sat curled up on a lounge chair on the balcony of our condo thinking about this child’s genetic mother, Shannon, and the baby’s genetic father, Paul. For weeks, I had longed to know whose child I was carrying. I wanted to respect and admire the people to whom we were giving this gift. Instead, my introduction to them was a letter that troubled me in ways I never expected. I looked out at the sea, hugging my knees to my chest, trying very hard not to cry. Was I overreacting? I reached over for the laptop and started to read the letter again.

Sean’s comments from the day before were still with me: “Honey, I know the letter upset you, but I’m not sure what you expected.”

I don’t know what I expected either. I guess I had convinced myself that the mother of this child was worse off than us regarding her infertility struggles and that bearing this child and giving the baby to them would be the answer to their prayers. But Shannon wrote that they did one IVF. Only one, and got twins. And now she is getting a third child from the one IVF. Rarely do couples get an entire family from one IVF. She didn’t seem to understand how lucky she was!

In fact, it was clear from the letter that she felt extremely unlucky as she went on to complain about how “stressful” this was for her. She also said she felt “powerless”! I understood why, but I wondered if she understood that I had lost power over my body. To make matters worse, she went on to imply that if the three embryos
had been transferred into her uterus instead of mine, she’d have given birth to three babies. Like somehow my body killed some of her babies. I reread that paragraph just to make sure I was not mistaken

We were told that three embryos survived the thawing, but they didn’t look good. We were thrilled to learn that one had survived. Though, I wonder “what if” I had been implanted with three, would more than one have survived?

Sean was astonished when he reread that portion of the letter. He thought that remark may have been the most upsetting, but he thought there was a close second. It was when Shannon wrote

With a newborn, I’d have to take time off from work. I really don’t want my co-workers knowing about my personal business. So, I’ve thought about just taking a medical leave vs. a maternity leave. I could say that I have adopted a baby, but that wouldn’t be right. I’ve thought about saying nothing and that it was a “miracle.”

I agreed with Sean that this portion of the letter was perplexing. It just didn’t seem appropriate to complain to us about the sudden appearance of a newborn when we were being faced with explaining the sudden loss of a newborn. I guess she’s in a tough spot, though, as she included a statement saying they didn’t tell people they used IVF for her twins, which raised another concern. I understand the desire to keep your reproductive life private, but dishonesty is never a good way to go. And, based on her statements, it looks like she was considering hiding where this baby was coming from. Could this mean that there will be a conflict over whether we tell the truth about this mess? Sean and I are certainly not willing to lie about any of this!

I had desperately wanted Shannon to say “thank you” for what we were doing. And the words “thank you” did appear, yet the sentence where she imparts that sentiment contained a trap for me. I read it again.

Thank you for continuing the pregnancy and treating it as if it were your own.

She did say “thank you,” but this pregnancy is my own. Could this mean that she thinks it is her pregnancy in my body? Like I hijacked her baby or something?

I looked up from my laptop, growing more and more frustrated with the letter and the stress it was causing me. I knew I needed to have an open mind about Shannon. She was in pain too, but there were many sentiments in the letter that hurt. I had spent the last five weeks feeling sorry for her, and I assumed that she’d be overwhelmed with empathy for our situation. Unfortunately, when I read the letter, I didn’t feel empathy. I felt insensitivity, and if she is insensitive now, I was scared of how she could treat us when the baby is born, or after.

I was relieved to learn that this baby would be raised by a committed couple. Shannon and her husband, Paul, had been married for seven years. And this child would have two older sisters who I am sure will adore him, so that was great news. However, I was struck at what was missing at the end of the letter. Paul’s signature. Just Shannon signed it, and I wondered what that meant.

I knew I needed to stop analyzing the letter. It was raising more questions and causing more stress and anger than I could handle. Maybe she was just trying to commiserate with me about the whole situation and she just got carried away with her complaints. I needed to adopt Sean’s take on the whole thing. He said we should hope for the best and proceed cautiously with Shannon.

To try to find a release for my anger I decided to do the one
thing I thought would help: write Shannon a response. I knew I’d never send it, so I opened the vents and said anything and everything in an attempt to unburden my heart.

