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The call that changed everything
It’s almost midnight and my heart skips a beat when I see our surrogate mother’s name light up on the phone screen. Something is wrong, or we are about to become parents.
We are 350 miles away when we get the call that she is in labor. And that’s pretty much the plan. She lives in Oakland, California; we live over 2,000 miles away in Chicago, Illinois. So before our due date, we’re staying with a friend in Los Angeles, figuring it will give us a shorter drive to Oakland when the time comes. We both plan to be in the delivery room for the birth. But we didn’t expect to get that call two weeks before the due date.
My husband, Tee, fell asleep next to me on the couch, and I’m still watching TV. I see that I have a missed call from our surrogate, and as I open her voicemail message, I see Tee’s phone across from me light up with her name on the screen. My heart rate speeds up. This isn’t a bell or a late night accident; this is her attempt to reach both of us urgently. Which means something is wrong, or we’re about to become parents.
Tee and I each had embryos created from our own sperm, using eggs donated by my good childhood friend. Tee and our surrogate are also old friends. We transferred one embryo from each of our embryos at the same time in hopes of twins, and it was successful. Both embryos made it on the first try, so we’re expecting two!
I can already feel the adrenaline rising as I answer Tee’s phone: ‘Hello? Is everything okay?” Our surrogate is calm and cheerful: “Adam, hello, my water just broke, there’s so much water.” I am speechless; all I can say is “ohhhh!” She says, “The doula is on the way and we’re going to the hospital, so you guys should probably go to Oakland.” Tee wakes up when he hears me talking, asks what’s going on, and I say, “Her water just broke.”
A quick ride to our surrogate’s delivery
This makes it a mad dash to get out the door. I’m scrambling, packing all our stuff, our clothes, baby stuff, car seats, formula; Meanwhile, Tee is sitting at the computer trying to find out where we can rent a car in Los Angeles at midnight. All locations near us are closed, except the one at the airport. We put everything in the back of an Uber and get dropped off at LAX. As Tee packs the car, I can still feel my heart pounding and adrenaline pumping, urgency coursing through me, like… we have to GO. But all I can do is wait. It’s completely out of my control. I have to let things happen and trust that they will fall into place. My anxiety and nerves won’t accelerate anything. (This turned out to be a good warm-up for the long day of waiting ahead.)
GPS gives us an estimate of about six hours of driving time, depending on traffic, which will land us in Oakland in the middle of the morning rush hour. We sit down and drive down the highway. The first song I play that feels just right: Céline Dion’s I drove all night.
And we do that too. We drive all night, taking turns, and try not to get any sleep. Around 5:30 am I see the first light break over the horizon. It is this beautiful red-orange color that fades lighter and then darker into the black of the night sky. Absolutely breathtaking. And perfect at the time, because we had already decided to name one of our girls Sky, after how incredibly beautiful the sky was the day we found out we were having twins. This sunrise moment really makes me feel like we are part of something bigger, like the universe is involved.
The sun continues to rise and we arrive at the hospital around eight in the morning. That same urgent, anxious energy still drives me forward when we get to the hospital room and I burst through the door, so relieved to finally be there. But it’s like entering another world: our chaos and nerves rush headlong into this serene, sacred silence. The lights are dimmed, soothing music is playing, oil is being spread, I hear our surrogate doing breathing exercises. This is fully eight hours after our call that her waters broke, so she is in good labor. And again I realize that I need to cool down. To just be there for her and for this moment.
Reve’s arrival: a natural birth
The day continues. She is a miracle of strength. I am witnessing this amazing woman going through this incredibly intense experience. She opted for no medications at all, no caesarean section, no epidural, nothing. Things really get exciting around 3 p.m. She is currently on her knees on the hospital bed, leaning over a bar that the medical team has placed opposite the bed. I stand face to face with her, hold her hands and tell her over and over, “You’ve got this, you’re amazing.” Tee is behind her with a nurse. They can see the first baby coronation. The doctor comes in, but pulls up a chair and says, “You’re doing great guys, just guide the baby out.”
