Chapter 14

Throughout the pregnancy I felt detached and quite out of control, although Tina, Vivian and the medics did their best to keep me informed. The ultrasound photos from San Diego showed that I had fathered three small specks with appendages. These might have been a head, a hand, a foot.

Even the video they took of the babies on 9 November showed to my untutored eye, humanoid shapes swimming into and out of focus. How each baby could be repeatedly identified as ‘A’, ‘B’ or ‘C’, I had no idea.

How any guess could be made as to their gender, I could not imagine. Tina was confident. ‘It’s two girls and an unknown.’ she told me in November. The doctor had looked. He was more circumspect when I spoke to him. ‘We’ll see if we can find a boy in there somewhere’. Tina was certain, though, that he had told her he had definitely seen two girls.

Vivian thought she had seen something male on the video. I was lost in admiration at her perception. I peered at the videoed pointer and saw nothing that resembled anything. Without anything else to occupy my thoughts, I was keen to know what was in store for me.

‘We tried the pendulum test which is what I use to determine babies’ sex,’ she wrote. ‘I haven’t been wrong yet in predicting a baby’s unknown sex. You might think this is fiddle faddle but it has not let me down yet. I’m betting on girl, girl, boy. You’ll have to select so many names!’

So from November to February, I became adjusted to the idea of two girls and an unknown. To avoid any disappointment, I focussed only on what I knew. There were two girls. There might be three. I wondered if I would be disappointed at not having a son. I pushed any such thoughts away, although I knew that I secretly hoped that the unknown would be a boy. Over the weeks, I convinced myself that it was likely to be three girls.

Every time I thought of going through all this again on the off-chance that another pregnancy might result in a boy, I told myself this was a nonsense and that I really should rationalise what it is that makes most men want a son in their family. I must be thankful for the babies, no matter what their gender.

Nevertheless, I told Dr B. that a boy with two girls would be the icing on the cake. Vivian asked me to give a selection of names. I thought through all the possible permutations and e-mailed a list covering two girls and boy with which names were for the girl born first; three girls with the names for the first and second born; two boys and a girl and for three boys. All eventualities were covered. I agonised over the two girls and a boy permutation. Tina loved my choices. The easy ones were for three boys. I knew they would not have to be used.

Focussing on theoretical names took my mind off the real issue. The end of 2000 was a fraught time. In December and again at the beginning of January, Tina had some strong contractions. They were controlled with medication. Things were going wrong.

As each hour ticked by, the babies’ chance of survival increased. Every day the percentage chance rose. If they had been delivered in 2000, there was no more than a 50% chance. I was waiting for disaster to strike, relieved when the twentieth century ended and the twenty first began.

Tina was admitted into hospital for the duration as a precaution. As January slipped into February, the babies increased in weight and each day in the womb was a bonus. Their lungs were becoming stronger and Tina was invariably optimistic. When I received a photograph showing how big she had become, I could not believe a person could stretch so much. She was huge and refused to let her head be in the shot. Still, never in any of my conversations with her was there a single word of regret.

There was not so much as a word that maybe we should have reduced. I was not so sure. I had sailed into a high-risk pregnancy on a tide of humanitarian anti-abortion ideals.

By early February, Tina was unable to breathe lying down. The babies were compressing her lungs. She had to sleep sitting up. Even that made her breathless. The only emotion I was now feeling was one of guilt. All this was for me, yet I was carrying on with life as normal. None of this had impinged on my freedom to do so. This brave woman was in pain, separated from her home and family, unable to sleep properly, distended. There was only an acceptance of the situation. How would a ‘maverick’ surrogate have coped? How could I have been so fortunate?

By the afternoon of 8 February, time was running out. In a message headed ‘ready to explode’, Vivian wrote ‘Tina can’t take it anymore. For a while she was breathing fine, but now the babies have grown so much that there is no more room for her lungs. At this point she can’t even lie down. Dr. B is away until Monday. I believe once he returns he will let Tina have a c-section. So in all likelihood you will officially be a Daddy next week.’

I phoned Tina. She was panting. ‘Can’t the doctor come in specially for you? You can’t go on like this until Monday.’

She calmly assured me she was sure he would and that, even if he did not, there were others who could perform emergency surgery. When I woke up on the morning of 9 February, I found that Vivian had mailed me in the early hours. Her message read ‘Delivering tonight! Going to the hospital now. Tina having contractions that won’t quit... call you right after.’

At 9.15 I was in the kitchen with my father preparing his breakfast. He had wandered away from his chair, following me, when I answered the phone.

‘Hi, Ian.’

This was it.

‘You have...’ and Vivian read out the list of boys’ names that I had concocted so quickly with, for each one, the weight. Nowhere were there any of the girls’ names I had carefully selected. Had I misheard?

‘But that’s three boys. No. Are you sure?’

‘Oh yes. I’ve looked.’

‘Yes, everyone got it all wrong.’

‘You’d better bin that pendulum.’

‘Yes, I shall.’

‘Wow.’ I clung to my father. ‘Give my thanks to Tina.’

‘OK’.

‘Oh, when were they born? Our today was your yesterday. Were they born on the 9th, today, or yesterday, the 8th, your time?’

‘22.00 or so on the 8th.’

Three boys. No girls. I had the icing, but not cake I had expected. This was reality. I had to accept the concept of three sons and what this entailed. Two concerns had vanished. No hanging around outside ladies’ loos and no visits to the Fairy Shop in Marlborough.

‘Aren’t you disappointed?’ said my father’s social worker. ‘I know you wanted to give one of them your mother’s name.’

‘I don’t even think of disappointment,’ I replied. ‘I just accept.’

And I realised I meant it.