Issue 06: Admin error 404: surrogate not found
Saturday July 21 2018
To borrow a quote from the internet (OK, a meme), no one in the history of calm down has ever calmed down by being told to calm down. I am no exception, after receiving a follow-up email from our agency in America telling us our potential surrogate, Laura, was not going to work out after all.
The problem is that Laura, with her six children and her loving husband and her willingness, nay desire, to help a less fortunate couple, is not compatible with our fertility clinic’s requirements.
“I’m so sorry,” says the email. “For some reason I totally thought your fertility clinic was in Illinois. [It’s in Miami.] My mistake!! Dr Y won’t accept a surrogate with more than four pregnancies. But a doctor in Illinois probably would.”
I am instantly full of rage. “What do you mean ‘mistake’?”
“Calm down,” says Mr B. “We don’t know if this is a closed book. Maybe our doctor will make an exception.”
“I can’t calm down,” I say (see above). “We knew this would happen.”
In fact, I didn’t know — how could I? — but I realise that I am a tightly coiled spring, waiting for the inevitable bad news that will set me off. Scrap that. I’m actually a magnetic, tightly coiled spring that attracts negatively charged news.
There is an argument, which I want to believe, for positive thinking. I tried to be positive through cancer and chemo and life-changing surgery. Then through infertility and donor-egg IVF. Then through pregnancies and miscarriages, But, honestly, it’s beaten me a bit. I’m worried that now I expect bad news — because that is my experience — and maybe that is why I keep receiving it. Hence my angry reaction to this slightly ambiguous email.
After a frantic email exchange we learn that multiple pregnancies can cause detrimental health issues for the surrogate and our doctor has a five-pregnancy cut-off point. This pregnancy would be Laura’s eighth. Fernando is by the book, to a fault. We’ve since learnt that Laura was matched again immediately and has been “approved” by her new doctor’s clinic in Illinois, but ours, in Miami, would not budge. Despite B begging.
Admin error. The reason for our hopes being dashed at this most hopeful of times. We know it isn’t easy to find a surrogate. The agency initially told us it could take between a few weeks and six or so months. Our main concern is time. I have a lot of friends who chose to have children in their late thirties and early forties, but this wasn’t our choice. We’re both 38, we wanted at least a five-year-old by now and we know the surrogacy timeline is about 12 to 18 months in total. Even though they matched us to Laura very early on, this blow feels like a huge and scary setback. How long is it going to take now? Will we be unlucky and end up waiting the full six months for another surrogate to pick us?
The process is an interesting one. Our agency tells us they have 60 intended parents (IPs) to every surrogate. They do a cursory match shortlist (some profiles stipulate religious or ethical preferences you need to have in common, for example), then present the potential surrogate with prospective profiles, photos, a little backstory etc. The surrogate picks her favourite, for whatever reason, and the lucky IPs get a “match” email, with the surrogate profile so they can decide if they want to accept.
It is a bit like internet dating, but with a third party and an uncomfortable amount of very personal information. Imagine a Tinder introduction: “Hi JustineTime4357, I had cancer which made me infertile, would you be interested in growing my child in your body? Oh, by the way, have you ever had any STDs which might have had lasting damage on your reproductive organs? Dinner? Next week?”
I write a long, emotional email to the agency, outlining why I’m on this journey, listing all the disappointments we’ve suffered and asking the staff to please take a little more care with their admin in future to save us another crushing blow.
So here we are, two weeks after we imagined our entire future working out in this crazy exciting way with this particular awe-inspiring woman. Goodbye, Laura. Back to square one.
By the time I’ve written this, I’m more philosophical. It’s simple human error. Everyone is prone to making mistakes in their jobs, whether they’re fixing pipes or facilitating a transatlantic relationship, because, well, your pipes can’t be fixed. I acknowledge that I had an exaggerated emotional response, but hey — I’m sensitive. Cut me some slack. But, whatever you do, please do not ask me to calm down.