Snippets From Our eBook
The lucky ones have an unplanned pregnancy. Then you would not need to calculate body temperatures with a thermometer placed somewhere in your nether regions nor plot charts like some possessed statistician. There would be no buying of ovulation predictor kits and those prohibitively expensive and disposable home pregnancy detectors that lie in wait for the unsuspecting parent. I believe we still have those accursed charts at home scattered about our by now very well worn bed.
Who were we trying to kid in those days. The only people who gained any benefit were the manufacturers of these to our minds detestable objects. No, only the lucky ones benefited. Not us. Our expectations of becoming pregnant with ease hit the buffers quite early on. At that point we were not getting any younger and by the end of this book you will find we were not getting any richer either. Thats right, this book is not for the squeamish!
The final follow up consultation at Holly House came amidst one of our new prayer routines. Our lives was shaky at best and it didnt help when the doctor now told us to basically get lost and go look for donor eggs. Great, all we could think off was jumping in front of a bus, in fact one of us has already been knocked down more than once before. So now we had to hunt around, advertise and basically beg everyone we know of for an asian or olive skinned donor who lives in the UK. Our initial expectations of a simple family life was now truly buried.
I guess each couple has to go through their course of repeat failures using every other means available before their doctor ultimately recommends the use of a donor egg that is assuming you havent had any hysterectomy or if you think your body will not carry to term for reasons numerous like you cannot bear having another miscarriage or the wifes instincts or the tea leaves. And no amount of logic or reasoning will deter a woman from seeking out a surrogate or an egg donor. But in our case Nikki had been put through so much medically that she was mentally and physically exhausted and that is when surrogacy normally comes into play when you are at the end of your tether or should that be the hangmans noose. Sometimes you have got to learn to listen to your body, to your instincts and to your wife. Should that mean we totally give up on ever having our own baby and stick that bit of paper on our backs? Hell no, we still have at least fourteen more chapters in this book to explore together.
It was the end of the road as far as throwing money at the problem that my wife would get pregnant. We of course never gave up hope that we could still conceive naturally and so kept that part up.
The solution of using just an egg donor was not the complete answer for us. Nikki had been a guinea pig for way too long that it was now due for a different person to take over to become pregnant if not become the mother of our child. We had options, egg donor, surrogacy, adoption, surrogacy, egg donor. Obviously surrogacy together with egg donation was on top of our thinking. The third option was too messy, too complicated and too time consuming. Besides we knew next to nothing about adopting other than having various social service departments knocking on your door poking their collective noses on parents of adoptive children for years on end and hound us at our very fireplace. No, we are selfish enough to want our own children and to those who would deny us that well they can canvas and rattle their tins on normal couples. Leave the likes of us alone and chase broken families instead as we are trying to fix and mend our way to become a family unit.
The waiting list for an egg donor in UK was two years. The waiting list for finding a surrogate in England was none. There wasnt a list. Ham-struck by law, no organization in UK can match you up with a surrogate. No organization in UK can find you a surrogate. Instead the reliance was on the surrogate to find a couple with whom she feels most comfortable with through the internet version of a one-way looking mirror. It is achieved by her having to sift through your plea and those of many others on the message board of these surrogacy groups. Summing up, joining a surrogate organization in the UK is almost pointless for most couples, especially blacks and asians.
Unless you have someone in mind to carry your baby you must sit it out on the shelf next to tins of baked beans and try to get yourself sold. And the privilege for doing just this was $2,000. If it wasnt for our website we would never have got as far as we did. It didnt seem possible that despite all the publicity and all the millions who had heard of our plight that the outcome would be so unproductive.
It was the day Bobby proposed to Nikki. It was Diwali time, the Indian new year, a time of celebration. We drove home from the cattle market, except there wasnt any cattle. Driving through the drizzle watching fireworks through the condensation on the windscreen we got home and hurriedly pulled the sheets over us and slept on the floor.
