One Way or Another
To stay pregnant, my friend travels to Mexico — on foot.
by Ondine Galsworth
August 6, 2007
It's true. Caroline looks a good ten years younger than she is. When we first met I asked her if she was a dancer, with that perfect posture, ripped body, great rear end. "No," she says. "Everyone asks me that. I'm big on the veggies and yoga, and a good glass of wine every night."
Okay, Caroline gets pregnant again from a frozen embryo transfer, "a popsicle," their fifth IVF try, and Dr. Gary alludes to the non-FDA-approved LIT. "Let's do it," they say. Mission Almost Impossible begins.
Somewhere in N.J., by cover of darkness, Caroline and Guy meet Dr. Gary in a parking lot. "It was so nuts! It totally felt like a drug deal," says Caroline. Guy then sneaks into the lab through the service door, where a discreet nurse withdraws some of his blood. There they "spin it," separating white from red blood cells. Hours later, around midnight, the nurse comes out into the parking lot with a syringe full of Guy's white blood cells, enters the couple's vehicle and gives Guy the syringe, the hope being that this will prompt Caroline's immune system to recognize the pregnancy. "He had to inject it under my skin himself!" she says. "It was so sci-fi."
Eight-ish months later, Caroline delivers Ike by C-section. And today, there he is, like the mayor of the neighborhood, waving both arms from his stroller to all passers-by on his way to the park every day. When he spots me and my son, he laughs and points to us. He always makes my heart explode a little. This "popsicle" became a spectacular kid.
It took Dr. Rosen, Dr. Gary, IVF, LIT, blood transfusion in a parking lot and $80,000, but now he's here, playing with my son in the park. Ike's middle name starts with a V, and their last name starts with an F — I.V.F. You can't say they As wacky as it all seems to me, I admire such persistence.don't have a sense of humor in the midst of high drama.
Now, sooner than she would like, but out of time because of her age, forty-three, Caroline is trying again, this time with unfrozen embryos. They were fertilized on a Thursday, and put into her womb on Sunday. They put in three embryos; the sonogram now shows two have implanted.
"Oh, Christ, twins!" I say, when she tells me. What a nightmare, I'm thinking. I don't even like to take aspirin, so the thought of a daily shot in the butt cheek with Progesterone, taking Estrace, having eggs removed, fertilized in a lab somewhere and then running the risk of twins or triplets, running back and forth across the Mexican border — no way, Jose!
But Caroline just shrugs, "Twins are great. Then we are done."
Only this time, Dr. Gary, because of some rigorous scrutiny from an insurance company, can't take any chances by performing his black market LIT. Thus, Caroline and Guy must walk across the Mexican border with their toddler at the height of summer.
As wacky as it all seems to me, I admire such persistence. And, as of today, it's paying off: there are still two heartbeats and morning sickness has begun. Caroline's begun preparing herself for having three children in diapers. "It's gonna be crazy," she says. "If it works." And if it doesn't work, it's also gonna be crazy.
©2007 Ondine Galsworth and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Ondine Galsworth is working on a novel about her experiences as a go-go dancer
and a book about her new addiction, the rodeo. A New York native, she now lives in
New Jersey.
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