The card you do not want to get on your wedding day …

Womb for hire … squatters welcome …

When I was just had Connor I realized that if something happened to him they would need to take me out to a field and shoot me.  I loved (and still love) that child with such a fierce emotion that it is difficult to quantify.

I did not want kids.

I do not even like kids.

But I realized that when that child was pulled from my uterus, my heart went with him.  I feel him near me, I think about him, even when I don’t.

Having a child really is that cliché of taking your heart and soul out and letting it just walk about outside.

I theorized, that if I could feel that strongly about Connor, how must people feel who had been wanting/begging/pleading for a child for what must seem like forever.

I am no genius, but I can recognize the pain and suffering in others.

I have always wondered, imagine if I could do something small that would change someone else’s life so dramatically, how would that be?

I thought I might offer myself as a surrogate.

I read up a bit, took a few book out of a library (yes, a real library with cards and librarians who go “shooooossshhhhhh” a great deal) and tried to understand the process (surrogacy, not library, I got how that worked.)

I approached a few “fertility nurses” who I was referred to.

I did not get much in the way of response.  I was not sure what I wanted to say, but they were not trying to help me – and I just felt awkward, apologized and put the phone down – I felt embarrassed actually.

I googled (back then when it had just taken over from yahoo – you had like 38 hits – oh the innocence).  I found a UK and US listed site that gave more information, but there was just nothing South Africa related (this was back in 2002).

I was not sure who to speak to.  I felt like I was doing something embarrassing and covert.

I saw an advert in the weekend paper for a couple looking for a surrogate.  I sms’d them on the Saturday, there was no reply.  A few days after that there was another advert run in the same paper, mentioning that it was illegal to advertise for a surrogate.

Interesting times.

Time passed.  I got involved in my stuff, commonly referred to as survival.  I promptly forgot about “surrogacy” and had another two kids (I also had a little breakdown and a few bouts of chronic depression, but let’s leave that for another post shall we.)

Recently I found out  that surrogacy is a much more accepted custom than back in the day, and so is egg donation.  I am too old for egg donation – no one really wants a thirty eight year old’s eggs – no matter how pretty they are.  I tried, but I have an official rejection letter on my eggs.

Shame poor eggs, and they try so hard!!

I contacted an agency that deals with surrocacy, and they said “well, no three c-sections are above what we will accept” and bounced me – in their defense they did do it in a very polite fashion.

Ask me why I feel I need to be a surrogate.

Ask me why I need to donate eggs.

Ask me why I feel a need to adopt.

I really do not know.  I can’t explain it.  I can’t qualify it.  I really do not have a martyr complex, or an undying need to find favour with others, it’s not that either.  Really can’t explain it to anyone in any sense that will make sense.

I should just say “thank you universe for my three healthy kids, see you later!” and skip off happily into the sunset.

But I feel I can’t.

The one thing I know is, imagine if something small I did makes such a monumental difference to another couple.

I get a few injections, I sit in stirrups for a few hours – but a couple have a chance of having a baby.

I go through a few psychiatrist appointments, more time in stirrups and through a pregnancy – a couple gets a chance to hold their baby, can you imagine what a small sacrifice that is for me, if you compare it against what that couple must have been through to be at that point?

I still hope (against the odds) that Kennith will roll over one morning and say to me: “let’s adopt.”

He knows I know, that he knows he wont.  He knows that I know that maybe I hope that maybe he might change his mind.

We all live in a world of fairies and ghosts.

Mine are in the form of little cheruby not-born-yet babies, that aren’t always my babies – but that is the magical place I get to live in.