My Shrinking Fat Belly: A Surrogate's Side

By Jana Jarrett

Join Jana as she embarks on her journey as a surrogate for intended parents, John and Mary.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543978049

Book preview

Rogers

Chapter 1

A Loaded Text

I wanted to be a surrogate. It was a flashing maternal siren in my head; a beacon to help another woman… or man… or couple… a call to give the gift of life to someone who needed help in the creation of life. And I had a healthy body and uterus that could answer this call. I even mentioned my desire to answer this call to my husband and to my closest friends. It may have seemed odd to an outsider upon observation, but to my friends and family it was completely in the realm of normal for me. I, myself, had undergone a laparoscopic tubal ligation years ago, because I didn’t want any more children of my own. Still, there was something nudging me to carry a child for someone else.

Browsing online, I encountered several sites that offered impressive sums of money ($30,000+) for surrogacy services. Reading these postings, I felt a price negotiation for such a deed wouldn’t be for me. Honestly, putting any kind of price tag on this process was a deterrent that nearly led me away from the idea of surrogacy all together. It made me feel that only rich people deserved to have children. I’m not knocking those who exchange this service for money though (our bodies and mental wellbeing are priceless), but it just wasn’t something that I was interested in personally.

For a time, I stepped away from research and stories about being a surrogate, I pushed this notion away, and I let my thoughts of becoming a surrogate for someone else—BE. Besides, who in the small town of Queensville would think it proper for someone to even consider a surrogate? Couldn’t surrogacy be observed as tampering with God’s plan? I should mention that Queensville is located smack dab in the middle of the Bible Belt in southern West Virginia with a population of just over 5,000 people, which means, God’s plans matter!

January 2017, fate stepped in.

Wait, is this part of God’s plan? That is, if fate and gods are one in the same.

Yes, it happened like that. It was a fateful surrogacy or at least, it appeared to be.

See…

On a seemingly ordinary day, while I was teaching my elementary class at the small Montessori school I own and operate, I received a text message from the parents of one of my newest preschool students, Jane.

Mary and John’s daughter had recently enrolled at my school. Actually, she started coming in the beginning of January (mid school year). Mary’s text message read, "Hey! We are sharing this website with pretty much everybody right now. I haven’t posted it publicly yet but will be soon. If you know anybody at all that would ever help with this, please let us know!" And there was a link to a web page with more information provided in the text.

Curious, I clicked on the link.

While my students were finishing up a lesson on sour, bitter, and sweet, I read the story shared on Mary’s website. It was a story about a loving, Christian family who had struggled to get pregnant and went through an extremely difficult time when they finally achieved their goal of pregnancy. The mom, Mary, suffered from a condition, which made her terribly ill during her pregnancy. In her story she explained how there was about an 80% chance of this happening again. With a 3-year-old daughter to take care of, Mary and her husband, John, decided it would be in their best interest to find a surrogate for their second child. The couple had created three embryos; Mary had attempted with two, one taking, and they now had one left. Essentially, they felt that a surrogate would give their last surviving embryo the best possible chance at survival. After spending the last couple of years asking family and friends without finding a suitable person, this website plea to the public was their last and only hope.

When I finished reading their heartfelt story, I immediately replied and said I would consider it, but first I would have to speak with my husband, T.J.

During the car ride home that evening, I tested the news on my 9-year-old daughter, Jayne, and my sister, Kat, whom we call every day during our commute. Kat’s the closest thing I have to a mother, so I was eager to hear her response. I told them about this family’s story, and both were instantly interested and excited about this possibility for me.  My husband, on the other hand, was worried and shared his apprehension about me being a surrogate. Although I had experienced a wonderful childbirth with our own child, the thought of another birth scared him to death. He was concerned about my health and safety, which was sweet. But we talked, and after a thoughtful discussion, he saw my side and how much I wanted to do this for this family, and ultimately, he said, It’s your body, honey.

Having support from my husband, I was in, but I had questions and concerns. My questions were: Why don’t you want to adopt? If this is your last embryo, can you make more? If not, that seemed like a lot of pressure to put on a person. And my concerns were: Was it safe? Could my back handle it? Would my OBGYN approve?

