Outsource My Baby

JULY 11, 2007

2007-07-12T06:30:00.000+05:30

WEDNESDAY July 11, 2007

Last Day in Bombay

We had an mid-morning appointment today with Dr. Parikh. She showed us the quicktime file of our egg being fertilized. This was fascinating--they cut off the tail of the sperm, so it won't swim, and then inject it into the egg. And then the clip of the division-- there wasn't any. I am very sad to say, game over. After this we had a long conversation with Dr. Parikh about our options for the future. These include trying again (and the soonest possible time would be in October, so my body can ramp up again), and/or finding an egg donor either in Mumbai or back in the States and bring the fertilized embryos back to be implanted in Zuleka (or someone else). All of these options are tough, because if we try again with me, the results will likely be the same. And if we have an Indian egg donor, we will always have to deal with a multi-racial baby (and more importantly obviously not ours biologically). The third option, getting an egg donor in the States will take some time, and once again, be costly.
We had lots of time to review upon our return to the states, so we went back to the hotel, packed up and payed. I went off for some last minute gifts while Hardy had one last terrible drink in the bar, and then our Taxi arrived to take us to the airport. The ride to the airport was on the tapering end of rush hour, and we crawled along to the airport whereas we had sped on the way in so fast and fleeting that even I was scared (and I am usually the one doing the scaring!).
When we arrived at the airport, our flight had been delayed a couple of hours, so the airline bought us dinner in the restaurant, and we used the time to book a hotel (The Istana) in Kuala Lumpur at the small cybercafe. After dinner we were recruited into a v.i.p. lounge (by showing our credit cards and giving the "usher" a good tip- believe me he told us how much!). We watched "Walk the Line," and drank a few of the complimentary beverages before finally boarding the plane for the four hour flight to KL.

JULY 10, 2007

2007-07-11T11:20:00.000+05:30

TUESDAY, July 10, 2007

Lion and Tiger and Bears, Oh My

We called Dr. Parikh in the morning when we woke, to find out how our egg was doing, and to find out if she and her husband, a Psychiatrist and avid amateur photographer, would like to join us for dinner or drinks on our last night in town.

The news about the egg wasn’t good. It didn’t seem to have the two orbs in the right place, and, while it did fertilize, did not seem to be dividing at the normal rate. She told us she did not know conclusively, and wouldn’t until tomorrow morning, but obviously anyone who has ever undertaken an experiment in science class knows that deviation from the norm is not a good sign. Dr Parikh suggested that we could come in to the hospital later in the day to discuss it, but, as it was our last full day in Mumbai we’d already planned a trip to the large “urban” park northeast of us, and, since there was absolutely nothing we could do about the situation, we thought we would continue with our plan, and I’m glad we did.
That isn’t to say that the situation didn’t lay in wait at the back of our minds the entire day, occasionally springing forward like the tigers we were going to see, and taking a savage bite out of our peace of mind. To be honest, I had worked so hard to make this plan happen- what with seeing that I kept my ovaries, and researching a way that Hardy and I might try to have a biological child that I never really thought about what might happen if I was simply not able to produce the eggs. I had always thought of myself as very fertile, and anyway, 43 was not so far from 40. I had still had regular periods before my Hysterectomy and assumed, aside from the Cancer, everything was still viable with my reproductive organs. Finding this out has been a blow almost as bad as the Cancer. With the Cancer I had been cured- although I still contend that removing the offending organ is not a cure. This was a much more troubling predicament, because, once again, I had absolutely no control, and worse, not even the option of surgical intervention. I guess I thought that going ahead undaunted with our plan for children would help me to take back my will and life from the Cancer, and in doing so, hadn’t left room for any other “setbacks” especially one that now threatens to be a deal breaker. This did and does fill me with anguish. All of my life I have been free to do as I chose, in my work and play, and in my love, so something like this, piled on top of the Cancer, has really shaken me to the core, because here is a problem I cannot change or fix or run away from. This is especially hard if you are a rational person, because rationality can explain but it cannot comfort, and I have been left feeling paralyzed and incapable for the first time (well second after the Cancer) in my life, and it is the worst feeling imaginable.

In addition it really makes you think about the value of our lives and what we leave behind. It reminds me of a project that I did in photography class at UCLA (I was a BFA there with an emphasis in Photography) about the four roads to immortality- fame, progeneration, existential thought, and, honestly, I forget the last one. Suddenly I was bombarded with the fact that I and who I am might not continue to swim in the Gene pool. I probably won’t look down into a little face and say, “that part is like Grandma,” or “I know where you get your good looks (or temper!).” And, how much does this matter to me, my own desire for immortality? That I could love a child that comes to us, I know for a fact, but if you strip all of the layers of traits and history away, how much does it diminish the experience? I told Hardy that I guess we might be carrying out another great experiment on the topic of nature versus nurture, and we might have to be o.k. with it.

In this state of frustration and sadness we thought it would be a good idea to get out in nature, and so we went off to Sanjay Gandhi National Park- the largest urban park in the world. Hardy had bought a book about the park months ago, and it sounded exciting- with ancient Buddhist Caves and a lion and tiger “safari” park.

But first on the list was the Mahatma Gandhi museum, a couple of block away from our hotel. This was the house, owned by a good friend of the family, which Gandhi stayed in while in Bombay, and from which many important campaigns for Indian Independence had been launched. It sits in a very nice little neighborhood of turn-of-the-century houses- most about 4 stories tall, mixed in with apartment buildings looming from the lots where the other houses used to be. The house itself has lovely Victorian detailing, with beautiful woodwork and exuberant encaustic tile floors. On the upper floor they still have Gandhi’s rooms, monastically set as he had left them. The top floor housed crude but instructive dioramas of the major events of Gandhi’s life. The ground floor (not the same thing as the first floor in India) held Gandhi’s extensive library illustrating his life as a prodigious reader and intellectual, as well as a great leader. It’s a very lovely memorial.

After this we walked over to the train station, passing lots of unusual products on what must have been the Home Improvement street, got lost, had to stop for water so as not to pass out from the heat, and finally found Grant Station. It turns out that taking the train would be the fastest way there, and additionally might be like the romantic portrayal we’d probably seen in some film.