The lid keeping Nikkis emotions in check was slipping and who could blame her. Think along the lines of the Incredible Hulk and you would get an idea of how volatile the situation was for her and to those around her. Not the lovely little Nikki everyone knew and loved. How grateful must we be for her diminutive stature as heaven help those who double cross her. Bobbys bruises can testify to that and Nikkis use of him as a pin cushion at times, she usually ends up forgiving herself by baking him a gluten-free cake. Its been a while since she last baked a cake and speaking of ovens ours was empty and would remain empty for this chapter and alas several more.
With the very bleak surrogacy options facing us and the loss of perhaps many potential surrogates to others our hard work in promoting ourselves and promoting the cause of surrogacy was about to come crashing down. Of course the victors were those surrogacy agencies who rounded up our surrogates, branded them and sold them down the line with not so much as a thank you to www.oneinsix.com.
All in all we considered ourselves fortunate that we did not proceed with any of the two British surrogates that approached us. We smelt a rat, but blind we were and the thought sends shivers to think what might have happened if we ever had a pregnant British surrogate. Blackmailed for money by one and side tracked by another English rose. Thinking back did we really stood chance of a goal when the goal-post always kept moving? What dire straits then for the computer illiterate when even armed with Fleet Streets finest and in a barn full of other childless we still sat firmly at the bottom of the pecking order.
The shenanigans did not stay there. The infighting and bickering between the two supposedly helpful UK surrogacy groups where one society was formed from another after a fallout between their founding members. Distrust and hijacking of each others members and a burning desire to become a charitable status while fleecing the childless.
The straw that really broke the camels back was when the self-preserving society rang us not to congratulate us for being in the news but to ask us to not mention them at all when we were being interviewed by journalists. I would imagine followers of our story pondering the very same trail of thought; time to leave this party and so we did.
It was not made clear what your chances were of ever finding a surrogate before one stumped up a fortune with an agency. Instead what was becoming clearer and clearer with each passing day to many a British worker and that was business outsourcing. We did not beat around the bush, our website was quite clear on this and whats more we did not charge.
Why should surrogacy or any other branch of medicine be any different from offices and factories when it comes to selling out? The numbers of westerners fleeing their own wards to be treated abroad are in the tens if not hundreds of thousands. When the west is poaching doctors and nurses from the third world why cannot the patient travel and be treated in India? This slow realization of what the poorer countries have to offer is suddenly dawning and especially noticeable in the all important wallet-factor.
The Indian way of doing business was simple and flexible. If an opportunity existed then some enterprising soul would quickly steer his cart there and plant his business firmly under the noses and detriment of the establishment which in this case are the arcane and unbending, dressed up to their finest, British way of doing things. How ironic that a former colony would fill the void and champion the causes of a British subject. Indeed the irony when even our parents from deepest Punjab were subjects of the crown. God save the king then.
Finding that our British health services had placed age limits on helping couples with IVF treatment was not very helpful. Yes a cut off point was needed but not at 40. What they forget is that some couples have reached that very age threshold not by putting their careers ahead of starting a family but by marrying late as was in our case. Then what of the doctor who proposed the endless preliminary tests during the early years which when proved all negative only to find out your deserving doctor then recommending IVF by which time you have reached that cruel age limit. Do they wish us to start the expensive IVF treatment without investigating other forms of cures? There may be cheaper treatments out there but due to that age deadline were choosing to crack the nut with a sledgehammer. Age thresholds for free fertility treatment needs to be raised. Offering one free IVF on the NHS is not sufficient to justify all that expense if were limiting the number of embryos that are permissible to grow to one or two. This and many other reasons are why we and many other childless couples who have approached us are opting to go abroad for treatment. Medical tourism is like business outsourcing. No different. Britain was expensive and saddled with far too many choking restrictions. HFEA? Why they can carry on arranging their deck chairs as much as they like. Our ticket was already booked.
Hearing then that theres an 8% chance that a British pregnant surrogate not wanting to hand over the baby at birth, thats like one-in-ten who renege on their contracts. Sod that we thought, were off to India. So with our bags packed we left the storm clouds of England unknowingly in to a force nine hurricane of a ride in monsoon India.
