Womb for Rent

By the age of 37, I have had five pregnancies and have given birth to seven children. If you are keeping score, perhaps you have surmised that I have carried two sets of twins. To put another spin on things, I should add that I only have one child of my own. I carried all of the babies to full term and they are all growing and thriving, just not with me. I am a professional surrogate, and this is my story.

I, probably like most of you reading this, never knew a surrogate before I began the process myself. About a year after I gave birth to my son, I was starting to get the maternal urge to have another child. My wife and I were struggling financially and had our hands full with an infant at home. It just was not a good time to expand our family. While still breastfeeding and having recently eased back into working full time, I received an email from a friend that would change everything.

My friend and her husband had been trying for years to have a baby. I watched from the sidelines with pained reverence for their struggle. It killed me to have such success in my own journey towards motherhood while my friends depleted their savings with failed IVF attempts, only to find out that her eggs were not viable. I received an email from her one day just inquiring if I happened to know of a surrogate to have a baby for her and her husband. While I did not know of someone, the thought kept nagging at me. I told my wife that this was something I was considering, and she surprised me by being totally on board. The next thing I knew we were all sitting down for a sushi dinner with tears in our eyes to celebrate our impending collaboration.

The process was new for all of us. The Intended Parents (IPs – surrogacy lingo) hired a family law attorney friend of theirs to draft the legal contracts and to get our affairs in order. I suggested that we use the same fertility doctor who my wife and I went with to conceive our son. After the initial consult, I began the hormone injections after my next period. My first round of hormones were to get my body ready for the egg retrieval, as I had offered up my own eggs as well as my uterus for this surrogacy. This is what is called a “traditional” surrogacy when the surrogate uses her own eggs for the pregnancy. My subsequent surrogacies were all “gestational” surrogacies and did not need me to do more than carry their babies. The egg retrieval was a success, leaving my friends with many viable embryos to choose from. After genetic testing and in-vitro fertilization, the IPs chose a male and female embryo for the transfer, giving them roughly the same odds of having a boy or a girl as any other pregnancy. What they, nor I, were aware of at the time, was that I am extremely fertile and this surrogacy would provide them with everything they could have hoped for.

The embryos were transferred on my son’s 2nd birthday (a good omen). I remember having the transfer that morning and then attending my son’s birthday party later that day, not being able to do much more than sit and watch. Within a couple of weeks, I had my first positive pregnancy test. Within a month, we had confirmed heartbeats! Both embryos took hold and I was pregnant with twins. The pregnancy went really well, with thankfully only one scare (a placenta previa) that resolved itself. The IPs remained diligently by my side for every ultrasound, doctor’s appointment, and even in the middle of the night during my brief stint in the emergency room. Throughout the course of this pregnancy, the IPs were elated, but also endured loss. Unfortunately, just a few months shy of their children’s birthday, they lost their one remaining parent (the last of their children’s grandparents). Amidst their grief, my own parents were grappling with their place in all of this. While they understood that these children would never be mine, they had a hard time letting go of children who shared their bloodline. From the start, the children’s mother made it clear that she wanted the children to grow up knowing who I am to them. So much so that she even wanted them to know our son as their half-brother. After losing their parent, the mother reached out to me to ask if it was ok to enter into a discussion with my parents about them being a part of the children’s lives. Before they were even born, we had knitted together a new (albeit unconventional) family unit.

The babies came into the world in early June. I went into labor naturally and called the parents to meet me at the hospital. All twin births (with or without C-section) must take place in the OR (Operating Room) as a precaution. There were two of everything, two nurses, two incubators, and two scales, everything to receive the two babies as they came. I was allowed only one person to accompany me during the delivery and insisted that the children’s mother be by my side. While my wife is my rock, I felt that the mother should be as much a part of her children’s birth as was possible. She remained tethered to me throughout the delivery. I pulverized her hands with every push. We were connected on a visceral level. The boy came first and cried immediately. At this point the father was invited in to the OR to help tend to his newborn son. I was only remotely aware of his presence in the room. The girl was breech (feet down) and my doctor was unable to turn her. My doctor asked me how I wanted to proceed, and I opted for no surgery. We worked in tandem to get her out. There had been something wrong with her placenta, we think this may have been why my body went into labor when it did, and when she came out she did not cry. She was not breathing. While it was only seconds that passed, it felt like an eternity until we heard her finally cry. Not once did the mother leave my side. She could have run to her daughter, and probably wanted to, but she and I were locked together in this moment that I will never forget.

These kids are seven now. They both have my eyes and the girl is my doppelganger. I love watching them grow up. Their mom gave me the title/name of ‘Chava’, which in Hebrew means “Giver of Life”. When they were about 3, I fondly remember the boy running up to me, throwing his arms around me, and saying, “Chava, I was in your tummy!” They have always known who I am to them, and refer to my son as their brother. My parents are as much their grandparents as they are to my son. As my first surrogacy, I could not have asked for a more supportive and rewarding experience.

Through this Vocal writing, I hope to share with you the rest of my surrogacy journey. One pregnancy at a time, from conception to birth and back again. I will also share my perspective on the psychological and emotional implications, the truth behind the hormone injections, as well as discuss the altruistic and monetary benefits associated with this profession. Even to inject some historically relevant anecdotes along the way. I hope to demystify this practice that has become illegal in some countries, and is often grossly misunderstood. I hope you enjoy!

If the walls of my uterus could talk...