Issue 37: The A-Word

Saturday February 23 2019

Now seems as good a time as any to tackle that lingering elephant in the room; the A-word.

But not because, having lost our third surrogate on embryo transfer day, I’m giving up on the whole idea. No, it’s because it still remains the most asked question of all time (in my universe only, not in the world, ever).

“Why don’t you just adopt?”

And I get it; this last crushing blow, the loss of the surrogate whom — I thought — we had bonded with. The months and months of appointments and contracts and money and lawyers and doctors and hopes that we’d invested in, all of this might justify the question like never before. And yes, after this failure there was an increase in the A-word being floated, but I want to talk about it because it deserves its own explanation, rather than a mere sideline scenario.

First, the semantics. Because this simple question has shifting connotations, and they all hinge on the word “just”.

“Just” implies adoption is the easier alternative to surrogacy. In our instance it is true that it would be less expensive, but that’s about where the “easier” bit ends. “Just” undermines the amazing importance and effort and hard work that goes into adopting. I am as in awe of parents who can adopt as I am of women who can act as surrogates. I’m also lucky enough to know a few such parents, so I often talk to them about it to try to fully understand. Understanding means I can appreciate their superheroism and means I can make an informed decision. Ergo, this is a conscious decision Mr B and I have made, having carefully considered all our options. Therefore, it’s totally fine to ask the question, of course it is, but it should be obvious that we have thought about it too.

Take the “just” out and the “Why don’t you adopt?” question is pertinent. In fact, I’d say I get asked it at least once a column, like this recent example; “With world population approaching nine billion would it not be better to save the heartache and adopt an unwanted child?”

Thank you Mr Smith, I do see your point. We are an infertile couple struggling to have a baby, and there are millions of children in need of a loving home. I get it and I feel it and my heart also hurts for those children who, yes, I could potentially offer a home to. But, um, so could you. So could my friend Carla, who is due soon, or my other, um, friend Kim K, who has three children. I doubt Mr Smith would suggest they should have adopted had he seen their bumps in the queue at Sainsbury’s. Obviously adopting children is not an exercise in population control, and I’m being facetious by suggesting that’s what he meant, but I also believe, as another commenter Lou retorted, “It is not the responsibility of the people who struggle to conceive to adopt children.”

In my mind it’s as incomparable to surrogacy as a natural pregnancy is — a different route to parenthood open to fertile and infertile people, and as such we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it

Even in the distance, though, it feels somewhat overwhelming. Precisely because it’s not a small thing. It’s not a fall-back safety net or even a good deed. It’s a HUGE deed, and it takes strong people and a long and tough process. There are thorough and intrusive assessment stages, home visits, no stones left unturned, no medical record or bank account unscrutinised, zero skeletons in any closets. There is even a final panel assessment that many liken to the biggest job interview of your life that you can prepare for, but you’ll never know how. All of this I could do, I know I could if I had to, but the reality of what happens next is the profound part I’m not ready to adjust to yet.

In our country, most children are placed for adoption after being removed from a situation that is no longer safe. While there are relatively rare situations where parents can decide to have their baby adopted pre-birth — known as “relinquished babies” — the most common age bracket of children needing homes is two to five. What this paragraph amounts to is as much an intimidating reality for me and Mr B as it would be for you, or for my friend Carla, or even for Mr Smith.

I would suddenly have a child in my home, with some fundamental and specific needs on top of the ordinary parenting that I’m already daunted by. If I’m perfectly honest, it feels like an overwhelming responsibility. I’m not by any means saying I could not, or would not, step up to the plate, I’m saying it’s not as simple as falling in love with a whole new person and living happily ever after. And I truly believe that this admirable job should not be a plaster for the infertile. In fact, most adoption agencies would require extra assessments and more time to ensure we’d emotionally come to terms with not having our own baby, come to terms with everything thereafter and finally come to terms with the end of this whole process. We’d be broken people looking to adopt a broken child from a broken home and that, obviously, is not an ideal equation.

My friends Adam and Kenny spent about a year going through the process and adopted a boy over the age of five, since this is sadly the demographic that is least successfully rehomed. Adam tells me (because I asked him) that it was tough for the first year. One of the hardest bits was the expectation. “No one tells you it’s OK to feel bad sometimes. Tired, a bit depressed or traumatised even, like any new parent feels, but you don’t feel you can complain about it because you’ve adopted. That kind of pressure makes you feel like you’re failing, when actually it’s totally normal.”

As he’s saying this I think, yes, that’ll be me! I’ll feel that with the surrogate baby I tried so hard for. Except my sudden new family member wouldn’t have come to me with a history that I might not be equipped to save them from. Adoption to me seems profoundly courageous and Adam and Kenny are heroes in my eyes.

I know it would be a wonderful opportunity — for the children who can have their lives transformed and for the parents, whether they’re fertile, infertile, single, same-sex, in a threesome (is that allowed? One bonus extra parent?). But first we have the opportunity to try to have a baby who is genetically related to Mr B. He, at least, has the chance to have his own child, and it’s a choice and a right that we welcome. That we’re undeniably grateful for, in fact, and — while it might feel out of reach and full of heartbreaking uncertainty at present — may still happen to us.

I genuinely hope I’ll be able to embrace adoption with my whole heart one day, maybe for our second child, who knows? But right now half of my heart is in a freezer in a lab in Miami somewhere, waiting for its chance to complete this particular story. I’m going to concentrate on that hope while it still exists, no regrets or what-ifs.