Letter to Shannon (never sent)

Dear Shannon,

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to you. When I read your letter I was surprised by how focused you were on the problems that you were facing surrounding this ridiculous situation. My husband asked me if there was anything that you could have written that wouldn’t have upset me. I think he was surprised to hear that my answer was yes. I think a simple note expressing your incredible gratitude would have been sufficient. In addition, an acknowledgment of how unbelievably awful our situation is, and how you are praying for us would have been nice. I wasn’t prepared to hear you compare our situations as equal. And I surely wasn’t prepared to listen to all of your reasons that this is so awful for you. It was like you wanted to go toe to toe about who had it worse. Well…if that is what you want, here you go.

It is unfortunate that you may have to “out” yourself regarding the use of IVF and the facts surrounding the conception of your twin girls. That information should have been able to remain private. Since you chose, for personal reasons, to lead others to believe that your twins were conceived “naturally,” (which I have to say is a term I take great offense to, as it deems IVF children to be what…unnatural?) I can see how it might be awkward to admit that you misled others to believe that you had just been surprisingly “blessed.”

As for you struggling to explain this to your 8th-grade students and your teaching colleagues, we have similar but more staggering dilemmas here. Imagine trying to explain to your twelve-and fourteen-year-old sons that mom is pregnant but has to give the baby away in the delivery room because the baby isn’t hers. Imagine the horror of having to listen to your PARENTS explain what IVF is, and how their sister was conceived. Then imagine them having to explain this to their friends. Of course, this will require explanations to absolutely everyone who is part of our lives. After all, we can’t hide a pregnancy. Everyone knows what we went through to get our daughter. Everyone knows how devoted we are to our children and family. No one would believe that we gave a baby up for adoption, and we would never collude to allow anyone to think that we had another baby die on us. We have no choice but to tell the truth, and the news will spread like wildfire. People we have never met before are going to know our private reproductive business. The thought of this makes me physically ill.

You made many assumptions in your letter about me having a positive experience during this situation. You also assumed that I’d be able to just pick up afterward and go on to have my own child. Please let me explain a few things about the long-term effects that this situation is having on my ability to do just that. I just turned forty. Do you have any idea what that does to my chances of having a successful go at my own embryos? At the very earliest, I’ll be forty-one and a half by the time I’m able to attempt a transfer with my own embryos. At forty, my chances for success plummeted and every passing year after forty drops my chances further. Our goal was to get after our own embryos before I turned forty to increase our chances for success. We had hoped to provide our daughter with a sibling that was close in age to her. It was important to me, especially after losing her twin. Now, all of that has been jeopardized.

I’m sorry that you are haunted with “what ifs” surrounding this situation. Trust me, I couldn’t agree more that your embryos do not belong in my uterus. In fact, there were other women having transfers on February 6th and I can confidently say that your embryos would have been better off being transferred into any of them. You see, I haven’t carried a baby to term since 1994. Your baby will be my third C-section. The risks with a fourth C-section are significant. This situation has left me beyond screwed.

The hardest thing about this is the mental torture that I put myself through regarding having to let this baby go. He is in me. I’ve been praying for this baby long before we knew he was coming. He will give me heartburn, varicose veins, stretch marks, and tears at the dumbest things. I am crabby with my husband, and intimacy is off-limits for the duration. The idea that I have to go through all of that, and then hand the baby off to someone else in the delivery room is too much for me. We know we are doing the right thing. We know this is not your fault. It is just so hard.

I believe in God. I have a strong and devoted faith life. I do not believe that God sits up in heaven and decides who gets to struggle with cancer, and who gets to struggle with infertility, and who gets this tragedy and that blessing. I believe in random acts that affect people’s lives. I believe that my faith guides me in how to deal with the events that present themselves in my life. This event is giving me a challenge. I am searching for grace, and it’s hard to find right now.

I hate you sometimes. I hate you for wanting this child and assuming that we will happily hand it over. I hate you for assuming that this will be easy because it is not a twin pregnancy. I hate you for assuming that our situations are the same. They are so different. A year from now you will be cuddling your new baby. We, on the other hand, will be dealing with the wreckage left in the aftermath of this disaster. Still waiting, and wondering if we have a chance for our dream and wondering if there is any hope left. I especially hate you for insinuating that God did this. That God decided that this would happen and that “another woman would carry this baby for you.” Do you think God thinks I deserve this? Do you think God decided to put my family through this? There is no way God did this. God would not have chosen me. I am not strong enough. I am not loving enough. I am not patient enough. No, God did not do this. In fact, I’m pretty sure an inexcusably distracted medical professional did this…not God.