I messaged Mary to let her know I wanted to talk to both her and my doctors before I committed myself to this endeavor. I wanted to check with my orthopedic doctor to make sure he thought this process would be safe for my body, and that extra weight (the typical pounds gained during pregnancy) wouldn’t cause any additional problems to my already injured back. And, I wanted to consult my gynecologist and make sure he thought that I would be okay as well. After receiving a green light from these guys, I would be more than happy to carry a child for her and her husband.

The following Saturday I was excited to meet with Mary and discuss the surrogacy. I thought about our meeting all morning as I cleaned my school. (If one owns a school, they must, on occasion, play all of the parts—principal, custodian, teacher, secretary and so on.)  That afternoon I picked up my daughter from an overnight trip she had taken to a nearby waterpark with one of her friends, and we met Mary at a local restaurant for the scheduled lunch date. Already knowing that our daughters shared the same name (with a minor spelling difference—my daughter’s name being Jayne and her daughter Jane—a seemingly added sign or elbow nudge from fate), Mary and I also very quickly discovered that we shared the same middle name, Renee. This fact made us both laugh out loud and that laughter lightened the mood.

As we shared a few more laughs and an appetizer together, the tone turned serious. Mary admitted that her original text message was crafted and sent with a purpose. Another one of my student’s parents who worked at the same hospital as Mary had suggested that she ask me if I would be willing to embark on this journey (surrogacy) for her. The other mom, Lisa, whom I had known for years because I taught all of her children, must have known that I would seriously consider this journey. After all, Lisa knew me, or at least my character, pretty well. Once, I babysat her two boys and her girl while the rest of her family held a celebration of life for a lost loved one. It was common for me to pick-up Lisa’s children on my way to school, and they had carpooled in my car on a couple of field trips when Lisa wasn’t able to attend. These actions, to me, revealed that Lisa trusted me, and I think she had experienced firsthand that I would do almost anything to help out my students and their families. That’s what good teachers do. We help when we can. So, Lisa’s suggestion was valid. I would do it if I could. And more than that, I wanted to.

Still, I wondered why Mary hadn’t been straightforward about her intentions in the initial text. But I dismissed that thought as our conversation turned more intimate.

She told me stories about her troubled childhood, which was something I could relate to, because I too had experienced a troubled childhood. Mary had suffered from childhood neglect and abuse, but she was eventually saved by one of her high school teachers, Mandy, and her teacher’s husband. She shared her dreams of being in a healthy, loving family and how she thought she had found one when she escaped her biological family. Of course, what she discovered was that dysfunction exists even in the most seemingly normal and inviting homes. It didn’t take long before she found out that her new household wasn’t perfect either; it was just imperfect in a different way. In this familial home example, it was a case of a well-hidden alcoholic father figure. But she still had dreams of creating the best family she could—a healthy, loving family of her own.

I listened thoughtfully and compassionately to her stories.

Honestly, my initial thoughts upon meeting Mary were skewed by her outward appearance. I thought, this beautiful, well-educated doctor (who is well put together, stylish, and driving a Mercedes) is definitely the result of a normal, stereotypical family life. I imagined a thriving, wholesome family and a perfect baby girl born with a silver spoon placed daintily in her mouth. I was wrong though, and I admit that I was wrong. There was more to Mary than what I initially thought. Depth and suffering appeared to have salvaged and shaped her spirit. Mary was surely way more inscrutable than what her current privileged situation revealed.

Our shared, nightmarish childhood experiences emboldened our connection. And as she continued to tell me stories about her life, she shared a second insightful detail about herself. She told me that she always dreamed of having a sister. She disclosed to me that she had brothers that were much older than her, and she described them as cruel and vehemently abusive. In her description of this experience, I felt truly sorry for her. My experience had been different with my oldest sister, Kat, being more like a mother to me. And I, in turn, took on a protective, motherly role to our younger siblings, who sometimes felt like my own children. I was lucky to have a strong bond with my brothers and sisters.

Now, there was an instant bond between Mary and I as we shared our personal experiences, and we would soon be bound in more ways than one could ever imagine. 

Having established that deeper connection (revealing more about ourselves and where we came from—the things that shaped and informed our present selves), we became more comfortable in our conversation and our discussion began to flow more naturally. I learned more about Mary’s job as a cosmetic plastic surgeon at Queensville Cosmetic Clinic which was an extension office to our local hospital (Queensville Center Hospital). She imparted information about John’s work as well. He was a cosmetologist and was working on becoming an aesthetic nurse. Eventually, John would do his rounds at Queensville Center with aspirations to gain employment at his wife’s office.

