Labour of Love Read online

  I rubbed my belly and spoke to my daughter out loud. ‘I’m not trying to rush you, my girl,’ I said. ‘This is your journey, not mine, so you’ll decide when it’s time to come out. I’m happy to wait and I’m handing things over to you now.’

  When I woke from my nap that day, I found my pants soaked. Bewildered, I thought I’d wet myself, before realising that my waters had broken. My daughter had listened to my words; I’m guessing she’d sensed I’d let go.

  Keira’s birth was even quicker than Jaxon’s. After the midwife examined me at the hospital I was told, ‘Only three centimetres dilated. It’ll be hours.’ So I hopped into the shower in the birthing suite, let the warm water soothe me and rolled my forehead back and forth across the tiles on the wall. I swayed my hips and experienced strong, close contractions. I don’t know where I went in my mind under that shower, I honestly can’t tell you, but within forty-five minutes I was yelling at my husband, ‘I need to push, now!’ With that, Andrew ran out of the bathroom to find a midwife.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be ready to push just yet,’ the midwife said casually, walking into the room. But after a quick examination her eyes widened and she motioned for me to get into the bath. Like her big brother’s, Keira’s was a natural water birth. And she was even bigger than Jaxon, weighing ten pounds five ounces (4.54 kilograms); once again the midwives told me I was born to birth babies.

  Two years later, sitting in our bed, my husband’s fishing magazine still closed on his lap, I talked about doing what I do so well and hoped my husband would agree. Andrew knew me. He knew that when my heart was set on something I was hard to sway. Fortunately, he seemed to find my stubbornness endearing.

  ‘Okay.’ He shrugged and shot me a reassuring look. ‘If this is truly something you want to do I’ll support you all the way. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.’

  I kissed his cheek. I knew that if I had Andrew’s support and my family’s love, I could do anything.

  I grinned. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to me. I was born to birth babies, remember?’

  3

  Open heart, open eyes

  Karen and Mark eventually decided against surrogacy to fulfil their dream of having a family. Although I was disappointed, of course I understood: there were large costs involved, lots of uncertainty, and the process documented online sounded long and daunting. I had to respect their decision; they were on their own journey. Still, I was more determined than ever to find a couple to help. However, living in a small town on the mid north coast of New South Wales meant I had limited options and contacts. I had a gift to give and no potential recipients among family or immediate friends.

  During the day, with Jaxon and Keira in care, and Andrew at work, I spent time researching online. As an aspiring writer with a 100,000 word fiction manuscript in draft form, my precious computer time alone should have been spent editing my novel, but I was too caught up in thoughts of surrogacy to focus on anything else. I stumbled upon a website called Surrogacy Sisters. Scrolling through the long list of Australians seeking a surrogate, I became saddened and overwhelmed. In front of me were more than fifty names – couples and singles interested in finding a surrogate to help them – and this was just one website. So many hopes, so many dreams laid bare for anyone to see, people desperate, taking a chance at heartache or jubilation. I sat back, imagining the courage these people needed to keep going with their aspirations for a family. Then I straightened up and scanned down the names, choosing two couples to contact. I typed an email to each, from a new email account I’d set up as a precaution, explaining that I was willing to discuss a possible surrogacy arrangement with them. As I clicked send, my heart raced. I knew I might not receive a reply, but I had to try.

  A few weeks later, Karen contacted me, asking if she could come over; she said she had something she wanted to talk about.

  What could it be? Had Karen changed her mind, decided she did need my help? I clutched my phone, pacing the kitchen, then glanced at the clock on the wall. Karen was on her way. I scurried to the lounge room, straightened cushions, picked up Lego pieces and headless dolls, brushed crumbs off the coffee table and lit a perfumed candle, all the while asking myself the same question again and again: could this be the start of my surrogacy journey?

  I’d had no reply from either couple I contacted online. I checked my email every day without fail, and each day I felt a little more disappointed. When I’d expressed that disappointment to a friend in Sydney, she told me she knew of a gay male couple living near the Blue Mountains who were potentially heading towards surrogacy. She reminded me we’d actually met the couple at a party – it was the briefest introduction, just stopping to nod and shake hands before we moved on. She told me she’d ask them and get back to me, but reiterated she was very busy at work so it wouldn’t happen straight away. Now, flicking the switch on the kettle, lifting two mugs down from the shelf, I told myself that maybe all those other possible contacts were just leading me to this moment with Karen.

  A loud knock and my pulse fired. I tucked loose strands of hair behind my ears and walked to the front door. ‘Hello,’ I said, opening the door to find Karen standing there with a nervous smile on her face. ‘Come in, come in.’

  Karen stepped inside. As we hugged, I realised that she seemed taller somehow, stronger. She carried herself differently.

  ‘You look amazing. How are you?’ I said, ushering her through to the kitchen.

  ‘I’m good, really good actually.’ Karen glanced around the room. ‘Where are the kids?’

  ‘Day-care today, a writing day for me but I’m happy for the visit.’

