12) Compensation

It’s been a conversation in the works for quite some time, one that maybe doesn’t make a lot of sense, but that to me had to be done.  I am not in this for the money.  I am not in this for the praise—although I will gladly accept both.  I am in this for the experience and for the outcome—both of which fill my heart with an indescribable joy.  Although I had mentioned this before, when I brought it up in a scheduled conversation, J’s response, in a confused and almost annoyed voice, was “But…why?”

My desire to reduce my base compensation stems from two reasons. The first is that the expenses of the particular journey have already increased more than we anticipated, and it breaks my heart to see my IFs (or any, really) have this added financial burden, a burden that is added only because they are choosing to continue to work with me.  Three things have increased the overall cost through working with me: travel expenses to and from Portland as I do not live within 50 miles of the clinic; an abnormality in my uterus that had to be resolved prior to moving forward; and a possibility of my insurance not covering the surrogacy medical expenses.  I understand that there is always a possibility of unexpected expenses, and that this is something that IPs must factor in when planning their journey.  J & A knew I didn’t live in Portland and would have to travel there periodically.  And they’re probably smart enough to have done the math correctly to estimate how much each trip would cost—as opposed to me who did the math for the drive up to Portland, but not back, so that when I got the first travel expense check I thought they had made an error and paid me way too much.  When we realized that there were complications with my new insurance policy and that I would have to have a fairly expensive surgical procedure to be able to move forward, we paused for a few days for them to really decide if they wanted to move forward with me.  Of course, as I told them, I would cry if they decided not to, but at the same time I would completely understand.  The process is challenging and expensive enough without these added expenditures, expenditures that are present only because of their surrogate and no other reason.  I understand I’m not obligated to reduce my compensation based on these added pieces, but a large portion of my desire to be a surrogate again has more to do with working with J & A than just being a surrogate, and I’m willing to take a cut, if you will, in order to maintain that.

(*Disclaimer: that does not mean that I expect them to have some sort of added duty to stick with me and if there were yet another complication down the road this should not be a factor in their decision to work with me or not.  The goal of this is for them to make a family and if I am not the person who can make that happen they should not continue with me out of a false sense of responsibility or fear of hurting my feelings.  I have three children and teach special education at an alternative high school—my feelings are not easily hurt).

Shortly after I had my surgery, a potential IF in one of the online groups I’m a part of asked a question about average surrogate compensation in California.  IPs stated they had paid anywhere from 20 to 40 thousand dollars.  The high end of that scale seems to me almost unreasonable.  Base compensation through my agency has increased by $9,000 from the time I signed for my first surrogacy to the time I signed for my second.  That is a 42% increase, which does not include the additional base compensation granted to experienced surrogates, bringing it to a total 66% increase for a singleton (I did not factor in the additional compensation for a twins in my first surrogacy, an increase in compensation that is absolutely reasonable).  If this were a job, you would expect to see an increase over time for cost of living, or a change in the job description that required more work.  However, the base compensation for a surrogacy is pain and suffering.  Has the pain and suffering of enduring a pregnancy increased 66% from when I was pregnant in 2015?  Perhaps somewhat, as anyone who has experienced more than one pregnancy will likely attest to an increase level of discomfort and any doctor will tell you that the risks and complications increase with each pregnancy and recovery is a little more difficult as your uterus expands repeatedly.  But short of some major complication, I can’t imagine my own pain and suffering will close to double next time around.  I assume, without having done much research, that part of reasoning for the increase is to attract potential surrogates.  The average waiting time for a surrogate is approximately six months, with far more IPs signing up with agencies than eligible surrogates to carry for them.  I understand this concept, and I understand that the incentive has to be enough to warrant taking on the challenge and the risk.  Admittedly, when I was trying to convince my husband to agree to a second journey, I brought up the increased compensation and it was a factor in him agreeing.  But when broken down, it just feels too high to me for what it’s actually for. 