We bought a first-class ticket for our stop, about ten stops away. When the train pulled up to the station, we tried to walk along with the first-class cars, and were whooshed up into the train with the others when the train came to what we like to call in California a “rolling stop.” Being mid-day the train wasn’t so crowded, maybe because it was First-Class, although no one ever checked our car. At the second station, we switched to the Express train, and I had a window seat with a grate over it. No one really bothered us at the station or on the train, because I think they were just so shocked to see us there. This was a typical reaction in almost everything we did. Gone are the days of the Raj- and the white people who ruled them- and being white in Indian -even if you are a European or a Colonial (as an Englishwoman I knew when I lived in London used to call us!) is a fairly rare occurrence at any but the well known tourist spots.

My view from the train afforded me a side of India we hadn’t seen much of- the slums.
Hardy had told me that in Maximum City- another one of the books he’d bought and read some of, in mentioned that the railway land (of which there seemed to be a lot) was an area where slums grew up because the “overseers” of the slum would pay off the particular officials in charge of that spot of land where the train ran through, and charge rent to all of the shanty shack dwellers- and made a great deal of money. Some of the slums looked more like pup tent encampments made out of the ubiquitous blue tarps, and other looked partially properly built with sections of brick meeting corrugated steel, pieces of tin, parts of old billboards, and then the blue tarps. Nevertheless, the laundry was hanging on the line, and the dirty but healthy-looking children played ball while chickens scratched, and no one looked particularly unhappy.

We got off at the Bandiri Station. It was hotter, dustier and poorer than Kemps Corner, and while there were a few taxis, the majority of the waiting vehicles were the motorized bikes that look like rickshaws, that I wanted to get a ride in. We told one of them where we wanted to go, and he, shaking his head, directed us to a string of 3 or 4 white bubble-topped cars that looking like they came off the line sometime in the late 1960’s. Apparently the park is larger and the road rougher than the Motorized bikes could handle. For Rs500, the driver would take us to the park, stay with us and drive us back. Before the trip I thought that was a lot.

So we got into what I thought was his “retro” vehicle (though we later asked him what year his car was made and he told us the unlikely date of 1994), whose shocks had long ago given up, and he drove through the town- still part of Mumbai (not unlike the sprawl of LA) - to the park.

We paid the admission through the car window, and off we went into the park, following the signs to the Andehri Cave, a way our driver had obviously been many times. The park is vast, although there are settlements dotted about inside of it, and after a while we felt that we were really in the middle of wilderness. Although there were very few large trees, the vegetation-especially after several weeks of the daily monsoon rains- was lush and tropical. And when our driver pointed out the caves in front and above us they were nestled in a blanket of green.

At the foot of the hill we paid admission and got a guide, who told us about the Buddhist Monks that had carved their dwellings, about 50 caves of various sizes, one large enough to have a 12foot high 4foot diameter Stupa inside a large temple room. As he told us about the caves, he held my hand to keep me from falling since the rain had made the rock and moss slick. Sometime in the 70s the government had decided to fix up this potential tourist site with concrete and rebar which, ironically, was now the part that was crumbling. While the carvings were somewhat impressive, a river, including waterfalls, ran right through the site, and made the place peaceful and lovely. As a realtor would say, “view property, well insulated, with historical details close to charming stream”.

At the foot of the hill we had seen our first monkeys. I stopped to take my camera out of my bag, and some other Indian tourists who were leaving cautioned me-“they’ll take your bag!” And so on the way down we saw a snack kiosk, and decided to get a drink and some crackers or something. The vendor got us the items out of cages with locks more fortified than a liquor store in Inglewood. As I drew my wallet out of my bag, we noticed that the one or two monkeys that had been hanging around had become about 30. In between the exit and us! And now we had something they wanted. We turned, exactly like a scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and walked slowly, and unflinchingly to the steps, 60 eyes from our formerly cute friends boring holes in us. When we got half way down the stairs we made a break for it, but one of the bigger males made a sneak play, coming around Hardy from the left and making one last grab for the bag. Hardy stuck his leg out like he was going to kick him, and in that second we ran to the car and got in. Oh, those cute monkeys! Actually, about ten years ago I did a music video for a band in which the lead singer would be suspended from a tree filled with monkeys. We called around town, and ended up with a motley assortment of Spider monkeys, Gibbons, and something else. I remember that the monkeys needed to be tethered and there was much hissing, fighting, and a lot of biting of wranglers, so I’ve been cautious of monkeys ever since. But, of course, it looks cool in the video!

After this spooky experience, our driver drove us to the Lion and Tiger Safari. While we waited for a group to form we looked through the exhibit about tigers in India illustrated with Mogli, Bagheera and Baloo. I’m pretty sure they didn’t have the rights from Disney.
I think I had never really realized the Jungle Book is set in India, but do have a cousin (my Aunt Tezi and Uncle Howard’s son) who was named Kim after another little boy in a Kipling book. Not very surprisingly he now calls himself by his middle name Chris. He is getting married in January, so congratulations!

When enough people arrive, we get on the old school bus that has had grates mounted to all of its windows. We pass through Jurassic Park style gates, and through some very bumpy and muddy road to find a White Tiger hanging out by the feeding station. In fairness he did come over and lounge by the side of the bus for us, and it was the closest I’d ever been to a white tiger that wasn’t behind glass in Las Vegas. I remember once when the Wayne Brady show (which was shooting next door) had a tiger cub on the show who was waiting to ride in the same elevator as we were (crazy showbiz!) and I was surprised then, and now, how large these cats really are!

We went to the lion enclosure, same thing, and found a pair of young males lying in the road, and until the bus threatened to run over them, everyone went snap happy with their cameras, me included. So now I have some great pictures of the backs of everyone’s heads, their cameras, and a lion somewhere in the distance.

Done, our driver took us back to the train station. Because it was now 4pm, the train was much more crowded, but it just seemed like the New York subway at rush hour to me. We also met some cute schoolboys who were delighted when they could practice their English with us (all school children learn English), and delighted when Hardy gave them each an American quarter. Ah, the simple things.

