I got excited.
I thought we could have a baby, and soon. I was imagining strollers and waking up in the middle of the night and that tiny-baby smell. I started thinking about how maybe things would work out, maybe the cancer hadn’t derailed all the baby-making plans entirely. I got ahead of myself. It’s important to be measured and careful in thinking about having a baby via surrogacy, because there are so many things that could go awry. Things could get out of hand because it’s such a profoundly weird thing to contemplate for all parties involved, because it requires such massive amounts of paperwork and documentation. Thing is, I probably wouldn’t use “measured” or “careful” to describe my personality. Certainly I am organized and efficient and I have my sh*t together, but I don’t like to wait. I like to run with the wind with all abandon and move quickly and jump into new situations with both feet at once. Of course, you can’t exactly run with the wind when you’re asking someone else to carry your baby and there are so many hearts and souls and bodies involved, and someone could get hurt.
This is the worst part of cancer. The fertility derailment is the worst part of cancer, I mean.
There are less hearts involved if you hire a surrogate though an agency, but that feels creepy-crawly, it feels like baby-buying and it feels like something I want to shrug off, though the possibility lingers. And it is $30,000. That is the easier route, and also the totally unaffordable route, but it’s clear to me why some people choose that route, why they don’t want to risk heartbreak, why they don’t want to get family or friends involved, why they have fundraisers and sell heirlooms to pay a stranger to carry their baby. I get it. I also get that this is not an option available to most young adults who have had cancer, for financial reasons.
Sometimes I think I should just go off my estrogen blocker and get pregnant myself, and I will begin my research on this option in earnest, tonight. The gist of it is that my cancer responds to estrogen, and the estrogen-blocker I take every night would be potentially harmful to a fetus. I take this estrogen-blocker to prevent a recurrence: even though I’m cancer free right now, this drug makes a serious dent in the possibility that my cancer recurs. It’s interesting, because the estrogen-blocker (tamoxifen) used to be used as a fertility drug, until too many babies were born with birth defects.
And so I’m left in a quandry: wait another year, until the oncologist semi-approves of me going off the drug and get pregnant myself as it appears I’m still fertile; get pregnant now, anyway, because I cannot wait even if it means going off the estrogen-blocker; or muddle my way through surrogacy and search for someone who might be in a place in their life to carry a child that is not their own, now. There are no good options. It is the worst part of cancer.
What’s a girl aching to have a baby to do? Certainly, I wish we hadn’t waited until now. I wish we hadn’t listened to the people who said we should wait till after the Ph.D., I wish we hadn’t talked ourselves into the sensibility of waiting, I wish-I wish-I wish, but as we all know from trying to wish cancer away, wishing falls flat in the face of reality. I want a baby. I think we would be great parents. Now’s as good a time as any, and I so badly want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby.
Someone wise told me once that grief is the space we reside in when we refuse to accept life as it is. And perhaps they were right. I cannot accept that we can’t have a baby, I don’t even know if I can accept we can’t have a baby, now. And so I put this out to the universe, not expecting a response but in grave need of guidance: What do we do now? Do I go off the meds, and get pregnant? Do I search high and low for a surrogate? Will one appear in my life, or is someone already in my life ready and waiting, because the universe knows how much we want a baby? Do I decide to wait until my oncologist grants semi-approval? Do I forget the whole baby-making endeavor entirely and focus on writing an academic book?
Ha. As if I could forget. Anyone who knows me knows how very stubborn and determined I am. Watch me make this happen. Somehow.
So community of mine, spread the word. We’re looking for an answer here, in the form of research about very young women and tamoxifen and pregnancy, or in the form of contacts and ideas and innovation, or in the form of support and love and care. So community of mine, where do we go from here?