Their office motto—Beauty can be forever.

It struck me as amusing, in the way that our human obsession with vanity can be.

It’s silly how much stock and investment we put into our looks when we truly can’t take any of that with us when we go. Perhaps it is more fun to die sexy??

I also learned about how the couple met and fell in love. It was a typical Appalachian romance. Boy and girl met and fell in love and vowed to take care of each other till death do they part.

They were a charming couple. Outwardly, one might say that Mary and John went together like grits and gravy. They were the perfect country pair.

I engaged with stories about my husband and my daughter. With that movement toward comfort, I started hitting Mary with the hard questions. When I asked my first and most important question: Why don’t you adopt? Mary said that she and her husband had discussed that option but with this last embryo, which was already a viable life form in their eyes, they felt obligated to give it the best chance possible. Accepting this answer, even though it didn’t make complete sense to me (perceiving things differently), I moved on to my next question. Could you make more embryos? The answer was—YES! Her response to this question moved some of the pressure off of me and led us into a discussion about our individual expectations. My expectations were clear, and I directly communicated them in a verbal list:

We had to use my doctor. (Cool enough. We had the same doctor.)

I would not be accepting payment for doing this (carrying) with one stipulation, I didn’t want to be out-of-pocket for things like clothing. (She immediately said that they would be more than willing to compensate me. Again, I was adamant about refusing to receive payment for the act of carrying, but coverage of maternity clothes, medical bills, etc. were agreed upon.)

They would not have to tell the child that I was his/her carrier, but I wanted to be a small part of their life if things worked out—if I became pregnant and the child was born healthy. (She insisted that they wanted the child to know all about me and that she wanted me to be a part of their family.)

My heart was full, and I knew I wanted to do this. By the end of our lunch, we had pretty much done everything but sign a contract. At this point we both had our fingers crossed that my doctors would clear me to proceed.

Chapter 2

A Promise

It was within a few hours of that initial meeting that I received a text message from Mary. She wanted to let me know that my selflessness had inspired them. The fact that I did not expect compensation had made them want to compensate me even more. She assured me that they had been saving for this moment (surrogacy), and compensation was a part of their monetary savings. I replied to let them know that I still did not anticipate anything in return. However, if they insisted, and they were actively insisting, I mentioned that I would be okay with them setting up a college fund for my daughter.

They loved this idea and even added their own spin on it, saying that their plan was not only to start a fund for Jayne, but also to continue to pay into this college fund until Jayne turned 18. Their offer was unbelievably gracious, and admittedly, an offer that I could get on board with too. I loved the thought of doing something that would benefit a deserving family and give something meaningful to my own daughter as well. It was a lovely promise from Mary and John. Though, I still would have continued with the surrogacy without a promise of any kind.

In the following weeks, I made appointments with my orthopedic surgeon and my gynecologist. And Mary scheduled an appointment with her fertility clinic in North Carolina. Years had passed since my last evaluation on my back, which prompted my surgeon to schedule an MRI to assess the severity of my bulging discs and degenerative disc disease.

My gynecologist, Dr. Sopater, looked over my charts and reviewed the progression of my last pregnancy to give us a thorough expert opinion. Since Mary was a patient at the same facility, she felt comfortable attending this appointment with me. Dr. Sopater asked her why she wasn’t willing to carry this child in the same manner as she had her first child.

I didn’t think that carrying was an option for her.

This question puzzled me.

Mary explained the delicate nature of her situation to Dr. Sopater. During her first pregnancy she had been under the care of a different physician. She gave a few vague details and insisted that there was severity and despair in that experience.

The doctor appeared skeptical of her explanation but affirmed that he did not have any concerns with me carrying her child.

As we walked out of the appointment, Mary voiced that Dr. Sopater had made her feel guilty. Having been a patient at his clinic for over ten years now, I knew that guilt was not his intention, and I comforted her by telling her that he was probably doublechecking to make sure she had weighed all of her options. This reassurance appeared to make her feel better, and we both went our separate ways.

In between all of these appointments, I continued to teach and keep this