Issue 16: The Skype Meeting (of dreams)
Saturday September 29 2018
We have a Skype “match meeting” scheduled with Melissa, our potential new surrogate, at midnight and we couldn’t be more nervous. First, the time difference means we will be tired, because she and her husband, Chad, can only chat at 6pm Chicago time. This, however, becomes irrelevant because we’re buzzing on adrenaline.
The anticipation as we stare at the screen and wait for the ringtone is torturous. I suddenly start to panic because, as is the case with critical timings such as these, I need the loo. The agony of decision. Do I go? Do I wait a little longer and risk visible discomfort over the optical transmitters? Ever efficient, I’ve shot up the stairs and back within minutes. And still we wait.
Another quarter of an hour goes by. Mr B jumps out of his chair. “Quick! Put music on!” Oh God, the anguish of what to choose. It must perfectly and subliminally represent us as good people, good parents even. The cat scrabbles at the cupboard door and we don’t spray water at him. See? Good parents.
“Opera!”
“Nooo, too contrived.” (Adopts sarcastic tone.) “Ooh we’re so British and refined with our opera.”
“OK, jazz! But swing jazz.”
“Alexa. Play some easy-listening lift music.”
Something dulcet kicks in just as the digital ringtone sounds, and suddenly their faces fill the screen. Grab the cat — here we go!
Melissa’s volume isn’t working, however. We try to mime for an awkward minute or two — not quite the first meeting we’d envisaged — and while she goes back offline, we’re left making small talk with our chaperone, Zoe from The Agency. Suddenly, and without warning, we descend into what can only be described as a collective panic attack. I feel physically sick, but keep rationalising in an unconvincingly cheery voice while Mr B nods maniacally at me. “Why are we nervous? There’s nothing to be nervous about. They’ll like us. Surely. Won’t they?”
This is the decider. The chips-down interview. Will we like each other? Will we want to proceed on this journey together, to go from transatlantic strangers to an intrinsically and emotionally linked foursome, for ever and ever amen?
The answer is yes. (We think!)
After a few more technical difficulties (their computer mike isn’t working, so they’re squashed into a phone screen that keeps freezing), we begin how every important conversation starts: “What’s your favourite colour?” I’m kidding, this is not an important consideration in the surrogacy matching process (mine is green FYI), but it may as well have been, because I’m having trouble recalling how we did kick off.
It was a seriously unusual situation. Think about it. We’re in our kitchen, way past our bedtime, meeting a stranger who lives on another continent who has read our profile (we haven’t read our profile) and would like to carry our baby, thanks. The surreality and f***ed-upness of this thing hits me and I have to look away as I well up. For the first of five or six times this evening.
On first impressions Melissa is a talkative brunette with a kind face and pencil-thin eyebrows (I’m a beauty editor, I notice these things). It’s hard to gauge true character in this situation because our hearts are full and we kind of superimposed our ideals upon them. She is an angel who wants to go above and beyond the boundaries of humanitarianism to help strangers to achieve their dream. Therefore, her husband is the ultimate supportive hero and she is the sweetest person on Earth. With thin eyebrows.
Chad spends the whole conversation gazing at her adoringly and blows us away with his reasoning. They only got married six months previously and he is fully supportive of her decision to have their first pregnancy for someone else. Why?
“I knew Melissa years ago when she did the first surrogacy and I saw how happy it made her, so why wouldn’t I want her to be that happy again?”
Good point, well made, but still. Mr B can’t imagine himself feeling that way in the same scenario. Only it wouldn’t be the same, so it’s really difficult to relate. We want (wanted) nothing more than the precious nine months of watching my belly stretch, nesting and documenting, hormones surging and screaming fights, so the thought of doing it for someone else without knowing our own joy is unfathomable. Chad is indeed a hero.
As it is, Chad now has two stepchildren — Melissa’s youngsters — plus he has never wanted any of his own. Melissa is also “done” with children, but she adores being pregnant. Never happier, in fact, so this pretty much provides the perfect solution — with a healthy pay cheque to boot. This is a huge and tangible relief for us too; I need to understand the psychology behind putting oneself up for this so I can be truly comfortable with and happy about it. I’ve read The Handmaid’s Tale, put it that way, and that’s the first and last time I’ll mention it in this context.
Zoe interjects every so often, like a chairwoman on a panel discussion. “So, guys, how about you tell Melissa and Chad a little bit about how you guys fell in love and what it is you guys love about each other.” We oscillate between such soppy sales material and deep existential chat (what it means to be a mother/how love makes a family), until we form an unbreakable bond ourselves. We’ve never got this far before. These are the people who will carry and protect our baby — depending on the medical test — and we love them for it already.
The idea is to go away and think about whether we want to proceed with each other (well, duh) and then it’s time to book the medical and go to sleep. Only sleep is not forthcoming after all that excitement and soaring high hopes (well, duh). Instead we settle into bed with the lights off and talk until the early hours. We imagine what Melissa and Chad must be talking and thinking about right now too. I consider how she might feel one day getting into a bed like ours with her husband, having just given birth to a baby that isn’t hers and going home without it. Will she be OK? Then I well up for the seventh time and fall asleep with tears on my pillow, hope in my heart, over youu-uuuu you you you, Melissa and Chad.