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Back The Surrogate Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part One
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Part Two
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Forty
  46. Forty-One
  47. Forty-Two
  48. Forty-Three
  49. Forty-Four
  50. Forty-Five
  51. Forty-Six
  52. Forty-Seven
  53. Forty-Eight
  54. Forty-Nine
  55. Fifty
  56. Fifty-One
  57. Part Three
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Fifty-Four
  61. Fifty-Five
  62. Fifty-Six
  63. Acknowledgments
  64. About the Author
  65. About the Publisher

The baby lay in the plexiglass bassinet, swaddled in elephant-patterned flannel blankets and a pink hat. Cally was asleep with her back to me. When the nurse came in and saw my “spread,” she told me Cally shouldn’t have coffee, even decaf, so I drank both cups. I saved a piece of coffee cake for Cally, though. Pretty sure she could eat that. I pulled out my journal and wrote:

“Baby Girl Olson” was born on Thursday, December 5, 2002, at approximately 4:51 p.m. She weighed in at 8.2 pounds and measured 20 inches.

Cally didn’t have an epidural. She requested pain relievers, which were administered (although they did not appear to make any difference). Flowers and balloons were not allowed in the recovery room. Room H-258, extra-large en suite, big window overlooking the back parking lot and a snowy marsh. Weather is hideous but—Minnesota. It’s quiet here. I keep my eye on the nurses’ stations, where they sit, heads down, busy on computers, or stand huddled together, chatting in low voices. Wish I knew what they were saying.

There are three family lounge areas, carpeted, comfy sofas, plus kiddie tables with books and puzzles, and a television tuned to the Golf Channel. I asked the staff to switch the channel to the news. United Airlines might go bankrupt, so how would that affect our local Northwest Airlines? Minnesota was considering a concealed carry law, and Governor Ventura was expected to comment. Not much else going on. I left to use the restroom, and when I came back, someone had switched the channel back to golf. Ugh!

I don’t think the staff took our birth plan seriously. Not sure if there is a bias against surrogacy or if they just hate all birth plans. I may interview some other new mothers to get a sense of whether there’s a story here. I may want to follow up on the usefulness of birth plans being followed in general, and possibly do a hospital-to-hospital comparison.

Today (Friday) is the transition day, but we are allowed to visit. Tomorrow Cally will sign the papers and we’ll have our pastor here for a ceremony. Then we’ll bring home baby girl. It’s been stressful. Hal and I have been having sex three or four times a week for the last couple of months, because, I’m sure, we both need to release all this tension. Early this morning, I had this dream:

Someone told me to climb stairs. They’re sparkling white and clean. They go up steeply and I can’t see the top. Someone says there will be a reward beyond description. I climb the stairs into the sky, but it’s dark and there are no handrails. I want to turn back, but there’s no exit.