Once back in town, we showered and changed to go meet my London and now San Francisco friend Jackie (Jax)(just married, Congrats!) Kaur’s friends Deepa and her husband Sushil, who have recently moved to Mumbai (Sushil’s family is here) from Manhattan. We meet them for drinks at The Dome on the top floor of the Hotel Intercontinental, one of the revamped Art Deco buildings that wrap all the way down the Chowpatty seafront. It seems this land was all “reclaimed” in the twenties and built up all at the same time at the height of Art Deco and Streamline Moderne. It makes this part of Bombay strangely resemble Miami (before the Revitalization). There is a book I plan to get that Michael Owen showed me on Bombay Art Deco. They also drew the comparison. The Intercontinental got a facelift several years ago that makes Bandira seem light years away. We had fancy cocktails on the beautiful all-white Conservatory roof deck, with a spectacular view of the Bay. We were having so much fun (Hardy and Sushil both have their MRED, so they both love to talk Real Estate!), they asked us to join them at a dinner they were hosting—at Indigo! Of course we couldn’t say no to that slice of heaven one more time, but knew we couldn’t stay long because we were going to meet Dr. Parikh and her husband at their apartment at around 10pm (does that woman ever sleep?). After a fun but truncated dinner, Sushil’s driver (most of the families in Mumbai who can afford them have drivers), took us to Dr. Parikh’s place.

Although it was late, I was still very curious to see Dr. Parikh’s home and meet her husband Rajesh. Their home was a mélange of marble, Italian Glass, souvenirs, and comfy chairs, with a magnificent fish bowl Hardy would kill for, and another killer view of the harbour. We talked for several hours, with Rajesh holding forth on every topic imaginable. Dr. Parikh had told us he reads a book a day and I don’t doubt it! What a lovely couple, and how nice it was to spend time with Dr. Parikh outside the hospital.

On the way out Rajesh gave us a copy his beautiful book of Kashmiri photographs (I told you he was also an amateur Photographer, although these pictures looked very Pro). On the way down to the Taxi, he asked us about our case- we had not discussed it that evening- and I said I did not think it was going well, in fact, if it had been, I was sure it would have been mentioned. On that note, and with thanks for a lovely evening we hit it back to the hotel, as you can bet we were rather tired.

JULY 9th, 2007

2007-07-10T12:01:00.000+05:30

MONDAY, July 9th, 2007

Operation Egg

We arrived early at the Hospital this morning, and although we were there at 7:30, we were the first to arrive. Soon after, the office opened up and we were ushered into a private room, pretty nice, with its own bathroom. I was called back for a scan when Dr Parikh arrived, in the usual sonography room just off Dr Parikh’s office. The scan showed a beautiful round egg, and the other two, which were still misshapen. So, we would go ahead with the harvest- albeit not a very bountiful one.
About an hour later I was called back into the Operating Room just on the other side of the hallway, walked into the surgery and got on the table. Of course, I always think of everything as if it is a set, and couldn’t help but imagine that if I were decorating that Surgery, where I would have gotten the antiquated medical instruments, in all their enameled 1940’s glory. Nevertheless, I wasn’t worried because Dr Parikh does so many of these surgeries, that as long as the sonically guided needle was working, that was all that mattered.

The next thing I knew, I was back in our room, so Hardy probably knows better exactly what happened. Total elapsed time- 7 minutes- was barely time for Hardy to have the free “Husband tea” he was offered.

We stayed in the room long enough to have the Indian vegetarian meal, and indulge ourselves with the cable TV, even if it was the bad 80’s movie Beethoven. And, as one must do with hospital food apparently all over the world, Hardy ran out to Domino’s and brought back some post-op pizza.

That afternoon we took it easy, but woke up in time to go down to the Consulate and have drinks with Michael Owen and his wife Annerieke. Michael Owen is the American Consul General in Mumbai, and he and his wife were kind enough to respond to my questions forwarded by my Aunt Teresita Schaffer. When my Aunt had been our Ambassador to Sri Lanka about ten years ago, and I had been to visit her. Both Michael and his wife had also been stationed in Sri Lanka, and had a passing acquaintance with my Aunt and they share a lot of mutual respect for each other. It was my Aunt that initially contacted the Owens about my list of Doctors, and they couldn’t have been more helpful in the initial endorsement of Dr Parikh. It turns out Annerieke is herself a Doctor. I think their affection for my Aunt and curiosity about ourselves also got us an invitation for drinks at their residence above the Consulate. The Consulate itself is a former Maharajah’s Mansion (literally), built in the 1930s and still very unchanged with its Deco marble staircases and intricate fretwork. The Consular General has the top two floors for their private residence. We arrived at 6pm, and went through the elaborate security system you might imagine we sadly need now abroad. Once up in the apartment we were met by Michael and his wife (and their son as he passed by- home from Princeton for the summer).
We talked about our impressions of Mumbai, crazy accounts in the local news, and how Annerieke was also aware of a growing fertility problem in India as professional women waited until later in life to have children. And though this is happening all over the world, it seems, unlike the rest of the world, Indian women have a low peri-menopausal age making it harder for even “young” women to have children.
We also discussed Arnold Schwarzenegger’s impending Bombay visit in two months. I’m sorry I didn’t ask more about this. All I do know is that he and Maria will be meeting with the Bollywood crowd while in Bombay for two days, after stopping in Delhi for a day, and then- need you ask?- going north to meet the Dali Lama. Additionally, we discussed the growing trend of Americans seeking foreign medical treatment- India being one of the more frequented countries. At present there is virtually no interface between Americans (or other foreigners) and the Indian Doctors and services they offer. I know I had to do a lot of internet research just to find Dr. Parikh, and if I hadn’t had my Aunt’s help, I don’t think I would have been nearly so comfortable coming 8,000 miles for treatment. Apparently, I (or someone) could have a tidy little business being an interface for these services, but I’m not quitting my day job!