To what lengths should anybody go to in order to have their baby? Be honest, what really comes to mind when you hear that another woman was to become pregnant and bear a child for another man. How about going to very extreme lengths. Beginning to get the picture here yet? Or maybe you require a more graphic depiction of what took place on our trip to India in the autumn of 2005. This chapter was deliberately kept under cover and not spoken about or even hinted at even on our own website. It is possible we may have had a good reason to keep this unreported surrogacy hidden knowing the explosive nature of the subject and the recriminations we could have faced from our own family and community.
Of course we could be lying and had made this entirely up in order to sell our story. We could say we had little to do with it as we had a scribe or a ghost writer fill and pad out our story with inaccuracies and red herrings. Part and parcel of journalism and show business is that out goes the dull and boring bits and in comes the sex, IVF drugs and Indian rock and roll. Well anyway that is our guard and protection that we could simply deny these events took place at all should we ever become accused of dishonorism, disrespectfulness and of downright disgusting behaviourism; welcome to the world of printing and publishing.
Last but not least was the paperwork for consent. Consent for what you may ask? If you need explaining here then perhaps we better start off with the birds and the bees
Two months of DIY inseminations then off home to England with a big wide grin on Bobbys face.
I married the most beautiful woman on the earth and was about to be alone with a strange woman and all for the sake of having a baby.
That night Nikki was surplus to requirement. They left together leaving Nikki alone with her thoughts.
As nervous as he was Bobby was heading to Nikki2s apartment with something bulging in his trouser pocket and it wasnt the Rs3,000 he needed to pay for his time with her.
Bobby must have thought he died and gone to heaven. Nikki was still in hell back at the hotel when Nikki2 slid off her clothes and laid on the double bed. What was Bobby to do?
At the very least Bobby may have held her legs apart or had helped support her hips up high with a cushion after the insemination. Either that or the dirty so and so had it off with her in which case nobody would want to be in Bobbys shoes on his return back to the hotel where his nearest and dearest the waiting dynamo fumed.
Some modesty remained. Nikki2 had left her bra on.
She said thank you. This whilst ..
What for? I questioned still on top.
For thinking of Nikki she said referring to my wife.
The sessions with the surrogate was carefully timed by Bobbys seething wife. If I was not home within the hour she would murder me.
There would be a Spanish type inquisition of did I do this with her and how did I feel about it and more to the point how did our surrogate act and behaved. What my wife was trying to get out of me was was she any good in bed? I would be guilty if I answered and guilty if I remained silent. I could not win. Whats more I deserved the beatings my wife meted out. Hit me and hit me hard for I have sinned.
What sort of images come to mind when the woman you have to XXX has her arm in plaster. Can it be done at all I ask. This awkwardness gave Bobby something to talk about. I could hide behind this I thought. I could mention to my wife that Nikki2 was in no shape to go swinging on chandeliers with me or perform the lotus position from the Kama Sutra as her arm was in a sling.
Did I get in to her knickers again? the wife yelled whenever I crept back to our hotel room. Oh no, not again. Once more in to the breech for punishment I thought. Sometimes Im in between a rock and a hard place and its quite alright if nobody felt sorry for me. Had I died there it would have been with a smile on my face.
A sleepover? Only one problem with that. It was insemination time and Bobbys rucksack was back at the hotel. We would have to manage without the syringe. My wife thoughtfully exited the room leaving her husband alone to copulate once more. Sex with the surrogate whilst my wife sat in an adjacent room was not at all comfortable. We had to be quick. How Nikki2 laid there half naked and how I managed to perform without lubricant or stimulant of some sort we dont know but we achieved it and it hurted.
More to the point how did my wife fare whilst I was at it next door? Was she pacing up and down continuously checking her watch and similarly on the look out for a candlestick? Fearing my life I have yet to ask this of her. That night the wife and I slept in that very same bed. The bed was warm but wife was cold. Nikki2 slept besides us on the hard floor. You could have heard a pin drop.
Not all was at a loss for my wife though. She had bought fifty-three Indian suits and dresses, paid mostly with the help of her cheating husbands money. For revenge is sweet.