In our original contract, I reduced the base compensation a little in order to increase the compensation in some other areas.  I didn’t want my IFs to have expected costs that exceeded what the agency outlines, but I feel very strongly about being compensated appropriately for the corresponding item or activity.  From my previous journey I knew there were some things I felt warranted more compensation—monthly miscellaneous allowance, med start fee, transfer fee, and C-section fee among them.  This goes both ways, and there were some things I think didn’t need as much.  On more than one occasion I’ve seen posts in different groups of surrogates asking where is the best place to buy cheap maternity clothes.  “I just can’t justify spending a lot of money on clothes I’ll only wear for a couple months,” they say.  That is all fine and good, and if you want to sport $50 worth of Goodwill maternity finds throughout your pregnancy, great.  But I most certainly hope that you didn’t get the average $500 maternity clothing allowance if that’s the case.  Yes, in the grand scheme of the cost of an average surrogacy, $500 isn’t much.  But it is a week’s worth of IVF meds, or the deductible on your insurance plan, or lost wages for the embryo transfer.  Many IPs have saved and planned for years to make this dream a reality and casually dismissing this is disrespectful to their journey.  While it’s nice to just have an amount and not have to submit receipts for everything, to the best of my ability, the compensation or reimbursement I receive for a particular item goes toward that specific item.

Likewise, it’s equally important for surrogates to advocate for the expenses they incur.  The first time I got the travel expense check for a trip to Portland, I was shocked at the amount.  It doesn’t cost that much to drive up and back to Portland!  But then I heard about my youngest crying at night because I was gone, and my “service due now” light came during my second trip home—a month before I anticipated—and I thought about the wear and tear on my car and time it takes out of my schedule to get it done, and I didn’t feel so bad about getting that check.  Even though I have to use my sick days from work before taking unpaid leave, I still requested lost wages for the day and a half I had to miss for surgery.  Because with three small children and a husband who owns his own business and thus doesn’t have such benefits, those sick days are golden and will be needed when the stomach flu hits our house.  And then, if I’ve used them all for the surrogacy, I’ve got a little cushion when I take a hit in my paycheck.  Not to mention the fact that missing a day and a half of work for surgery means that I stay up until midnight writing IEPs the next day.  Surrogates are notorious for not requesting compensation to make up for expenses we incur.  I’ve heard countless times of surrogates explaining that they’re not “technically on bed rest” so it isn’t covered by contract, but that they’re too tired and sore to keep the house clean or cook dinner so they’re hiring a friend to come clean and eating take out four times a week. A good friend of mine lost her job due to her surrogate pregnancy.  It took weeks of me and others convincing her to ask for lost wages, and even then she only received a portion and ended up using her base comp to make it through until she found a new job.  This is entirely unfair to her, but a story that is familiar to a lot of surrogates.  We know how much our IPs are paying for this journey and don’t want to intentionally do anything to increase that.   However, even so, it is unfair to ask the surrogate to pay for any pregnancy-related expenses, and most IPs I know would agree.  As I fairly often respond to my surrogate friends “your health, comfort, and low stress keep the baby safe and healthy.  The cost of a weekly housecleaner is a lot less than the cost of a NICU bill because you worked too hard and went into early labor.”  But still, we hate to ask. 

Another reason for being very clear on expenses for each aspect is that you never know how a journey will unfold.  I know women who started the journey—went through the time-consuming and difficult process of medical clearance, contracts, and IVF meds—yet had unsuccessful embryo transfers.  Many of them have felt as though they spent a year or more of their life working on something and were not adequately compensated for their time. We all go into this thinking long-term and that the journey will result with a child.  Unfortunately, that is not always how it ends.  I by no means want to undermine the challenge and heartbreak that this is for IPs, but it is important to remember, once again, that compensation is not for the end result of a child but for the pain and suffering that surrogates endure along the way—pain and suffering that can happen with or without the birth of a child.  It is imperative for the ethics of surrogacy and the clarity of the contract that this is represented in the beginning stages of the journey as much as the end. 