After drinks and hors d’oevres they showed us the wonderful view out over the Arabian Sea. Unfortunately, due to the huge volume of visitors the Consulate processes daily (1200 Indians apply for visas to the US every day!) the Consulate will soon be moving to new and more secure quarters closer to the airport. But because they have a 999 year lease on the property, they are looking to do something with the site that will maintain and preserve it- one of the possibilities being to rent the building to a club of some sort (there must be many who would jump at the chance!) and also have something like an Indo-American Cultural Center housed there for the public to visit. Of course, being into Historical Preservation, I think that would be a great use for a fantastic property!

After the bracing air on their sweeping veranda, I realized just how tired I was from the early day, so we took our leave and headed home. A warm thanks to the Owens.

JULY 8th, 2007

2007-07-09T11:59:00.000+05:30

SUNDAY July 8th, 2007

Cut and Polish

We woke up late of Sunday, and decided to take ourselves to a nice brunch as a treat. The restaurant books that Hardy bought (and studied) ranked all of the restaurants, bars and clubs by food, décor, etc, but as to a really good meal that we could savor, we hadn’t had one- until then. The restaurant is called Indigo, on a street right behind the Taj, housed in an old Colonial Mansion. The décor was beautiful and simple, and the food was amazing-even the bread basket was like heaven (with some super-yummy homemade donuts!). We ate and drank (only one drink for me) until we were stuffed and happy, and felt our equilibrium return. Bombay is a very “in your face” place, and sometimes a little respite from the hustle-bustle is so very welcome.

After the meal we went to the Gate to see if we could catch a ferry to the Elephanta Islands which are famous for the ancient carved figures of Ganesh inside some caves. After some dispute over whether the ferry runs to the Islands during monsoon season, (Taj and guide book said no, our hotel, after a phone call, said yes) we found the ticket seller in the crush of commuters going to the other ferry stops, and although the ferry was running, it was now too late in the day.

We stopped quickly on the way home to see the Victoria Terminus Train Station in all its Victorian glory, still mobbed with people and still seeming to run like clockwork, but with a long new regime name.

When we got back to the hotel, we decided to go for a walk on nearby Malobar Hill, where there was a park that Micheal Owen- our US Consular General, whom had been so helpful in all things- suggested was very pretty.

We walked up the hill past the Parsi Tower of Silence, an area we weren’t allowed to see because of its unusual purpose. The Parsi are Zoroastrians originally from Persia who played a large part in the establishment and growth of Bombay, and are a sizable sector of the society. Parsi worship the Fire, Air and the Earth, and because of this cannot bury or cremate their dead. The solution to this is to put the body on a tower, and have vultures devour it. Not really a sight for tourists! Behind the tower, which we couldn’t see, farther up on the hill, is a wonderful canopy of old-growth trees filled with multitude of avians; parrots, Bombay’s distinct grey headed crow, small fruit bats and the aforementioned vultures. Since we were passing at dusk, they were at their most active and it was exciting to see so much wildlife and hear their various cries. Farther on is a large park spreading out on either side of the road that was more like a formal partierre garden, and, as it was Sunday, filled to the brim with families taking a stroll. We found out later you are actually supposed to walk in a clockwise direction, (we weren’t) but what can a foreigner do! The gardens were lovely and had a great view, and so we kept walking further into Malabar Hill intending to walk to the end of the peninsula. This area was very cool and judging from the beautiful, well-maintained buildings, must be very expensive. Mumbai is the most expensive city in India, and Hardy, in his search through the paper every morning, was surprised to discover that the condos in the more fashionable areas sell for $2000 sq ft- high for anyplace including Manhattan!! So we walked along admiring Sir ____’s Mansion, and came across a barber shop directly out of a 1930’s time-warp. Beautiful cast iron and leather barber chairs facing an ancient mirror, and all the day’s runaway hairs making fine lines on the marble flooring. Of course Hardy got a haircut (he needed one!). The barber made quick work of it-but not rushing through the shave and the scalp massage- even though there was a line. Cost-Rs 80!
After this, we were pretty tired, and decided to go home and await the Surgery the next morning.

JULY 7th, 2007

2007-07-08T17:08:00.000+05:30

SATURDAY July 7th, 2007

"What are these guys doing here?"

On Saturday we wandered all over the lower part of the city around Colaba and Fort. We went to see the Prince of Wales Museum, built at the same time as the Gate of India, and in the same Indo-Persian style. We got there with just enough time to look around at the wide variety of items (including unremarkable European oil paintings), with an insightful audio-guide about the treasures they do have- and an added bonus of learning about the Hindu religion and the history of the area. After that we roamed through the streets by the old fishing village- home to the original settlers of Bombai, (and the Goddess they used to worship Mumba). We got a little lost and wandered into some areas that were a little dicey, but it somehow Hardy and I – being so very white- are viewed more as a curiosity to the natives, who are always very respectful and non-threatening. More like “what are these guys doing here?” than “victims.” So we bumbled around through the backstreets (actually we did have a map!), and finally made it over the Colaba Market with its crazy jumble of building supplies, flowers, fruit and everything and dipped into the world’s smallest Baskin Robbins, like a tiny ice cream oasis, and got our bearings. Fortunately we were very close to our target, the i-café. Since it was too early in the states to call, we went back to Leopold’s, but this time sat upstairs in the very hip bar full of expatriots, and then I realized that this was the same bar that the writer of Shantaram, David Gregory, frequented in the book. Of course when Hardy and I decided to come to Mumbai, we went and bought lots of books; Hardy read some of Maximum City, a Wildlife guide to Sanjay Gandhi Park, and the Lonely Planet. Hardy’s mother, who has been to India many times, sent us a book (more like a tome at 900+ pages) called Shantaram, about an Australian convict who takes up Bombay as his home. And actually, reading this book did make me feel more comfortable with the city, like I knew it a little bit. Unfortunately, David Gregory, who I’m told still hangs out at Leopold’s, didn’t turn up by the time we finished our cold Budweiser in the very hot bar, having watched enough of Genesis at Wembley (for the Live Earth concert), to get us motivated to make some phone calls.

We finally found the CyberCafe-International Phone Booth -thank god we were on the wrong side of the street, and happened to look up to the second story to see the tiny “I-way” sign! Up an old Victorian staircase, the I-way had about 20 computer terminals and a couple of phone booth where you can make a call to the US for Rs 15 a minute. Hardy called his brother, and I called my numbers. We then had to head back to the hotel for my 10:30PM shot of Ovidrelle that was going to make the egg “bloom” and be ready for harvesting. After the shots we lay in bed and tried to imagine the egg blooming.