The lineage of kings and royals down the ages are peppered with the same philosophy as Bobbys. Borrowing a line from Star Wars it would be this.
Do what must be done. Do not hesitate and show no mercy. Avoiding any further temptations from the dark side would we ever be successful in parenting. Failing that we could always progress on to IVF at the Mumbai Fertility Clinic.
I once argued with a vicar outside our door.
Whose to say that Jesus wasnt conceived in the manner as our baby was to.
He had trouble accepting surrogacy or IVF as cures. But similarities with the miraculous conception made the vicar pause a moment. That and the many good deeds we do on our website could be why god chose this path for us. For it was decreed that I should jump into another womans knickers; spoken like a true king.
Coming to a conclusion you could argue that my experiences in India wasnt that bad at all. I had after all and this without protection embraced an angel. On the other hand my wifes experience, well shes still living it and continues to remind Bobby of it and he has the bruises to show for it.
This was our first official surrogacy attempt. Yes that very same lady from the last chapter coming to our rescue again but this time with the aid of an Indian doctor and clinic. It would all be above board, meaning no more hanky panky home remedies. No more sneaking back home dripping in testosterone with my fly unzipped and most of all no more beatings from my wife!
With most of our shopping accomplished we packed once more for the long trip back to Mumbai from Punjab. Definitely not looking forward to another thirty-three hour train journey but we had no choice. Knowing us there would be many such journeys as these to come. Our pilgrimage is one of millions here. If god hadnt noticed us before then we thought coming to a land steeped in religion can do us no harm. We were in good company as we were travelling amongst the most dedicated worshippers in the world and having the most humbling of experiences; the poor and the crippled of India placing our need for a baby quite positively trivial.
After four chaotic months we finally arrived back home in London. On December 10th we found ourselves in the Saturday edition of The Times Of India newspaper again. What now we thought. Why cant they leave us alone to pray.
Our surrogate was catholic so we thought proper to head over to the nearest catholic church to offer thanks to Mary, Jesus and the rest and to pray for a miracle in the shape and form of a pregnant surrogate in India.
Glory be! No sooner than we had got back home from church we received the phone call saying that she had bled and therefore Nikki2 our dear surrogate was not pregnant. Amen then.
An angel with a broken wing? Why we should have known better. Our Christmas was rescued somewhat by our baby niece Simran who we practically kidnapped to stay with us. She had grown whilst we were away, a price to pay if were ever to be parents ourselves.
For us it was back to Sikhism and back for surrogacy round two only this time my long suffering wife would not be joining me and who could blame her?
Yet another year off to a bad start we thought as mothers health was beginning to alarm us. To ever think of going back to India and into another whirlwind of psychological suffering any other couple would run a mile. Not us, why were glutton for punishment. Better the devil you know as the saying goes for we had requested the doctor to reuse Nikki2 again as our surrogate and egg donor. Yes she had a low response to egg stimulation and had very poor grade of eggs. Yet she was a friend and we saw how hurt she was upon hearing she had failed in her agreement to grant us our baby
You know we must stop calling our surrogate-cum-friend Nikki2, or she or it. She does have a name other than an angel or a saint but since she still prefers to be anonymous we shall continue to call her by a pseudonym and this year there will be a slight upgrading of her name to a Nikki2.1 instead of Nikki2 or indeed my own Nikki the original.
The follow up was to be on May 26th for the Beta-HCG blood test. Dont hold your breath mum. You can go now.
Departing India on May 16th, I had left two bags of clothes and belongings with Sweety. We hardly talked on my journey to the airport. I mustered up enough to say to her how vital this trip of mine was to mother and that she should do her utmost for pregnancy sake and why I persisted much to her annoyance in trying to reach her at her workplace. Nikki2.1 remained silent.I then muttered, Mum has died.
