Remember when we made zombie babies? Those were the really weird times, when we raced to and fro doctors appointments, when we had so many doctors appointments we started eating out all the time because there was literally, no time to cook and we were never home anyway. Back when we made the zombie-babies, I wasn’t sure we’d ever get to use them, because at every fork in the road someone reminded me cancer could kill me. Zombie Babies is really just an affectionate term for the embryos we froze, embryos mixed in a petri dish from my eggs and Sam’s sperm. Embryos mixed, watched, cared for, and then… frozen. Placed on ice. Neither dead nor alive- but rather, frozen. And that is where the term zombie babies came from.
Last fall, my oncologist Dr. G said I could “think about” surrogacy, but definitely not “think about” pregnancy, yet. So I thought for about twenty five seconds, and then we moved forward. We found a surrogate. Our families helped us figure out how to fund this ridiculously expensive enterprise. And on December 4th, we picked up Angela, our perfect-fit surrogate, from the train station and the two of us donned little blue caps on our heads, and Sam sat in the waiting room while they sucked up two little embryos out of the petri dish, and carefully placed them in her uterus. One high quality embryo, one weaker embryo- insurance, if you will, in case it didn’t work, since the success rates are something like 60%.
But it did work. She sent me texts with the double lines on the pee-stick, and we slowly made our way to the blood test, and that was positive too. And then we were at the first ultrasound, and Sam was waiting in the waiting room, and Angela and I were staring at the screen, where there was a blob, a blob with a heat beat.
A blob with a heart beat, made from a zombie baby! We both smiled and she squeezed my hand and I could hardly believe it. As the doctor continued to look at our tiny blob with the flashing heartbeat, another blob appeared on the screen.
“That is just an empty sac,” the doctor explained. “See?” He moved the ultrasound to show us the empty sac keeping the blob with the heart beat company.
Except the empty sac had a heart beat. It was not an empty sac at all.
“Well look at that,” the doctor commented, “appears to be twins.”
I’m sure my eyes got as wide as plates. Angela’s did. It was a though we had no other words, no other words except, “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD,” which we repeated to each other a lot of times. Because what else can you say when the doctor tells you your blob with the heartbeat in someone else’s uterus has a sibling blob with a heart beat, also in someone else’s uterus?
Sam looked so patient, sitting in the waiting room. I thrust the pictures into his hand. “Count them!” He looked. He squinted. He looked at our faces, and the paper, back and fourth. And his eyes were as big as plates. “There’s two.”
And so it went. Lots of text messages about, OHMYGOD, TWINS. Lots of excitement. Double. There was a 5-10% chance we would get twins, and we knew it. We just thought we’d be in the 90%! Though, as my mother has pointed out, why would I ever think that, based on what reality? I’ve never been in the 90%, and I’ve never wanted to be in the 90% (except when I got cancer at 29, then I wanted to be on the other side of the statistic).
So, twins, because our embryos are overachieving just like us, and they survived the odds and hung together. So, twins.
We’re nearly 19 weeks in now, and though I’m always shocked when its still twins, I hear they will still be twins when they are born, too. We are expecting twins! In August! Like, TWO BABIES. We are expecting TWO BABIES. They’re all cozied up in the belly of this incredible woman who lives the good life on Salt Spring, a surrogate-mama who did the most radical thing for us. What an absolutely incredible thing that women can do for each other, lending a uterus, taking care of tiny babies, babies the size of a dragon fruit, because she wants to, because she loves her own children madly and wanted to help someone out, because she figured out, that somewhere deep inside of her it was the right thing for her to do. Somehow, we found her. It’s been so easy since we have. She’s so kind. She’s so present. She’s taking such good care of those two babies, making sure they grow strong and healthy. She knows so much about pregnancy and childbirth, and I can’t imagine anyone else doing this for us. Somehow, we found each other in the world, and we connected, and she’s growing the most precious of cargo inside her body, as a gift to us.
And you know what else? They’re girls! Twin girls! Cue again the series of OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD! They’re girls who can be sugar and spice and everything nice, and girls who can be bad-ass and fiery and full of sass. They’re GIRLS! We’re having TWIN GIRLS! I’ve already researched the feminist, queer, multilingual books that will be on their shelves. Because we might not be able to control the onslaught of pink (and whatever, pink rocks) but we can definitely control the exposure to stories that are not confined by racist, sexist, heteronormative patriarchal capitalism. There’s a story there, about an Eric Carle book I tried to correct with white-out until I realized I’d have to white out the entire story, but that’s for another day. For today, the news is…