So the question then arises, How you do determine fair “pain and suffering” for experiencing IVF and pregnancy?  I can’t even imagine how to calculate this.  For me, the pain and suffering has always included my family as well—the pain and suffering of my three children and husband.  Does this mean I should receive more compensation than the surrogate who only has one child or is single?  Or maybe the pain and suffering of a single mother surrogate is more because she doesn’t have a husband to pick up the slack when she’s too tired to anything?  What about calculation of pain of previous pregnancy?  Should I ask for more because I had terrible “morning” sickness until week 13 with all my pregnancies?  Or maybe less because I never experienced gestational diabetes or other major complications?  While I most certainly do not think that there is some sort of magical mathematical formula to determine this—some sort of age-number and age of children-marital status-previous pregnancy history quadratic equation—I do think it is reasonable for surrogates to stop and consider if the proposed base compensation is too high or too low to be fairly representative of the pain and suffering she anticipates she and her family will endure.  Additionally, when considering this, I think it is fair and reasonable to consider factors relevant to each surrogate—location, job, children, spouse, previous pregnancies—and how that might impact the total cost and if you are going to truly ask for reimbursement or compensation in each area, or if you consider the base and monthly miscellaneous fee to cover those things. 

I put a lot more thought into my current contract and compensation outline than I did with my first journey, partially because I have a better understanding of what it entails and partially because I have become much more involved in the ethics of surrogacy.   Now, I am in no way advocating that all agencies need to lower their base compensation, or that all surrogates should accept less than is offered.  This is an individual decision, but one that I truly think needs to be taken with thoughtful consideration for each individual woman.   There is an argument for having a higher base compensation and not asking for extras in other areas, but it’s not an argument I agree with.  For me, the compensation did not fairly represent the pain and suffering associated with the process, and I was not comfortable accepting that amount.  I felt this way from the beginning, but even more so when taking into consideration the additional expenses incurred and the fact that they continued with me despite—which gave me an easy excuse to get into our contract and drop the base comp.  Could I use an additional $5,000?  Absolutely!  I’ve got a stack of credit card debt and medical bills from my daughters, a trip to Disneyland I desperately want to treat my family to, and a house we’d love to finally buy.  But it is not the responsibility of J & A to pay for those things.  It is their responsibility to compensate me for the trouble of a pregnancy—a pregnancy I’m excited to be a part of through a process I’m passionate about, but not one that I anticipate will be 66% more difficult than the last four.

13) Surgery & Meds

The journey is officially underway!  I after a little hiccup, I've started meds and am preparing for an embryo transfer in January.






In October I was finally able to have the hysteroscopy and polypectomy.  Wednesday afternoon I had my pre-op appointment with my OB, then arrived bright and early for the surgery the next morning.  I had to arrive two hours before the surgery was scheduled, with nothing to eat or drink after midnight.  Through the week, I had a bit of a cold and the day prior was still pretty congested.  I was worried that because of the anesthesia involved they wouldn’t let me go through with it.  Luckily it wasn’t so bad as to have to postpone, although my anesthesiologist presented it as an option.  Aside from my four pregnancies, I’ve never been admitted to the hospital, so this was a new experience for me.  More so, I’ve never had general anesthesia and was a little nervous about being knocked out.  A couple weeks earlier I had a terrible terrible nightmare about Donald Trump.  I dreamed I was at a political rally while I told him, honestly yet as politely as possible, what I thought about him.  After the rally I went into my bedroom to go into my bathroom, but crouched in the corner was Donald Trump, who leapt out at me, placed his hand over my mouth, and began to throw me on my bed.  I jolted awake, sweating, more scared than I have ever been in my life.  My biggest fear on the day of the surgery was that while knocked out I would have another dream about Donald Trump—while the doctor was grabbing my pussy—and I wouldn’t be able to wake up.

