I became a surrogate because my daughter needed surgery we couldn’t afford. Scott handled all calls while I tried not to love the baby inside me. After giving birth I held her, thinking the worst was over. Then the intended father walked in, and I watched Scott realize his secret was standing there.
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The first thing Maggie said when the surgeon left was, “Can I have ice cream, Mom?”
After giving birth I held her, thinking the worst was over.
I stared at my 12-year-old daughter.
She had an IV taped to her arm, shadows beneath her eyes, and a hospital bracelet so loose it slid halfway down her wrist.
“Ice cream?”
She nodded.
“Chocolate.”
Scott gave a shaky laugh from the chair beside her bed.
She had an IV taped to her arm, shadows beneath her eyes.
The surgeon’s words were still sitting between my ribs.
“We can’t keep waiting.”
Insurance would cover part of the surgery, but not nearly enough of everything surrounding it.
Bills we had already pushed onto credit cards because we kept telling ourselves the next appointment would finally be the last expensive one.
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Insurance would cover part of the surgery, but not nearly enough of everything surrounding it.
Scott squeezed my shoulder.
“We’ll figure it out.”
I wanted to believe him.
Three nights later, he told me how.
“You want me to do what?”
Scott sat across from me at our kitchen table.
Maggie was asleep upstairs.
A stack of medical bills sat between us.
“You want me to do what?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Just listen.”
“I heard you.”
“Lana…”
“You want me to become a SURROGATE?”
He rubbed his neck.
“I know somebody who knows a private agency.”