  I made the tea and we sat down in the lounge, placing our mugs on the coffee table, Karen readjusting her bag on the floor. A silence grew between us.

  ‘So, what’s up?’ I said. ‘You wanted to discuss something with me? I’m intrigued.’

  Karen cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘Yes, I have some news.’ She drew breath, pursed her lips to hide her smile. ‘I’m . . . I’m pregnant.’

  A frenzy of joy burst inside me, my skin tingling as tears stung my eyes. ‘Oh my . . . that is just the best news, Karen!’

  Karen’s eyes welled up too, her fingers hovering over her lips. ‘It’s only very early, very – but after everything you offered us, I just had to come and tell you.’

  I shook my head and wiped my eyes. ‘I’m just so happy for you. You didn’t need me, you could do it on your own – you just had to let go.’

  Karen nodded, a proud grin spreading across her face, a tear rolling down her cheek. ‘Somehow it feels different this time, something’s shifted. I feel like this is it. This is the one.’

  As I waved goodbye to Karen from my front verandah that day, I wanted to jump up and down with happiness. My friend was doing it herself, and yes, there was something different about her this time. It was still a delicate path after all she’d been through, but this new pregnancy was her chance for a family. I knew that the happiness I now felt for Karen was the same kind I could also feel for another couple, a couple I could help.

  A few days later my Sydney friend sent me a text message with the names and email address of the male couple who were about to start looking into surrogacy. I stared at the message, reread their names: Jon and Justin. I was waiting for my body to alert me to danger, for my gut to tell me it wasn’t right. I felt the opposite. Instead, even with the little information I had, there grew the faint beginnings of excitement, eagerness, as if I was being urged by a higher consciousness to contact these men.

  However, trying to overcome my natural tendency to rush in to things, I decided to move cautiously for now. I used the new email address I’d set up, a generic one without my last name so there’d be no connection to my family. The precaution felt over the top, but I didn’t really know the people I was contacting. I decided to be careful until I had gained a sense of their intentions and knew for sure that they were genuine. I logged into my new ac
count and composed a brief email, an offer to begin a discussion about a possible surrogacy arrangement. My fingers quivered as I clicked send, my email whisking away to Jon and Justin, whizzing through cables. I pushed my chair back from the computer, the legs scraping over the timber floor, and there I sat for a moment, listening to the monotonous tick of the clock on the kitchen wall as if my ears deceived me, for time felt as though it had stood still.

  From the comfort and familiarity of my own lounge room I had leapt off a cliff into unknown territory, trusting that the universe would guide me to the perfect couple. Now I had to let go of all the what ifs that played over and over in my mind and trust in the process – trust that I was doing the right thing.

  4

  Hello, nice to meet you. Yes, I’ll have your baby!

  All my life I’ve been impatient, wanting everything to happen yesterday. Keen to experience new and different things, I could never sit still for long. It was as if I knew that life was too short and I had to stuff it with so many things just to feel accomplished, satisfied.

  For days I constantly checked my emails, hoping for a response from one of the couples I’d contacted; in my heart I really wanted a reply from Jon and Justin. But each time I logged into my mailbox, anticipation would bubble up and crescendo, only to come crashing down when I found nothing but junk mail from one business or another.

  Then, days later, there between advertisements for a sale on last season’s fashion range and the latest state-of-the-art exercise equipment was an email, the subject heading in bold black letters – Surrogate Search. I had to look away for a few moments, suspended in excitement, before I opened it. The email was concise – skeletal, in fact. Jon and Justin were interested in talking to me and had heard about me through our mutual friend, but they wanted to meet face to face in Sydney for a coffee. Problem: I was over six hours’ drive north of Sydney. Meeting wasn’t going to be that easy. As I read their words again, uncertainty stalked my mind, mingling with an excited buzz.

  I took a breath, straightened the keyboard in front of me and typed fast, explaining my location and telling them why I wanted to be a surrogate. It felt strange to be divulging such information to two men I only knew by their first names. I tried to keep my ramblings short, offering brief details on who I was, my health and my previous pregnancies. I pressed send and a flurry of happiness surged through me once more. I had a feeling about them deep in my gut, an inner confidence, and once I read their reply email a few days later I knew it was right.

  I learned that Jon was a law enforcement officer working in Sydney and Justin owned a beauty salon with a business partner and also taught people to ride horses on their fifteen-acre property. They had been together eight years. Although Australian laws currently refuse to recognise gay marriage, they had shared a commitment ceremony with family and friends to declare their love for each other. They first looked into fostering a child as they had friends doing the same but felt if a circumstance beyond their control forced them to return the child they’d be left heartbroken. They had also considered adoption, but with the process in Australia drawn out over many years they didn’t feel that they could wait that long and after further investigation their sexuality made it more difficult. It seemed surrogacy was the perfect option and after speaking with family and receiving their support they approached a few close friends, asking if they’d consider being their surrogate mother, however no one felt they could give up a child they had carried. Jon and Justin then decided they needed to find a woman who already had a family; they just didn’t know where and how they could find one.