While waiting, I mostly sat around on the hospital bed playing on my phone.  I tried to read my book, but the nurses interrupt so often I wasn’t able to actually focus on it and settled instead on trying to beat my high score in 2048 (currently 15,892).  When it was finally time to go back to the operating room—35 minutes after my scheduled time—I put everything away and they wheeled me back.  The anesthesiologist placed the mask over my face and I was out.  Moments later I woke up, looking at the nurse and asked “are we ready to start?” 

“We’re already done!” she replied. 

Oh.  Apparently it was more like an hour than moments.  So it was that quick and easy, and a couple pea-sized polyps were now removed. 

My recovery was equally as easy.  I spent a couple hours hanging out at the hospital rocking my purple gown, IV, and leg compressors.  There was a little cramping the next day, but not even as much as I have during my regular period. 

                                        

 

Two weeks later I went back to Portland for a follow up appointment.  I was pretty excited to fly up for the day so I could spend five minutes talking with my doctor—three of those minutes on topics not even related to the surgery.  I’m not exactly sure why that appointment couldn’t have been done over the phone—saving me twelve hours and my IFs a few hundred dollars, but it is what it is. 

The following week I was able to have my repeat SIS ultrasound and was so entirely relieved when it showed a nice smooth uterus. 

As we’ve now officially began our journey, I’m starting to think more about the level of communication we’ll have.  This is something that’s talked about prior to matching, and we’ve all agreed for them to be an active part of the pregnancy journey.  However…my first IFs said that as well and the communication was much less than I had anticipated or wanted.  Regardless of preconceived expectations, the communication aspect can be confusing to navigate.  How much is too much?  How much is not enough?  How can you balance needing to be supported while not being clingy?  How can you communicate the unplesentaries without coming off as complaining?  Where is the line between commenting and whining? 

With my own pregnancies, there’s a level of complaining and whining that’s necessary—I mean, here I am growing a baby for our family, while my husband sits there all comfortable like in regular clothes eating unheated lunch meat and drinking a beer.  Complaining is my way of making him suffer along with me.  My favorite phrase when pregnant with my own three was some version of "This is all your fault!"  I can't really use that excuse this time around.  When you’re doing this as a premeditated—not to mention compensated—act, your complaining threshold is minimized.  At the same time, I want to be open an honest about what’s happening with the medications and pregnancy, which is bound to include some level of pain and annoyance. 

My general rule of thumb is this: Were it my own pregnancy, is it something either abnormal or amazing that I would bother my husband with at work—not just wait to talk about it when we were home?  If the answer is yes, then communicate it.  If the answer is no, it's probably not something I need to share.  It should go without saying, this automatically includes any concerns I would communicate with my doctor.

First Trimester examples, based on four prior pregnancies:

·      Throwing up before and possibly after breakfast every day from week 6 to week 12: Normal, don’t communicate unless asked.

·      Throwing up dinner more than three times a week during week 9 to 12, or not being able to keep down anything at all for longer than two days: Abnormal, may need stronger interventions, communicate.

·      Not throwing up all day even with three full meals for the first time in six weeks: Amazing!  Communicate!

*Side note, J& A, if you’re reading this, now is the time to tell me that’s too much and to never communicate any information regarding vomit at all, ever. 

A few weeks ago I received a box of meds—a huge box of meds—which I promptly opened, verified, checked expiration dates of, and sorted into drawers and a tackle box.

           

I had planned on using a make-up organizing box, but while browsing Sportsmans Warehouse one afternoon with my husband, I saw a selection of children’s tackle boxes; basically the same thing I’d looked at in make-up boxes, but at one third of the price.  So now my weekly meds are stored in a lovely Frozen Tackle Box (which my daughters have claimed as their own as soon as I’m done) with the overflow in small plastic three-drawer organizer. 