JULY 6th, 2007

2007-07-08T12:15:00.000+05:30

FRIDAY July 6th, 2007

Diminishing Returns

As Hardy likes to remind me, and Dr. Naj liked to remind us both, this is a game of diminishing returns. In other words, we are down to one egg. Today, my E2 sank instead of rose, and that indicated that we were probably losing the other eggs. After an early morning E2, and a scan, my left ovary (remember my right is a complete no-show), had one well-rounded (literally) egg, that was almost the size it needed to be. The two other follicles were smaller and still oddly shaped, so they are most likely not candidates, although they probably will be extracted and fertilized on the off-chance that something happens with them. My extraction will be early on Monday morning and is supposed to take about 20 minutes.
And, at long last, we were able to pay the hospital the money for the surrogate, and the head-hunter, or in the literature “the woman who finds the surrogate.”
We had brought Travellers Checks for the purpose of paying for our Hospital charges, as getting a lot of money out via credit card is difficult. All our other expenses could be paid for by taking money out of the numerous ATMs-but not large sums. The day before yesterday we made a trip down to the American Express office in Fort, but after waiting for the teller to return from lunch, we were informed you are not allowed to exchange more than $2000 per passport per month, and besides which, he didn’t have that kind of money available and to come back tomorrow. When we did come back tomorrow, it was first to Thomas Cook, whose offices are spacious (and air-conditioned) where they helped us right away, and then to AmEx, to change the rest of our money, before anyone was the wiser. So although we know Regal Square well, we have managed to do almost no sight seeing.
So today, after exchanging the last of our Travellers Checks (at the HSBC right around the corner) we went off to see the Haji Ali Mosque. This Mosque is located on an “island” in the bay, and you have to take a walkway that they say is occasionally covered by a high tide. The story goes that the Prophet Haji Ali went off to fight a Holy War (against who I wonder?), and was killed in battle, but his coffin miraculously floated back to this point in Bombay. So, they built a Mosque here, that I think even (or maybe especially) Haji Ali would find somewhat dilapidated. While there I had my first encounter with urchins- of the child variety- who initially ripped a 20 Rupee piece from my hand and ran away, but later ended up giving me several one rupee pieces which I think they figured I wouldn’t take, and walking back with us all the way back down the walkway- to the Coke vendor, where, even though they were very charming, we did not buy them a Coke.

JULY 5TH, 2007

2007-07-05T11:43:00.001+05:30

THURSDAY July 5th, 2007

Gate of India

Wednesday afternoon at 3pm we went to the Hospital for another scan (ultrasound). I still have the three follicles (although only two look promising), and even those two do not appear to be growing as quickly as desired- as shown visually and with an E2 test. In the test, each emerging follicle will produce a level around 300, and so 3 viable follicles will equal an E2 around 900. My E2 is 700 at the moment. Dr. Parikh decided to up the dosage of Menogon to 900IU, and gave me a shot of Antigon to stop a particular hormone from rising while we are still trying to grow the eggs.

That evening we packed up the medicine and a syringe and went to explore the Fort and Colaba parts of town. We had the cab drop us off at the famed Taj Hotel which is right across the street from the Gate of India- a large, arched ceremonial Gateway erected to commemorate the visit of King George V and Queen Mary in 1911 (although in true India style, it wasn't started until 1913 and, after being washed away once, was finally finished late 1924). They are doing some construction on the park around it now, but the Gate was still accessible and very beautiful- lit like a wedding cake, and a great place for romance on a warm, post-rain evening, and many Mumbaikers seemed to be taking advantage of it.

We had a drink and watched the sun fall over the Gate in the Taj’s Harbour Bar, the oldest bar in Bombay. I had a refreshing Kingfisher, and Hardy had the most delicious dry Martini ever- and he has tried a reasonable test group! After this we wandered around the spacious and elegant hotel, and watched the rain fall on the lushly landscaped pool and gardens. As we strolled through the shopping arcades, (Burburry et al) we saw a small luxury fabrics shop. Hardy sensed an opportunity to buy something beautiful and not have to haggle and sweat back at the ancient market. The merchants were fantastic and showed us such beautiful, handmaid silk fabrics that we couldn't make up our minds. These fabrics are only made ten meters at a time (and we need 14), so it was which two went together the best. Believe me, they were all so amazing! I guess you'll have to come over to our place to see which one's we chose, an extra added bonus being that purple was my Grandmother's favorite color!

After this we walked by the restaurant in the hotel we thought we might eat at. It looked pretty dead, so we decided we'd hit a restaurant in Hardy's "Times Food Guide", in the "Heritage Restaurants"category. The restaurant, Leopold's, opened 140 years ago, was close by and somewhat of a classis tourist destination, but the food was good, and the ambiance old-world Raj, with a Hirshfeld type mural and more than a little Casablanca. It was fun to get out and see what most peoples impression of Bombay would be if they'd only come for the day.

This morning I had more blood tests, amid some talk about high blood sugar. We are going to see the doctor at 3pm for another scan- fingers crossed! -and the results of the blood tests. Last night I tried to do some "visualization" of my follicles growing, so wish us luck, and check back!

