Scenes from my Surrogacies: A Memoir in the Making

Her words did not shock me. I knew even before laying down on the table in the warm, darkened room what today’s results would show. So when the ultrasound technician flipped on the monitor and studied the chalky white lines that appeared on the screen and her face clouded over, I waited for her to tell me what I already knew.

The baby had no heartbeat. 

Until today I’d had no proof that the baby had died, and there were no outward signs that anything was wrong, so I hadn’t said anything to my intended parents or the fertility doctor. What was there to say anyway? I don’t think this one is going to make it? Why would they believe me anyway? Or even if they did, why would they want to?

They had been down this road so many times before – they’d had many previous miscarriages themselves, their first surrogate miscarrying her initial pregnancy for them, and now this. Does having that history make it easier for them to cope, I wondered? I felt guilty for even considering that possibility.