          

The way a normal cycle works is that a woman’s body releases an egg which then travels down the fallopian tube looking to be fertilized.  Meanwhile, the uterine lining is building itself up all fluffy-like.  If the egg is fertilized, it attempts to attach itself to the nice thick uterine lining—finding difficulty in doing so if the lining is thin.  If the egg isn’t fertilized, the uterine lining is shed a la menses.  The med protocol I have includes birth control for a period, Lupron, delestrogen, and progesterone.  The purpose of the birth control is to manipulate your cycle to be able to know exactly where you are, since although the standard is a 28 day cycle, every woman is different, and even within one woman’s cycle there are variations.  The Lupron suppresses your ovaries from producing eggs because, although the purpose is to get pregnant, it’s not to get pregnant with your own.  But, since your ovaries aren’t doing their normal job, you have to artificially produce the other hormones you’ve told your body not to produce and do the things you’ve told it not to do—like build up the uterine lining for the embryo to nestle into. 

Good thing about this particular med protocol:

1)   It eases you into the meds.  Birth control pill, then add Lupron every day—a tiny needle injected into the stomach—then stop BCP, then add delestrogen—an intermuscular shot given with a two-inch needle in the butt—two days a week, then stop Lupron and add progesterone—another IM shot given with a two-inch needle in the butt—every day, then eventually add progesterone suppositories—tablets inserted vaginally three times daily. 

2)   Nightly meds is a family affair.  My middle daughter wants to be a doctor and all three of them get in on helping give me shots, pushing in the syringe and pulling out the needle.  Even two weeks in, every time we do a shot my three-year-old says “Now do you have a baby in your tummy?”  The first time my five-year-old replied, “No, silly.  This just gets her ready for the baby.  Then they take a little tiny baby and put it in her uterus.  I guess they like, cut open her tummy and put it in there or something.”  I proceeded to explain how the embryo is transferred into the uterus through the cervix (no cutting necessary, thankfully!), and love that my children are learning the biology of how babies are made. 

Right: Lupron needle goes in the stomach.
Left: Delstrogen needles.  Pink is to draw out the medicine, blue is inserted into the butt muscle.

Bad things about this particular med protocol:

1)   You’re surging your body with hormones with huge needles shoved in your ass. Even on my second journey and knowing it’s not that painful, I still wince every time I look at one of those needles.  While the shot itself doesn’t hurt very much, the muscle soreness that follows can be terrible.  Twice a week isn’t too bad.  You put on a heating pad right after and by the next morning it’s just a little tenderness.  But when you do it Every. Single. Day.  the muscle pain can become increasingly unbearable. 

2)   No alcohol and no sexual activity.  I don’t really drink very often, and with full time jobs and three kids, my husband and I probably engage in sexual activities less often than the average married couple.  But there’s something about being told you can’t drink and you can’t have sex that makes you really want to drink and have sex.  I’ve now stopped BCP—which in itself is a natural birth control by making just the idea of sex absolutely repulsive—and I actually want have sex but I can’t.  My instructions were unclear last time and I was only informed to not have intercourse, but allowed other activities.  This time it was made very clear that there is No Sexual Activity At All.  Nothing.  My only saving grace is thinking how awesome it’s going to be when we’re finally given the go-ahead again.  Meanwhile, my IFs are posting pictures of the festive drinks they’re making for Christmas and I’m over here bringing sparkling cider to my staff party, coming home to a kid-free house to…watch This is Us, I guess.

3)   Progesterone tablets.  Inserted into the vagina.  Three times a day.  These pills dissolve into the vagina wall.  Except what doesn’t which then leaks all over.  Which is why you invest in some classic Hanes briefs and panty liners.  Side note: if you are one of the lucky ones who is still allowed to engage in sexual activity while on meds and are resorting to more creative means because you can’t have intercourse, please take note of the disgusting taste of these tablets.  And no, it doesn’t matter if you took it in the morning and are waiting until after canoodling to insert the second dose.  It’s still disgusting. 