JULY 3rd, 2007

2007-07-05T11:35:00.000+05:30

TUESDAY July 3rd, 2007

Two Follicles

Today we had another visit with Dr. Parikh. Now two follicles, and four more days of Menogon. I am really getting tired of being stuck with a big, fat needle twice a day! All this for two follicles. Wondertwins divide! We are keeping our hopes up, and have gone over the contract we will be signing, changing a few crucial details, like removing the sentence that gives the Surrogate the right to terminate for non-health reasons, and conversely inserting a line that gives us the right to terminate if, upon genetic testing- which would happen with amnio- the fetus is found to be abnormal. I got the feeling from the very informal forms, that Surrogacy actually happens rather infrequently. Or maybe this is a hallmark of the more relaxed legal situation (and less legal expense) that was a factor in our decision to come here. Dr Parikh has continued to remind us that all we need is one embryo to implant, but I do know enough about the process to know that older eggs are less likely to fertilize properly, and more likely to miscarry if they do implant. Not the best of news! But, we remind ourselves, this is why we are doing this here, so that we might try this more quickly and more inexpensively. Realistically, our odds in the states would be exactly the same in that we would have had the same number of follicles. And since one cannot just sit and wait, everyday we have been exploring new parts of the city. Yesterday in the morning we decided to go to the fabled Fabric Market. Indian fabrics are famously beautiful and exported all over the world, and I like the fact that India actually started to grow cotton to supply the British mills when American cotton production was disabled during the Civil War, another crazy-little-world outsource story. When we first stepped out of the cab at the general market we were met by a taut- I believe he was Muslim because he was wearing a round white cap, and a long white flowing rope that zipped up the front. He directed us up some crazy narrow stairs to his designated store, which didn't have what we are looking for- material to re-cover my Grandmother's dining chairs- but I did buy a pillow cover out of sympathy, and he did learn what it was we were looking for. Next he took us across the street (and again up the stairs) to an upholstery fabric shop which had almost the right fabric. I think when he had run out of “his stores”, or realized we were going to be tough customers, he raised his hands in “sorry”, so we gave him a Rs100 bill ($2.50) and were off. And so we went to find the Mangaldas Market, and, after several more tauts and wrong directions, we stepped inside its narrow opening. It was exactly as I'd seen in Victorian Odalisque Bazaar etchings. The market is a two-story enclosed building about a square block big, full of cubbies on the ground floor about eight or ten feet square with narrow futons, meticulously covered in clean white cloth, spread on the floor, and bolt after bolt of fabric crammed into nooks on the sides, and piled in a small backroom with a curling staircase that allows access to the loft- presumably where the rest of the fabrics are kept. In the middle of the stall sit two of three men, cross-legged, with several younger men hovering- standing – in the back or in the aisle. The man in charge will ask what you want, “Miss” or “Madam” in my case. Fortunately, we had some swatches from the first store as a beginning point. And then out tumbled the fabric. After about five stalls in heat so pervasive and stifling, that time was marked by the beads of sweat that ran down my back- and not a Coke in sight- we decided we had better come another time when we could spend more time and were better hydrated, and headed back to the Hotel to get ready to see the Doctor. At night we went to Lower Patel and the Big Bazaar to one of the only Sports Bars in town. A “big” cricket match between Pakistan and India was being played in Glasgow and it sounded like it would be a fun cultural experience. Big Bazaar turned out to be a large shopping mall with a Marks and Spencer (British dept store), Lacoste, and lots of other Western stores. A lot like the Beverly Center. We went to The Bowling Co.- yes, the people there were bowling- we played some video games (Fast and Furious anyone?) and then went to the bar to wait for the match to start. Unfortunately, the game was called due to rain, but we hung around, drank a couple of happy-hour 2 for 1 beers, and watched as the room filled with young well-to-do people on their way home from work. Bombay has so many different hierarchies of wealth and education, just like LA, but everyone seems like they are relatively happy. It seems every corner is a jumping off point for an outrageous story or a common one. One of our favorite things to do is to look out from our window at the hotel, (a pigeons-eye view from the eighth floor), at any hour and watch the tiny dramas unfold, rush and pulse on our street. The other day, a woman spilled a bag of flour from off the top of her head all over the sidewalk on the other side of the street. As she knelt to scoop into a bag all that she could save, almost every passer-by either helped her or shook their head, undoubtedly telling her that what she was doing was unsanitary. Along came a woman whose cow tried to eat some of the flour, and even the corner’s resident dog came out from his storefront to take a look. Then, when she was almost done (woe be it to the people that get the dish made with that!) a car backed up through the driveway, and the drama was over.

JULY 2nd, 2007

2007-07-03T08:22:00.001+05:30

MONDAY July 2nd, 2007

Meeting the Surrogate

People in the US who had been to India advised that the poverty and dirtiness would be horrible…but the experience would be great. We also expected to be mobbed by beggars and I expected to have a problem with the smaller personal spaces in this culture. But, we are happily not dealing with any of this! We are staying in a nicer part of the wealthiest city in India and it is shockingly easy;

The medical proceedings have been the difficult part. Today we went in for our visit, and also met our surrogate. Dr Parikh confirmed that there are still only two maturing follicles, and that the maximum number of eggs she expects is two. This compared to over 20 in younger women. Considering there are many steps left, each with its own probability, this leaves only a very small hope of success.

The meeting with our surrogate, Zuleka, was brief, but special. She doesn’t speak English, so Dr. Parikh translated the few questions that we had. She is 25 with two children of 9 and 6. Her husband is an electrician and supports her being a surrogate so long as she is comfortable with it. The country people in India have a very charming way of bobbing there head from side to side when things are ok, and she’s an expert at it. It’s the original bobblehead , and when done right, which she does, it’s as if the head is being controlled by a string. She seems like the shy country girl that Dr Parikh told us she is, and very charming.

JULY 1st, 2007

2007-07-02T12:30:00.000+05:30

SUNDAY July 1st, 2007

Arrival to Bombay, 1st Doctor Visit and Backstory

We arrived at the Airport Saturday night without incident, and after retrieving our bags and changing a little money, we were met by the driver from the Hotel Shalimar who was waiting at exit with our name on a sign. On our way to the car a couple of freelance “carriers” did “help” us, and instead of the $5 they asked for, they begrudgingly received the 50 Rupees (Rs40, about $1), Hardy gave them. Our driver sped away through the wet streets- apparently the airport had been shut for a few hours earlier that day due to “waterlogging,” but one has to expect that if you come to Bombay in the monsoon season! Undeterred, our driver careened through the streets (he would do great in LA) at a speed too reckless even for me! Thank God he had a horn, which seemed to be a true part of the driving experience, as essential as the gas pedal. Mumbaikers use their horn to tell you they are behind you, are to the side of you, are about to pass you, think you should get out of the way, are going too slow- or anything, anything else. If the horn just started when you turned on the engine, that would probably be very agreeable to some drivers. As we left the Airport parking lot, I saw my first glimpse of the ubiquitous Bombay taxi, a tiny black and yellow vehicle, often wildly customized by the drivers fortunate enough to own their own one of the cars that troll Mumbai like an industrious ant colony, 65,000 strong.

