Previously on Baby Blues:
P and Moobs have had 9 unsuccessful IVF rounds. On each occasion viable embryos have been produced but have failed to implant. P and M go to visit the “Prof” and ask the question: “what if the problem is not with the embryos but with the womb?”. The Prof responds that the problem can’t be with the womb and when asked why says “because if it is there is nothing we can do about it”. Heads still spinning from dizzying ambition of that non-sequitur, P and M start to investigate surrogacy which would avoid the implantation problem. They contact the Prof to inform him. He writes back, without explanation, advising against pursuing surrogacy. P arranges a further meeting with the Prof so that he can explain his reasons. Now read on …
Our drive to the hospital followed a familiar pattern. We left late and with both of tense about the forthcoming meeting we bickered our way along the car-choked roads of South London. When we arrive we are hailed by a young consultant. “I’m afraid that the Prof has been called away and can’t meet you. I will talk to you instead”. “Typical” I think; but I don’t say it. P responds to stress with tears. I respond by being a pompous and abrasive tosspot so I have agreed to let her do all the talking.
Once sat in his office the Consultant asks jauntily “What can we do for you?”. In other words he has no idea why we are there. I felt like I had turned up to the Last Judgment and found a “gone fishing” note on the Pearly Gates. P explained, her voice crackling with tension induced static. We had expected the revelation: why what we wanted to do was foolish naivety.
“Well” said the Consultant “Surrogacy seems a very sensible idea. It would eliminate the obvious implantation problem. We’d be happy to support it”
P: “So you wouldn’t advise very strongly against it?”
C: “No, of course not”
P: “Any idea why the Prof might be opposed”
C: ” No idea”.
It is all I can do to stop myself from gnawing the desk in front of me. Still, it’s what we wanted so why should I let one more wasted journey trouble me. The Consultant comments that I have been very quiet. I tell him that I am fine and thank him for his time.
An hour later the Prof is on the phone. He is strongly opposed to surrogacy. Why? It can, apparently, be a difficult experience. My need to laugh hollowly almost overcomes my vow of silence. 9 failed rounds have been pretty difficult too. He is suggesting more of the same. He is not convinced the problem is with implantation. Given the towering obviousness of that fact that it is, that begs some further explanation but none is forthcoming. Whilst the Consultant told us that so many failures meant that we had, and I quote “left the boundaries of normality” and had a virtually negligible chance of a successful round, the Prof begged to differ. He could see no reason why we should not become pregnant via IVF. The fucker is up to his old tricks again; peddling hope. This must be how a drug addict feels dealing with a pusher. You know you don’t want what he’s selling but you need it. You hate him but depend on him.
Tomorrow I’m off to visit my brother. He has invited us for dinner and a “talk”. He tells me that he and his wife are having trouble conceiving and want to talk to us about IVF and our experiences. I cannot think what to say.