Meds is easily the worst part of this entire process.  Which of course makes the end result all the more amazing.  Next up: embryo transfer and the agonizing decision all surrogates and IPs must make: to take a home pregnancy test or not??

11) Medical Clearance

Now that contracts are signed, I am able to move onto the medical aspect of the surrogacy.  This consists of a few steps, all leading up to the embryo transfer.  The first step in all of this is medical clearance from my OB.  Woah, wait a second, right?  It’s always seemed a little odd to me that this part was done after all the matching and contracts and everything else.  I mean, what if my doctor didn’t approve me for a surrogacy?!?  The fact is, however, if your medical records have been cleared by an RE, it’s highly unlikely that an OB would not find you fit for a surrogacy.  I think this is especially true in working with Oregon Reproductive Medicine, who from what understand in my conversations with other surrogates, has some of the highest standards for acceptance in the nation.

I scheduled my appointment for my medical clearance before contracts were signed, but the actual appointment wasn’t until after.  That appointment consists of a physical exam, pap smear (regardless of if you are due, unless the last one was within a year), and a ridiculous amount of labs—I left a urine sample and TEN vials of blood. My doctor signed off on the form from ORM stating that she recommended me as a surrogate and I was on my way. Then, as any RE will tell you always happens, the lab missed one of the orders and I had to go back for another blood draw.  Additionally, my husband had to have lab work done to ensure he does not have any transferable diseases.  He’s had this done throughout our marriage when he was in the military, and then just two years ago before we started our first journey.  So if any of those come back positive this time around he’s in a lot more trouble than just impacting this surrogacy.

In the meantime, I got back on the birth control pill—BCP.  I’ve always joked that the way BCP works with me is that it kills any sliver of libido I might have, and makes me such a cranky bitch that even if I were in the mood, chances are my husband wouldn’t be talking to me at that moment anyway.  No sex equals no babies, so it’s really very effective.  Considering that it won’t be too long before my husband and I are legally prohibited from having sex, I’d like to take advantage of it while we can, so this is especially annoying right now for everyone involved. 

Prenatal Vitamin, Magnesium, Fish Oil, and Vitamin D
help offset BCP

The benefit this time around, however, that I know why I’m crazy. When I recognize myself becoming more easily irritable, or yelling at the kids more, or feeling a little depressed, I remind myself that it’s not really me, it’s the pill.  I take a break from whatever I’m doing, take a little time to myself to recompose, and usually that brings me back down to earth.  I’ve also figured out some supplements that help offset the BCP, if even just a little.  Prenatal vitamin, fish oil, magnesium, and vitamin D help keep me legally sane and prevent my family from up and leaving me. 

In addition to impacting my attitude, the fluctuating hormones cause me to break out once a month, zits strewn across my face like a red-hot constellation.  Which one is your favorite?  Personally I like the Rudolph zit, an inactive volcano mound pushing up but never quite exploding.  At least the eyebrow zit can be covered up by wearing my glasses instead of contacts.  An investment in good concealer is a must when I’m on the pill. Without it, I look like this:

The next step in my process was a uterine evaluation.  Because I’ve already had some of these processes done before, I only needed the SIS portion of this.  In other evaluations, they look at the shape and dimensions of your uterus, but it’s not like your uterus changes shape over the course of a couple years, so once that’s done it’s done.  In the SIS—saline infusion sonohysterography—ultrasound, a small amount of saline is inserted via a catheter through the cervix and into the uterus.  This allows the ultrasound to better show the uterine lining in order to see if there is any thickening, scar tissue, or polyps—all of which would negatively impact an embryo transfer. 