She shed a tear and we said nothing else until I was dropped off at the air terminal. We just said good-bye to each other. I then searched for my passport and to my horror I must have left it in the back seat of the car but I had no cell phone on me to call her back. A kind person lent me their phone and so I asked that Nikki2.1 return back to help me find my missing passport. She quickly reappeared and opened the car door but before she could step out I made sure that I touched her feet one last time. My passport was in my trousers back pocket all along. It would do me no good to convince her that I did not fake this so as to see her this one final time. She would no longer be referred to as Nikki2 or Nikki2.1 or 2.2 for that matter. She was gone. No longer our savior for we had inflicted some harm on to her. Her inability to become pregnant will haunt her for life. A discovery we thrusted upon her and for that we are gravely sorry.
That summer after our mothers torturous cancer ridden departure, this dear friend called us up from India. She had called Bobby not to mourn or to offer her condolences but to sell.
Biting her tongue, Sweety sold on.
Hello would you like a new cell phone?
She had got the commission.
The year was heading into another nightmare. We all knew what was coming next. Whence last year all the focus was on our surrogate, this time we ask the almighty that our mother lives on to hold our baby. Exactly when thatll be is anybodys guess.
Too late springs to our minds. Have we left it too late? The best thing Bobby brought home was his ever loving and caring wife and daughter-in-law. Scant consolation for mother especially when I keep playing this same old record year after year that my wife is this and my wife is that. Aside from that are we just a waste of space and material?
If gods chariot must swing by our house we would ask for two more tickets; on a one way journey of course. Life for us doesnt seem to be all that its cracked out to be. If it wasnt for the well wishers of our website it would have been that much harder to carry on this seemingly never ending crusade of ours so we do have people to thank but this was no time to dilly and dally.
A scary thought, what if our mother saw through the fog of lies and deception and decided enough was enough. The candle flicker that she was might had blown herself out on mothering Sunday night. Why that particular day you ask? Because thats the exact Sunday that our dear surrogate went missing. On this day of all days Nikki2.1 decided to go absent when the embryos was to have been transferred. The opportunity to beg wasnt available. This was to have been for our mum but the only thing that went on cue in 2006 was mothers cancer bang on six months. So you can see nothing at all went right for us and if our next surrogate is reading this then we hope she can afford us the opportunity to beg at the very least.
To cap it off, our friend the surrogate then rang us from her call center workplace to sell us a phone. Even if you tried you could not have made this any more disbelieving. She actually won the commission and it cost me $600 for a second cell phone which we never needed as we hardly ever used our other one.
Mother did not get to see the fake scan of the fake twins, Bobby never got home in time to show it. Mother laid on a slab. Mattered not I showed it anyhow. Im sure she knew all along it was a lie. Back at the house, blood and vomit was all that was left of mother. I cannot help thinking that last years sexcapade with the surrogate was the cause of all that had happened.
Mothers other son produced another baby girl some ten days after she died. Cruelly she died just short of the birth of our second niece. Like the rest of us Im sure she wished it a boy. Us Bains are not quite in the safe hands that mother had envisaged. With my brothers baton passing ceremony over do we now run with it or stumble and fall? The results of little brothers surrogacy farce would be known by funerals end and frankly, I didnt give a damn any longer.
It was a dark time. Mother was dead. The surrogate reported in with a negative pregnancy and family and relatives all flew back home. To make matters worse that same week Bobbys favorite football team Arsenal had lost in their European Championship final to Barcelona. Now that was bleak.Mum came home in a small urn on September 25, 2006. Bobby draped it with a garland of flowers that he held in a frozen state for this purpose from one of his many earlier Indian forays. The room did smell funny and tomorrow the flowers in its yucky state was returned back to its freezer. The original idea of holding on to mothers ashes until the arrival of our baby looked a forlorn one which is why we decided to hold on to these flowers and return mothers remains to Punjab instead.
This time we will play it by ear and not put too much emphasis on pregnancy and attempt more to chill out and to try and enjoy our stay in India or so we thought. Well sift through the fallout later and those hippies in Goa might have been on to something after all. Ommm
Obviously he was taking me for one of his many rides. And if he was out to put his filthy hands in my pocket once more I thought it wouldnt be for my money.
The narrow streets were heaving with pedestrians milling around trying not to appear to be eyeballing any of the females lining either side of them. There were groups of men, mostly teenagers standing opposite doorways trying to pluck up enough courage to enter.
