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PRECIOUS CARGO
FINALLY, I HELD MY DREAM CHILD IN MY ARMS
It was a dark, windy night on the San Diego coast last November when the phone call came. "We're heading down the mountain to the hospital," Anne Marie said. "It's time."
I had waited seven years and traveled from my home in New York City for this moment. A documentary filmmaker, I had a bag packed with video and still cameras. But this was not about work. My newborn son was about to enter this world and the caller, Anne Marie, was carrying him.
I first learned that I had breast cancer in 1992, at age 37 - a 1.1 centimeter tumor with multiple foci. My doctors said I would need a mastectomy followed by chemotherapy that might leave me sterile. I'd wanted to be a mother ever since I was a child, and only nine years earlier, my own mother had died of breast cancer at age 52. I was devastated by the possibility of never having a kid.
Jeanne Petrek, MD, my breast surgeon at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in Manhattan, presented an idea. She described a process for harvesting, fertilizing and freezing my eggs for possible later use. This was cutting edge treatment at the time, with no real statistics about the impact on patient survival.
Still, I embraced the idea. Soon, though, I began to learn of the daunting practicalities. The procedure involved an intense regimen of drugs, followed by surgery to extract the eggs. Time was of the essence. I had six weeks between breast surgery and chemo. But there was a long waiting list at the hospital for the egg harvesting procedure. Dr. Petrek stepped in, explained the urgency, and I was bumped to the top of the list.
Moreover, the process did not store eggs, but rather embryos - fertilized eggs. That meant finding a sperm donor. Luckily, a longtime friend volunteered. To help with the thrice-daily injections of fertility drugs, friends took shifts, practicing their technique on an orange. Finally, I had to face the cost - $10,000 (and with no insurance whatsoever!). I borrowed. By January 21, 1993, when my eggs were retrieved (four days before my chemo began), I had amassed for myself a loving team. This dream of a child was my lifeline during the nadir of treatment.
My embryos remained frozen for years. In 1998, when I reached my five-year survival anniversary, I felt I could consider having my baby. Carrying the pregnancy myself felt too risky, but finding someone else wasn't simple. I began an intense search for a surrogate. I talked to women on the phone, found a lawyer and, in California, where a legal contract for surrogacy can be made, a surrogate coordinator screened women for me.
At last, I met Anne Marie. She was relaxed, mature, healthy and had children of her own. We felt a spiritual connection immediately. As an adoptee, she wanted to provide the joy of parenting to someone else. We prepared for her to be implanted in late February; Federal Express delivered my embryos overnight. I flew out in June and, on a sonogram, saw my son for the first time.
After Anne Marie's call on the way to the delivery room, I raced to meet her. For the first time anticipating a pleasant event while walking into a hospital. A few hours later, we were blessed with a normal birth and healthy baby boy. Corin's warm, wriggling body was placed into my arms.
When I returned from California, my circle of close friends and family held a celebration. I had received help from so many, and fortunately, was able to repay the money and most of the favors - a great symbol of wellness for me. Now, each person smiled in delight at Corin's presence. He was, after all, the precious cargo of a long-held dream that each of us shared.
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