I’ve been through enough ultrasounds to know when things are going well and when the technician is going back and forth over the same area trying to see what and where the problem is.  She pointed out that she saw a small spot and was trying to get the right pictures to be able to determine exactly what and how big it was.   I have quite a few friends who have had polyps and other concerns after this ultrasound, so it wasn’t too surprising that this might happen, but even so it’s not something I was anticipating.  My first thought of paranoia was Oh God, Please Don’t Be a Baby!  Panic stricken, my brain started racing: I just had my period.  We had sex last night.  I’m on the pill.  Did I take the pill this morning?  Did I take it yesterday?  Didn’t we have sex one other day?  That doesn’t look like a baby. I don’t see a sac.  Could it be a baby?   Can you get pregnant the day after your period ends?  That is not a baby!  WHAT THE HELL IS IT!?!

I am unreasonably freaked out that in the time leading up to prescribed time of abstinence I will become pregnant with my own child.  This would by far be the worst thing that could possibly happen at this point in my life.  Even if I wasn’t in the process of being a surrogate, it would an unpleasant surprise and one which in all honestly I don’t know how we would move forward.  But when you’re preparing to get pregnant with someone else’s baby, accidently getting pregnant with your own is unthinkable.  We take all the necessary precautions, but the only sure way to not get pregnant is to not have sex, and so far that hasn’t been 100%--contrary to what my husband might exaggerate it to be. 

The doctor looked over the images and determined it was a bit of scar tissue, although there is a possibility it could also be a polyp.  This will have to be removed through a process called Hysteroscopy.  In this process, a hysteroscope—a small camera—is inserted into the uterus via a catheter through the cervix, and the unwanted tissue is scraped off. Often, a small balloon is inserted into the uterus to prevent the tissue from reforming.  If it’s a polyp, a biopsy may be done on it.  From what I have read and from talking with friends who have similar procedures, it’s not really that big of a deal, although the picture might lead you to believe differently.  It’s mildly painful—anytime you’re sticking something into the cervix it’s going to be uncomfortable—but it’s an outpatient procedure and not one that requires a lot of recovery, aside from some spotting and minimum two weeks abstinence. 

Although I’m not particularly excited about having to have this done (a camera in my vagina? Seriously?), the real problem with this is not the procedure itself.  The problem is that it adds time to the process.  It adds money to the process.  It adds stress and worry to the process.  Time, money, stress.  These are all things that as a surrogate I want to keep to a minimum.  Not for me, but for my IFs.  Having this procedure isn’t a big deal for me.  Another trip up to Portland for an additional SIS ultrasound isn’t a problem for me.  It’s just that it’s a burden for J & A and adds at least an additional month to the process.  Every bump in the road, I take personally.  Every problem along the way, I feel responsible for.  Yes, in my brain I understand that this is not my fault.  I had a C-section with my last surrogacy, which perhaps resulted in scar tissue in my uterine lining.  Polyps form through no misconduct of mine.  It is due to nothing that I did—wrong or otherwise.  It just is.  But I feel awful.  Actually, awful doesn’t even suffice.  I hate that I’m responsible for adding to how difficult this process already can be.  I’m hopeful that I’ll have the procedure and it will be resolved within my next cycle and it won’t end up being an issue at all.  I understand that it could go otherwise, but am trying not to focus too much on the “what ifs”. 

I’m thankful that my IFs are relaxed and do not—at least openly—seem to be upset by all this.  In their minds, this is a long a challenging process, one that is bound to have some roadblocks along the way.  They’ve comforted me with all the BS clichés that ‘It will all work out’ and ‘If it’s meant to be it will be’ and that ‘Everything that’s worth having is worth the trouble to get it’.  I understand all that, and am well versed at supporting my fellow surrogates with such phrases whenever something like this happens in their journeys.  But like everything in life, it’s different when it’s actually you.  Were the roadblocks coming from someone else, I would be completely relaxed and unworried about it, adopting the ‘Don’t stress about things outside your control philosophy’.  Unfortunately, instead I’m coming off like a stressed-out high-maintenance surrozilla.  But I promise I’m not!  I just want my IPs to have the best possible journey, and hopefully after this they will.