Issue 18: Over to you Mr. B
Saturday October 13 2018
They say cancer is like a pebble thrown into a pond. I’m the pebble here, but the ripples affect everyone around me. Similarly, the closest ripple to me is often overlooked. Men don’t typically get a voice in these kinds of stories, so t would like to offer him one. Over to you, Mr B.
Sophie’s husband
I never thought things would end up this way. Growing up I was never quite sure that I would land a nice job, let alone a career, never sure that I would own a nice house or decorate it in a nice way. But I did take it for granted that I would one day have a couple of nice (but naughty) children. Definitely two, a girl and a boy. Because that part is easy, isn’t it? Having children is a fact of life, and it’s free! Bollocks it is.
Finances aside, it’s a kick in the guts (or maybe more like an elbow drop to the testes) to be told you cannot have what comes easily to most people. I will never forget the moment that the doctor told us: “I’m sorry, you will not have your own biological children.” It was so final and unfair after the trauma of the previous five years.
I love Sophie. I do not plan to follow in the footsteps of my (divorced) parents and throw in the towel when the chips are down. Our marriage means for richer, for poorer (currently a lot), in sickness and in health. No one said it was supposed to be easy, although as Sophie’s dad wisely told us about the time I asked him for her hand: “You will quibble and fall out over a lot of things, but if you can agree and support each other on the big things, you’ll be just fine.”
It’s hard to get across what it’s like to be in my position, but I’m trusting that people in similar circumstances will understand. The conversation, the sympathy and the focus is quite rightly on my wife. It has been suggested to me (not in so many words): “You’re all right, Jack, biologically the kid is still yours.” But it’s not all right, actually, Jack. Occasionally the thought of my DNA in a test tube, dancing with the genes from an anonymous donor, freaks the hell out of me. In fact, I’m suffering from a stop-start cycle of anxiety of late and I’m betting it’s related to this. Losing our first two surrogates was as much of a blow to me as it was to Sophie, finding Melissa was a similar cause of joy, so the good news is, once the initial shock of infertility is dealt with, we are absolutely in this together.
It took some getting used to, that I will never have a child that represents my wife biologically, her beautiful face, her flawless complexion.
I will take no part in those magical experiences you might take for granted; that hand on her tummy moment — “did you feel that kick?” Our child will miss out on the organics of her mother’s natural pregnancy. Breastfeeding sends your kids to Oxbridge, doesn’t it?
Regardless, I maintain my fantasy of coming home to be greeted by my little girl (or boy), arms open for that familiar toss in the air from Daddy. I’m hopeful this will happen, although it will come about in a very different way. And do you know what? That’s OK; we live in a world where alternatives and options are prevalent. Sophie and I are lucky to be on a progressive path to our ultimate goal.
If this surrogacy project works, it won’t be without its challenges. I sometimes wonder if I’ll subliminally change my behaviour around our child to make sure Sophie doesn’t draw genetic conclusions. What if it’s crying and she can’t settle it, but I can. Will that have weighted significance? What if our kid is anything like our close friends’ son, Oscar, who, when it comes to the two of us, reserves 99 per cent of his love for me, leaving Sophie to battle for the remaining 1 per cent against Matchbox cars and Lego? How would Sophie react if that were the case at home? Young children are not diplomatic.
Boohoo, poor me, right? I can’t even say most of this out loud because set against her losses it pales into insignificance — as it should. But, as I’ve come to realise, there are things that I’m grieving too.
It really is cathartic writing this. I hope that when Sophie reads it this will help us both with our understanding of the emotional landscape, because it’s a complex journey for everyone.
A message to the other-halves out there: be strong, but be united. Love will guide you through; in the end it’s all that really matters. Leave the genes to Levi’s.