Yes there were scary moments when I had to almost dash out the window and across the roof tops to escape an extortion from one flaky looking whore.
The sordid looking lot appeared to not have a mirror between them. Dont they ever wash or paint themselves with anything other than a three-and-three-fourth brush? Apparently not as I took a closer inspection of the dens interior.
The buxoms, the flats, all different shapes, sizes and colors on display for punters to choose from and a lot were young but over the age of consent. The darker women tended to have the features most sought of by the boys but for me any would do but I wasnt here for stress relief, hand relief or any other types of relieving I was here to find my Nikki3. But there was no harm in looking was there?
Narrow stairway up and low headroom, very dimly lit, divided rooms not big enough to swing a cat in. Sex in this cupboard?
They knew I was on the prowl for somebody special. It would not be the common garden variety lining the walls of the premises and streets, she would have to be different. Speaking good english would be a start. Then a good wash and scrub up I thought; and the girl.
With nothing else on my radar I began to beat a path once more to Indias version of Amsterdam. I had shown the video tape of this prostitute to my wife.
My wife must have suspected me of canoodling with her over the past couple of weeks. After all I had to check her pulse didnt I and her other vital statistics before bringing her to my wifes attentions.
I love you, you love me? Sure, just get your skirt back on dear and no need to unbutton anything for me today. Were going shopping.
The unlucky ones gets to be pummeled one after the other by groups of young men clubbing together their whole weeks salary. Now theres a thought.
When I mentioned that she would have to take medication in order to get pregnant she did not agree.No, no. No medicine. You, me together
Having had my fill with her, in mid stride I abandoned her on the corner of one street and hastedly walked off and never looked back. She had lost her prince charming. Never mind love, you have your night job and would soon forget me with drugs and alcohol. The silly cow.
Of all what Bobby hadnt achieved that year, the boy had become a man. His cumming and going antics in that red-light area with all its delights and charms, he arrived back home four months later wizened, empty handed and thankfully disease free.
By all accounts our horror film or book looked to have turned R18. Plans A,B,C and D will not see the light of day. Our former surrogate and friend has for all intents and purposes dumped us. Complete with the unknown whereabouts of our two baggages which were in her safe keeping leaving us to fend for ourselves regarding booking taxi, hotel, trains etc. We never loved anyone like we loved our ex-surrogate. Perhaps thats where we went wrong.
Why didnt it occur to us earlier that we couldve used the clinics surrogate and the clinics donor? Perhaps we couldve just found ourselves an egg donor and then settle for the clinics surrogate which would have saved Bobby all the enormous amount of last years hassle. Bobby was so wrapped up in his own world, in his personal crusade to find a surrogate on his own. His hunt for a woman who could both be our surrogate and donate eggs was obviously going to end up fruitless. Printing leaflets and knocking on doors? More like rich pickings for greedy Indian con men and ripe for extortion. By comparison he had it much easier with those lovely and enchanting ladies at the brothels.
So this was another year of decline and we dont know which god to turn to anymore. Our only salvation could lie in us having to go to Hazoor Sahib, a Sikh holy place in Nanded where nobody ever leaves without their miracle. Well they obviously havent heard of us have they? And no matter how many hundreds of people we have helped it staggers us that we find ourselves to always continue to dwell at the very bottom.
This was Bobbys gift to his wife, not having the heart to wish Nikki the happy birthday instead remaining silent, his cell phones messages from dearest cannot be transcribed here. She must have thought he was shagging some woman again rather than to congratulate his wifes 42nd birthday. Nikki was yet to be told of this most recent of failures. I ignored all of her messages that day as I did not have the heart especially on her birthday but instead relied on her finding out the truth for herself from our websites bulletin board.
We let everybody down, all our new friends from around the world and their prayers in their respective denominations. It wasnt bad enough I lied to my family last year that I now had to lie to my fellow Sikh comrades at the temple, Yash at the hotel and Gita, all of them was told that we had a pregnant surrogate. Havent weve been here before? Yes, another lie I have to deal with but at least this would spare my friends the grief of having to tip toe around me and depriving them of potential parties and gifts for I had two weeks left to rot in stinking Mumbai before I fly back to.