30 perilous minutes later we arrived at the Shalimar Hotel, a stand-alone building nine stories high. Probably built in the late 60’s, it seemed to have a facelift six or seven years ago, and now featured a white marble lobby- with a water-wall. Our room is perfectly nice, and features floor to ceiling windows looking out onto Kemp’s Corner, a hodge-podge of colonial buildings which have seen better days, and once housed Salman Rushdie.

When we awoke this morning it was still raining, and we realized that even though we knew it was the rainy season, we hadn’t even brought an umbrella- stupid foreigners.
After we got up, we had the complimentary Continental Breakfast at the hotel in their very nice restaurant the Gulmurg, which seemed to feature items more from this continent than any other, but as I enjoy mango juice, chai (Masala) tea, fresh papaya and a mystery curry for breakfast, this was great for me.

We had an appointment with Dr. Parikh at 12noon, and Doris, the lovely concierge who I’d corresponded with over the internet, (and, of course, remembered as my Mother’s name is also Doris) called over to the Hospital to say we would be coming. After stopping for an umbrella-in the Taxi- we went over to Jaslok Hospital. The Taxi dropped us off across the street, and by the time we crossed two bodies of water that would be called streams in LA - we were completely soaked.

Jaslok Hospital also had a white marble lobby but probably from the 60s. In our research we had been led to believe that the Hospitals are as clean and new as in the States, but, as you can imagine, this wasn’t exactly what we saw. The lobby had a large wall with an old-fashioned Admissions area that was all varnished wood and hand-painted gold signage direct from the 30s. Alabaster busts of the foundered of the Hospital, wreathed with fresh flower necklaces, greet you at the stairs, and off to the side is an open marble temple with statues of several Hindu gods, with devotees praying and bringing gifts. Once past the lobby, we waited for the lift to the 8th floor, but after several minutes, decided to walk. This gave us a chance to check out the other floors, including a door that said Kidney Transplant Room, though it could also have been the office of a film noir detective.

When we got to the 8th Floor we were directed to Dr. Parikh’s offices which seem to be a Clinic within the Hospital. The rooms were older, but were given character by etched glass doors, and homey sofas. Although it was Sunday, there were still about ten patients waiting- about half with their husbands.

The great thing about IVF and reproductive clinics is that you can see anyone there. At this clinic (and in Beverly Hills with Dr Najmabadi who got our cycle started, and encouraged us in this trip) you can see people from all walks of life and all income and background levels. It is surprisingly comforting when you realize that infertility can be a challenge for anyone. Here in India, where family is such an essential part of life, and childlessness is not as accepted as in the States, I could see that Dr Parikh’s work is very important to so many. Some of the women in the in the waiting room wore elaborate Indian garb, and some were more western, but they all wore an expression of Hope, and they smiled that smile at us.

Soon we were directed to Dr Parikh’s office, a mix of Certificates, tchtchkees, plants-live and silk, Thank You notes and baby pictures. Dr. Parikh came in and greeted us warmly. We gave her the See’s candy we had brought ( my fav). Then we started the medical visit. First she answered all our questions. Yes, we were going to meet the surrogate- tomorrow at 5:30 pm. We were told she is a nice, caring woman with two children. Next, yes, they can do genetic testing before implantation, but more about that later. Then I went in the adjoining room (after peeing) and Dr Parikh gave me an ultra-sound.

A Little Backstory

As we glossed over in the intro to this blog, the whole reason we started looking into my reproductive health was that we wanted to start a family, and given my age (which of course I won’t reveal (43)) we thought we’d better get a move on. At the referral from my Gynecologist Dr Christine Collins at Cedars, we went to Dr Sam Najmabadi at the Center for Reproductive Health in Bev Hills. After many tests where Hardy scored in the 120%, and I was found to be somewhat challenged in my FSH (how much hormone needs to be sent to my ovaries to get a good egg- too much) and E2 (Estradoil, still not totally sure how this fits in). We decided there was no time like the present, and that we would pursue IVF, but there was just the little issue of whether or not a particular fibroid might need to be removed so as not to interfere with the pregnancy. It was in the Laproscopic surgery to explore this that Christine cut off some polyps inside the Uterus that were also in the way. And, as with everything they take out-they were sent to be biopsied. Imagine my shock when I received Christine’s early-morning call telling me I had Cancer. This started another saga that left me without a Uterus, but still with my Ovaries, and a chance to quickly find a surrogate and have a biological child. So, we went back to Dr. Najmabadi, who gave us information about agencies that would find a surrogate for us, and, me being me, I looked on the internet and went to Surrogate chat rooms, and followed leads graciously supplied by friends (thank you all). In the end, the total cost would be about $60,000 to $70,000- around $28,000 for the surrogate and costs (stipend and maternity), $20,000 for legal and agency fees, and the rest for the medical on my side and hers. We were told we had a five to ten percent success rate, due to my “old” eggs, which the age of the surrogate cannot change. Turns out egg age is paramount! What happened to having kids whenever you wanted, even into your 40’s?? I still laugh at the irony of spending so many years trying not to get pregnant, and now when I’d finally met someone with whom I really wanted to have a family, getting pregnant was literally impossible…almost!

