Dads: A gay couple's surrogacy journey in India (7 page)

How will my demented mother react to becoming a “Grosi”? Last night, my dad sent me a text saying not to mention this to her yet. I kinda told him to get the process started, because once we're pregnant, he's on a clock.

Then there is all the other stuff around work, parental leave and how people around us will react, but that isn't something I worry too much about. If someone doesn't support us in this, the loss is entirely theirs!

Sometimes I get misty eyed when I imagine myself holding the baby to my chest. I won't have a breast to allow the child to feed on, but I know how important the feeling of a parent's skin and warmth is for the bonding and well-being of the child, so with that image in mind, I dream of holding mine one day and that is the feeling that overcomes every doubt I can conjure up.

In the end, I feel that it is the doubt, the humility before this task that will make us good parents. And this is why I am boarding my flight to India feeling good about what we're doing despite the doubt and insecurity. It keeps us grounded.

I wish Alex would've been able to come along, but we need to save the money for his flight for a second attempt if the first one fails or for a stroller… LOL If the process is successful and we become pregnant, we will travel to Mumbai together to pick up our child and take him home. I can't wait for that day!

You know, this whole surrogacy business is weird. Normally people DO have sex to procreate. I am specifically requested NOT to have sex for over a week…

Here's the deal. Since I have to donate my sperm, I need to “save” it for at least three days, and to make sure they have enough swimmers, they collect it twice.

I have my first date with the “jar” tomorrow and then another on Saturday. Now this may come as news to some of you, but I'm a fairly 'normal' guy with needs and to go a week without is…well, let's just say it's not without challenges. LOL

But let me tell you more about my first day here in Mumbai. I got to my hotel room at 3 am and went straight to bed. I was tired. I didn't sleep very well because of all the pigeons and crows that gathered on a roof just outside my window, making one hell of a noise all day and night.

I got up and made myself some really strong coffee. This was noticed, apparently, by my butler who provided me with some more for tomorrow. This hotel, the Taj Mahal Palace in Mumbai, is amazing. I could live here permanently, if only I had the money. LOL

The surrogacy agency had a driver pick me up at ten, in a raggedy old car with rust holes, torn upholstery and literally no suspension. Every pothole, and there are a few in this town, felt like a knife up my back. But, eventually, we did make it to the agency where I was greeted and shown to a conference room. It was sparsely decorated and had a high ceiling, so everything you say reverberates and echoes. Really odd.

There I met a whole array of people, some of whom I had been e-mailing with, others were new acquaintances. They are all extremely friendly and polite and made me feel welcome.

The paperwork did take some time. Signing every single page of the 31 page contract between myself and the agency. Seems bureaucracy isn't just a Swedish malaise… After that, I got to meet the doctors, the two founders of the agency. Now that was weird!

I was given this pouch with a phone to

communicate locally while in Mumbai.

Very handy and thoughtful!

I was shown to their office where they have desks next to each other. It was like facing a board of inquiry or an execution squad. I don't often feel uneasy, but when I was walking into that room, I felt like a little boy who had been naughty (and trust me, since Saturday I have not… ROFL)

After about ten minutes, my tensions eased and the conversation went smoothly. I didn't really know the purpose of the meeting, apart from a “meet and greet”, but in the end, it was valuable. I got to ask some questions about female reproduction (feeling more stupid than I had in a long time), the IVF treatment and how it works with frozen embryos. It's actually quite amazing that they can take a live embryo and just freeze it, then later thaw and make it “alive” again. Sorry if that sounds weird, but it is to me. Because it makes me wonder if we can do the same with real people…but I guess an embryo isn't quite as complex a life form as a human. Anyway, it's a weird process for me to fathom.

But if all things work out, we'll know if we are pregnant around August 10.  And, after that, it'll be nine months…

The agency sent me a bouquet to make me feel welcome here in Mumbai. They really are sweet and considerate. I only wish I had received the bouquet before I met up with the board of inquisition. I might have felt more at ease… LOL

Tomorrow they'll pick me up after lunch for my initial donation. I'll have to do a second one as a back-up on Saturday, so there is something every day for me. LOL And if there isn't, I'm staying at the world's best hotel where they take such good care of me.

My friend, Viren, who works here, has been adding small touches that make you feel right at home here, from the second you walk through the door. Like the picture frame with a new photo every day.

What is it with us humans anyway? Why do we carry around all these feelings and emotions?

Most of the time, they just get in the way of things anyway. Right now, I feel empty, and that isn't because I just came in a jar, but for reasons unknown to me.

Maybe I'm afraid that my deposit wasn't good enough? Maybe I'm worried that the lack of 'fluid' is a problem? The motility wasn't very good, compared to my first test back home. Maybe jet lag is an issue. Maybe it IS a good thing I can do a back up deposit on Saturday, when I'm more adjusted to the climate and time.

Maybe it is the seriousness of what we are doing that is finally sinking in?

Maybe it's normal to feel this way. But you know what? Right now, I'd much rather I didn't feel anything.

The agency's man for all things practical, Jay, called me early this morning, after their phone hadn't informed me of his calls last night, waking me from perfect slumber. I had breakfast and felt - oddly, given the turmoil of emotions rocking me now - perfectly calm. I went back to my room, got ready, and climbed into the taxi at 9 am.

The clinic is much easier to reach on the west coast of the city. Using the Sea Link around Mahim Bay (basically a freeway on the ocean), the trip was easy. I got to the clinic and - kind of funny - the driver pointed me to the wrong clinic. In India, I've noticed that there are sometimes entire blocks with similar shops, book stores, pharmacies, or clinics.

The nurses got all worried when I walked in, neither speaking English, and my Hindi, well, that isn't much to write home about.

Here you go, son. Get busy!

I called up Jay and he 'rescued' me and took me to the right clinic, where I had to fill in a few forms and wait a while. Then I was shown to “the room,” a nondescript (to put it mildly) room with a very comfy chair, boxes and surgical gowns. But no TV, no magazines, no nothing.

I couldn't lock the door to my “enclave” (which made me feel a bit uncomfortable), and if felt really strange to sit in this chair, where I guess countless men before me have sat, to do the same task I was about to try to perform.

You might wonder: why does he tell us this? Isn't this private? Personal? Embarrassing? A glass door? To 'this' kind of room? Well, an exhibitionist would've been thrilled.

My response might be something along the lines of yes, all of the above. I am talking about this because I've never read anything about this before. Never. And there is a stigma attached to it that makes it ridiculed and mysterious. That makes it scary and frightening.

I also feel that writing about this helps me put a perspective on things and allows me to sort through the emotions above, trying to make some sense of it all. And yes, to a degree, it's also about keeping a record, so that some day we may share this with our children, to help them understand the physical, emotional and philosophical journey their parents undertook, and just how much we love hir/them.

Sitting in that big black chair, having Jay outside in his office waiting (doing Facebook), I felt miserable.

The chair: place of 'action'...

No Alex by my side to comfort me (or lend a hand…), I was once again reminded of the mechanical aspect of this, as I was during my first semen test back in Sweden. The big difference here was that I was alone, halfway across the world, in a strange and sterile environment. It was clean, don't get me wrong, but it wasn't making me wanna do it. It didn't make me horny or in any way romantically inclined.