And Tee delivers that child. Reve is born at 3:43 p.m. He gives her to me and, as her name suggests, she is a dream come true.
As I cry tears of joy and take her in, she pees all over me. A hilarious and perfect first introduction.
Complications: Our second twin is in breech position
As we have those first moments with Reve, the doctor comes by and tells us that the second twin is in a breech position (instead of her head being down, it’s her feet), which poses a great risk to the baby entails, especially because the second of two. They tell us that the cervix could close around her neck during labor, causing her to become trapped and suffocate. We are afraid.
The team tries to apply some external pressure and movement in an attempt to turn the baby, but none of that works. We now see how one hour turns into two, into six. And just before 10 p.m. we all have a final conversation. The doctors insist on an epidural in case an emergency caesarean section is necessary. We of course respect our surrogate’s choice not to do so. We are also very concerned about her health and the health of the baby.
After thinking about it for a while, the surrogate mother finally decides to at least have the epidural inserted. She wants to make sure the baby stays safe and that she is safe too.
The doctors tell us it will be a while before they can take her to the operating room, so Tee and I decide to take a quick walk across the hospital floor to clear our heads and get some fresh air. We didn’t sleep at all; we’re coming up on a full 24 hours. We talk about the day, how wonderful the surrogate is, our beautiful new baby Reve, our worries about Sky and what’s to come.
Waves of emotion
We head back to the labor/delivery wing and stand in front of two giant steel doors, waiting to be buzzed into the secure area. As the doors open, so do the floodgates. All the emotions of the day – joy, fear, the doctors warning us of all conceivable risks – flood me and I collapse, crying. Tee sees me and grabs me in a hug, letting me know it’s going to be okay, and says, “You need to get yourself together before you go back in.” She can’t see you like this now.’ I know he’s right. He goes back into the room, and I stay in the hallway to have my Grey’s Anatomy moment, sobbing quietly in the corner as doctors and nurses shuffle by. And then I pull it together.
When I get back to the room, everyone is already in operating room gear and ready to go. Tee will be there with our surrogate, and I’ll stay with Reve.
Within moments they wheel the surrogate out. Everyone leaves, and once again I find myself in a different world. Just me and my new baby girl, all alone in a completely empty hospital room. There is nothing to do but wait. Nothing we can control, nothing we can rush.
I hold my new daughter, but my thoughts race. I worry about everything that could go wrong. I hope for a best case scenario. I think about the long journey to reach this moment. I imagine our family is safe at home with all this behind us.
I Facetime my mom. We are amazed by baby Reve. We cry together when I tell her how scared I am for Sky.
Two healthy girls – Sky’s breech birth
Then, just after 10:30 p.m. – almost seven hours after Reve was born – a nurse pokes her head into the room and says, “Congratulations, Dad!” Two healthy girls.” And it hits me: she made it. Just to be sure, I ask, “Is she here?” The nurse beams, “Yes, and she’s beautiful.”
Before the medical team could even start the process in the OR, one of the nurses noticed Sky’s feet sticking out, and from then on it all happened very quickly. They got Sky out, feet first, without any problems.
The wait is now over. For the first time in these long 24 hours, there is no more rush, no more worries. Our world has changed. It’s completely new again. And for what feels like the first time, I can finally breathe.
A new day has dawned
Parenting rarely goes as planned, and this experience was an early reminder that we can’t control everything. What really matters is being present, supporting each other and trusting that things will turn out as they should. It may not always be easy, but embracing uncertainty with positivity and hope makes those difficult moments easier to bear. And that’s exactly where we want to be in this happiest time of our lives.
Adam and Tee – 2dads2twins – are proud fathers of twin daughters. Their heartfelt children’s book, You Come from Love, is now out. Follow them on social media for more updates on their family adventures!