  ‘So,’ I said to Andrew as I stood in the kitchen that night preparing dinner, ‘what do you think about me helping a gay couple to have a baby?’

  Andrew remained silent, so I kept talking, telling him everything I knew – their names, what they did for a living, how long they’d been a couple – and jogged his memory about the party where we’d met them. I dashed to the computer, sliding the mouse over the desk to bring the screen to life before showing him their emails so he could see for himself.

  I stood, faced my husband. ‘They’re just two guys who want to be dads, just like you. Imagine if you couldn’t be a dad.’

  Andrew grabbed my hands, looking into my eyes. ‘They seem like nice people, but maybe we need to get to know these guys first, make sure it’s the right decision. And what about the egg? Where does that come from?’

  ‘I agree we’re in no rush, so let’s just see how it pans out. As for the egg, at this stage I’m not entirely sure. We haven’t got that far in our conversation yet, but I’ve thought about it and I don’t feel comfortable using my own eggs. That means they would have to be donated.’

  Over the weeks that followed, the emails between me and Jon and Justin increased in length and frequency. We were getting to know each other and that required details. Photos followed. I told them more about myself and my work history, including that I’d dabbled in professional modelling for some years. I told them of our travels prior to having a family, living in London – me temping at KPMG as a personal assistant and Andrew working as a pastry chef at the Dorchester Hotel – and how travelling around the world had been a passion then, and still was. I talked briefly about Jaxon and Keira, and about my small home town where life revolved around the ocean, spending summers on the beach, sandy and sun-kissed, and how Andrew lived for fishing and surfing and was teaching me to catch snapper and stand up on a Mal surfboard – though not at the same time!

  The boys – as I had already started to call them – attached photos of themselves with their nephews, and some from the day of their commitment ceremony. I saw the love in their faces, and their affection for their nephews. I could picture them with their own children, and I knew that I could help them make that picture a reality. Jon and Justin were just two people who wanted to be dads, and in my mind they deserved that right. In emails they’d told me about previous offers they’d received through a website they had joined, women from as far away as Romania willing to come to Australia with their own family and live here while the pregnancy took its course, but only as long as the boys paid for everything. Other surrogacy offers from overseas asked for money in exchange. Going overseas to find a surrogate was never an option with their work commitments and the horses they looked after. Given their experiences so far, it was no wonder Jon and Justin had possible reservations about me. I offered to meet them on the June 2013 long weekend so that we could discuss things in person.

  Justin rang to confirm the details of our meeting, and my hand shook as I held the phone. Andrew leaned in and listened to the conversation, a nervous grin on his face. Over the thudding of my heartbeat in my ears and the occasional shriek of laughter from my kids at the other end of the house, I listened to Justin’s animated voice.

  ‘You’re amazing, Shannon,’ he was saying. ‘Thank you so much. We can’t wait to meet you and your family.’

  ‘You’re so welcome. I can’t wait to meet you both too and start this journey. It’s very exciting!’ I replied as Andrew squeezed my hand, moving closer.

  The plans were made. I hung up, breathing deeply, my chest rising as I looked at Andrew.

  ‘We’re doing it. We’re really doing it. We’ve found someone to help,’ he said, pulling me into his embrace.

  I smiled into my husband’s shoulder, trying to hold back the tears of joy welling in my eyes. ‘Yes, we are. We are doing it. Thank you, babe. Thank you for supporting me in this decision.’ I kissed his lips. ‘I love you.’

  We’d arranged to meet Jon and Justin about an hour south of us, in a sleepy seaside village where Andrew’s parents lived. The boys would drive up from Sydney and we’d drive down and leave the children with Andrew’s parents, while we went out for lunch to get to know each other.

  Even before we met, there was more good news. Andrew and I were relieved and delighted to hear that Jon’s best friend’s wife, Sereena, had offered to donate her eggs. Over dinner with
Sereena and Tymon one night, Jon and Justin had shared the news about Andrew and me and what we were offering. A few days later, Sereena had telephoned them and offered the beautiful gift of her eggs to complete the picture. Jon and Justin were thrilled. Sereena was apparently healthy, fit, intelligent and gorgeous. The boys were one step closer to realising their dream of having a baby. For me, knowing that they had such wonderful, supportive friends was a big plus. Jon and Tymon had been best friends from the age of eight, living close to each other, in the same grade at school, and spending weekends and holidays together, including a six-week expedition across outback Australia with Jon’s parents. Jon and Justin had discussed their dreams of a family often with Tymon and Sereena long before they met me, so once I was on the scene as the potential surrogate there was only one thing missing. Sereena had now provided that missing link.

  As we drove down to meet the boys, I shifted in my seat, nervous and elated in equal measure. With both the children in the back of the car, buckled into their child restraints, I told them about Jon and Justin and how Mummy and Daddy were going to meet them and chat. Earlier in the week I had sat down with my son, weeks away from turning four at the time, and asked him what he thought about me helping someone to have a baby, someone who couldn’t grow a baby themselves. I had been concerned about how he would take the news. How much would he understand?