It turns out that Surrogacy in America takes a lot of time and effort. The Surrogates, of course, wanted to get to know you and then set a time several months from then to meet and arrange a good time to be pregnant. And while we could make the money work, with a little discomfort, we simply didn’t have the time. As we later learned, I had become susceptible to the cancer because of a genetic condition called Lynch Syndrome. The type of Cancer my body is succeptible to is actually a Colorectal Cancer primarily, a Uterine Cancer secondarily, and lastly an Ovarian Cancer. This makes it important for me to have my ovaries removed sooner than later. The week I found out about my diagnosis, I was bemoaning the surrogate situation, when a Pakistani friend suggested we go to India, where she’d heard they were doing Surrogacy. What a crazy idea to fly half-way around the world! Well…maybe not! The cost savings- about $30,000 all in, would mean that we could try again if we failed the first time, and apparently there were many women there who would like the opportunity the money would give their families. When I first floated this idea on the Ether of my friends, they were worried that somehow we would get scammed. But the truth is that they only take women into the program who have children and a husband, for two reasons: first they have proved that they have had smooth, successful pregnancies, and second, with their own children and family, they are very unlikely to want to keep ours. The money that an Indian woman earns can send her child to college, or put a down-payment on a house. In addition, it is very unlikely that this woman will be drinking and smoking and driving- all the things I worried about most in a surrogate in America. We decided to do it! Assisted by the internet and my Aunt Tezi, our former Ambassador to Sri Lanka (Thank You so much!) we were able to get confirmation and guidance, and settled on Dr. Firuza Parikh at Jaslok, who had actually been named one of the 50 Most Influential Women in India, and is an occasional lecturer at Yale (she did 3yrs post-doc there). Once she had agreed to take our case, we decided to start on the June cycle, with Dr. Najmabadi’s guidance here at home. Unfortunately, in this cycle I developed a cyst (which we aspirated, but later bled into itself) and the Lupron made me develop another cyst- all of which prompted Dr. Naj to suggest we start looking for an Egg Donor. Trip cancelled on account of lack of follicles, the sites where eggs can grow. Low AFC (anterior follicle count), means low possible numbers of eggs. In the June cycle, not only did I have two cysts, but I only had an AFC of three.

Nevertheless with Dr Parikh’s encouragement, I started on birth control pills. When I had my last ultra-sound at Dr. Najmabadi’s on the 25th (last Monday), I will admit to having been pretty excited. I had no cysts, unlike in June when we had first tied to do this cycle. On top of that, I had eleven follicles!!!! I started taking the Menogon with high hopes of not only having eleven possible eggs, but maybe developing even more!!

Cut to Sunday- Dr Parikh’s Office

Dr Parikh took me into her examination room, so different from Dr. Najmabadi’s, but still featuring an ultrasound machine, or, as they would say Sonograph. Dr. Parikh searched for my Ovaries (which are hard to find given my lack of other parts). On the right ovary she found NO follicles, and on the left she found two large and two small.
What about the former eleven!? What about the elephantine doses of Menogon (essentially FSH- follicle stimulating hormone) that I was on??

Dr Parikh took us back into her office. I was devastated and confused. She explained that although you can start off with many follicles, your body then decides which to have go ahead and develop, and which should drop out. At present, I had only two follicles in the race, and two undecided. So that is the situation. Dr Parikh assured us not to be too discouraged, as, after all we only need one successful embryo to make a baby. Now we know this only too well.

Tomorrow we will meet the surrogate, and hope and pray for my two undecided follicles to decide in our favor.

JUNE 31st, 2007

2007-06-30T11:45:00.000+05:30

SATURDAY June 31st, 2007

LAX to BOM via Taipei and Kuala Lumpur

Sitting here at the ‘Cheers’ bar watching the Dodgers play San Diego drinking Carlsberg waiting for our flight Friday evening. Well, actually it’s Saturday afternoon and we’re in Kuala Lumpur! How ironic to walk into the bar and see the Dodgers on TV! Not many places to get a beer here at the airport in a Muslim country, but we thought it was well deserved after 20hrs of travel.
Before KL, we arrived to Taipei at 6:40AM Saturday. We got of the plane and had to circle back through security. Passed some shops, Duty Free, that type of thing. Nothing too interesting, except that I did have a pretty good baguette stuffed with ham and cheese which really hit the spot with a Coke. The Coke actually said iCoke on it, I guess the ‘i’ rage is worldwide. Speaking of ‘i’ we stopped at a bunch of tables that said wireless connection and got the computer out only to realize that they only had dial-up. I don’t think my computer even has a pone jack in it.
The arrival into Taipei was pretty. Lot’s of green and huge frangipanis outside the airport windows. No piece of land is unused – rice paddies pop up between car lots, industrial building and railroads, making LA look very brown and dirty in contrast. Arrival to KL was different, though still lush. Less density and more sprawl/haphazard development in KL; Taipei actually looked like it had good planning. In KL instead of rice it was palm trees—miles and miles; very pretty.
Started out from home Thursday night at 11: PM on the FlyAway bus from Union Station to LAX. Just gave Regina her shot, and we used the intramuscular needle for the first time tonight. It’s longer and scarier looking than the sub-coetaneous needle, which is the same as the little needle used for insulin injections. But, somehow it was also less painful, and that’s good, because the injections have been painful until now.
There was a little spat between the doctors today. Well, not so much of a spat but we were getting different information. I guess it’s our fault for having duplicate doctors, but that’s what happens when you’re being treated in two hemispheres! The medication we are taking now is called Menogon and the instructions say to take it with an intramuscular needle. Our Beverly Hills doctor gave us subcutaneous needles, and after about a day we realized this and emailed Dr. Parikh in Bombay to ask if it was a problem. We were pretty stressed about this, because if it did happen to be a problem, we were scared that our trip this month would be cancelled! She said it should be OK, but that we should take it IM. At 10PM last night we were ready to take the shot, but not sure what to do. Regina considered going to the ER to get IM needles, but instead she called her friend Chris Cassidy in Houston and he said it should be ok, so we took it with the sub-cue needle.
We also called my friend Dr. David Kauffman in Ft. Lauderdale, but he didn’t answer because it was 1AM! Coffee (Kauffman). But he called back and helped us out a lot by writing a letter to let us take the needles and vials on the plane, though in the end we didn’t get checked.
If we were doing the treatment entirely here in LA, we would be taking Repronex. Menogon is the European version of Repronex, and we got it on ivfmeds.com and had it shipped from London for half the cost of buying it here in the US – more internet power.

Outsource our niece or nephew!

2007-06-29T21:18:00.000+05:30

We are super excited for you! Sorry that you can't join us in Portland and the Coast but we are so happy this is finally coming to fruition. Thanks for the blog - we'll be checking in!

Love, Marisa and Brandon