The lid keeping Nikkis emotions in check was slipping and who could blame her. Think along the lines of the Incredible Hulk and you would get an idea of how volatile the situation was for her and to those around her. Not the lovely little Nikki everyone knew and loved. How grateful must we be for her diminutive stature as heaven help those who double cross her. Bobbys bruises can testify to that and Nikkis use of him as a pin cushion at times, she usually ends up forgiving herself by baking him a gluten-free cake. Its been a while since she last baked a cake and speaking of ovens ours was empty and would remain empty for this chapter and alas several more.So lets see, our first two failures was down to poor eggs and low egg numbers of our surrogates. The third was good quality but average in count. Looks like progress on any other day. We used the first woman twice so why not reuse Nikki3 which mercifully only supplies the eggs and not to give birth. Nikki5 was the latest of our long line of faceless surrogates who would attempt to carry our child. Confused? You will be by the time we get to Nikki #11.
It was oh so tempting to head back to the brothels to drown out my sorrows when I discovered I had failed again. I mean I was alone in India and surrounded by scum and villainy at every turn. One at least knew where one stood in that forbidden zone, ankle deep in mud mostly but what glorious mud. May be not I thought as I had incurred the wrath of god for way too long already and if I wanted to be a father I had to be a saint as well and this meant refraining from ever visiting my good friends in the red light area who lets be honest have taken less from me than that gay barber or those internees at the Sikh temple of all people. If I had done dastardly deeds that last year or the year before when we had lied to mother then this year would be the turning point I thought as Im pretty sure I kept myself to myself during 2007. Kerb crawling would not be in vogue this year I adamantly thought and on my next trip in two months time I must purify my soul and visit that Sikh holy place Sikhing my miracle.
Our former surrogate-cum-friend made her brief appearance late as usual. All my friends at the Gurdwara sensed there was something between us and they were right of course as last year she was my companion but not this year. Apart from this instance I saw neither hide nor tail of her that year despite all of Sweetys empty promises to meet me and shop with me and even dare say hand me back my own luggage after so long in her possession. She was history to us now and we would not be informing her of any impending pregnancy of ours. Nor will I ever tell the spitting viper Gita who has managed to hold on to my cell phone this long refusing to hand it back despite me marching to her workplace to confront her bosses.
My experiences in India was far from paradise. The only cure for us would be a fast forward to a quick baby along with a VIP pass through the visa and immigration checkpoints. This of course would elude us again as the text message result of this fourth pregnancy attempt from my doctor revealed what I had feared all along. Once more I found myself having to delay passing on the news to my long suffering wife in London.
Paid for prayers, paid for kitchen supplies, volunteered for charity work. All my good deeds went unnoticed. Greediness, betrayals and other undevout goings-on inside the temple let alone outside, our faith in our own religion of Sikhism was torn. I marched out of that Sikh temple and ignored Rishis cries for calm and rationale for me to halt and to explain to him what had just happened to us. He knew he would not be getting his new suit from me. Let down and yet only a stones throw away from here the exciting and ever vibrant red light district beckoned.
Hello wall, my old friend. I come to talk with you again When the smelling salt affect wore off I found myself still staring at the same filthy spit stained wall of my hotel bedroom. This trip will cost me extra and although the hotel was cheap I had to come up with an excuse to my wife for me still being here in India this long post my fourth failure. It seems every Indian and that is a billion and a half of them are lining up outside my windowless window every morning bent on clearing their throats and noses in the most disgusting manner one could think of. Oh, the torture of it all.
Little did Nikki knew that Bobby had already tried and failed surrogacy attempt number four a fortnight ago and was extending his stay to incorporate another try or two. This would be attempt number five and six and it only required a single chapter in this book to tell its sorry tale.
To attempt to get two surrogates pregnant from two different egg donors, let me see, thats four different woman not counting my dear wife. What would be the complications if all got pregnant? Was the doctor serious? Did he really wanted to see the backs of us? Apparently so, letting us cross that bridge when or if we ever get there.
As it turned out the risk of having two surrogates on the go was nowhere near as risky as they once feared for when I got home it was not long before I received the dreaded cell phone message. Seems were forever doomed as incredulously neither Nikki7 nor Nikki9 got pregnant. God knows how many embryos in total my doctor had implanted and lost. Two valuable commodities, two surrogates, none of them pregnant. I almost had to apologize for wasting everybodys time and money on this dangerous and futile exercise. If two surrogates could not deliver for me then nobody could. Has to be a conspiracy. No dog is ever this unlucky.
Them prayers and Bobbys charitable work at the temple was all in vain. Cramming in second degree Reiki learning during his recent expedition what must his Reiki teacher and master think now? Perhaps they knew already through the ether, aura and vibes that we are a blot on the landscape of never never land, not to mention on the clinics surrogacy success statistics.
This being the fourth failure since stepping into that Sikh holy temple, where miracles by the way are supposedly said to happen I finish this chapter with another song. If gods a coming, he ought to make it by then. Prophetic words from a song titled In the year 2525. Im hoping I dont have to wait this long for a baby. There is also another line in that same song and it goes like this, you pick your son, you pick your daughter too, from the bottom of a long glass tube, and it goes on Whoa, whoa. Woah indeed.
Ending this chapter equally on another bleak note, my then so called friend Gita in India when I got shot of her as my guide and interpreter thus enabling me to save lots of money, retaliated by shouting out to me in the streets.
Pray you never have a baby!
A nasty woman indeed but how true. How very true.
By now we were clearly on auto-pilot. Wed become uncomfortable bedmates for our fertility clinic but still we were assets that they could not do without. For if it wasnt for the fact we were providing fifty percent of their patients through our website the doctors at the clinic wouldnt touch us with a barge pole. We were without doubt beginning to affect their book keeping both financially and historically but they needed us just as much as we needed them and so the status quo remained. Sure we couldve gone to another clinic taking their customers with us where we couldve got payments for bringing in patients.
For our fifth surrogacy program of the year what we needed was real hard money not a promised plaque hanged on the wall of the clinics toilet with our names etched on it. Thats an issue I can take up with them at a later date as well as the mess some people always seem to leave behind in these washrooms. Right now, akin to lining up against a brick wall and shooting them, I must now pick out another egg donor and surrogate off their books. Knowing the lepers that wed become anybody would have to think long and hard to become our surrogate as we basically can pretty well ensure to ruin their coming festive season along with ours. Hows that for a Diwali and Christmas?
Looking back over the year we have ruined many a people. Frayed many nerve ends, questioned peoples own beliefs and left our doctors dumb struck as to what to do next with us. We have been depleting their stock of fertile women as fast as they can, er grow them. Their egg donors knocked and knackered left, right and center and their surrogates quite simply left littering in our wake. How we escaped charges of multiple, no make that serial murder, rape and genocide we should have had the book thrown at us and be brought up against the Hague commission.
This festive season I will be with my wife and with Christmas just around the corner I could see it all, the doctor like scrooge handing out the negative news on Christmas morning. Hark the Harold angels sing.
It was December and if 2007 was to be a good year then we were cutting it mighty close. Squeezing in five surrogacy cycles in one year must have been a record for any clinic. Looking back, how on earth did we managed to pay for these five attempts and still remain in the best of optimistic moods. For as long as the year was not quite over with we could still reach the promised land by December 31st; or die trying.
Our equally tireless doctor implanted nine embryos into Nikki11, the most we ever had. My old contact Gita now a spiteful viper mustve been happy to know that I have been failing. On my last trip I told Yash my hotel worker that if ever she comes asking for me and she has no doubt regretting things, that to say to her you have missed the boat! Implying that Bobbys surrogate is expecting and she unlike Yash and my good buddies at the temple will not benefit from any handouts and gifts. Yet another lie which I have to make good.
As I said earlier it was Christmas with my wife. And was it a good Christmas? Was the mother lode struck? Er, yes and no!