Parenting After Cancer: Hope Lives On

One of the organizations I am truly honored to be a part of is the Young Survival Coalition—an organization meant to provide community for women diagnosed with breast cancer before the age of 40. Each year they gather for the YSC Summit, and this year, I spoke to this incredible group as part of a panel alongside Susan Love and Angel Rodriguez. My talk was on approaching life after breast cancer, and it was meant to be an overview of critical issues and needs in this group, as well as a guide to resources—a lot to do in 20 minutes for sure.

The night before, I had dinner with a few of my colleagues from YSC and talk turned to parenthood. I was saddened to hear that even today, some had only the briefest recollections that fertility preservation was discussed with them prior to treatment. For some, parenthood had become a door a long closed. They had moved on to their personal “new normal”. Yet, some still mourned their loss of fertility.

As I stood in front of the group giving this particular talk, I knew this was not (for the most part) an audience of women facing a new diagnosis. Instead, they had already started, continued, or even completed  breast cancer treatment. The time to discuss their options for fertility preservation had passed for many, and I wanted to provide hope. So for the first time in a talk like this, I said, “If you want to be a parent, realize it’s possible, even if our treatments have negatively impacted your fertility. I should know—my kids were conceived through gestational surrogacy (GS).”

I always wanted kids. In fact, I never imagined that I would not. I worried it was not going to be possible, though, because I am gay. I worried that I wouldn’t find a partner who shared my dream. Then I met my partner, Henry. Early on in our relationship we shared our desire to have kids, what we would name them if we had a girl (Isabelle) or a boy (Harrison). We talked how we would raise our kids, what was important to each of us, and I quickly realized I wanted to have kids with him.

After a few years together we explored how we would become parents. That’s how we learned about GS. For our first pregnancy, I asked my sister if she would donate her eggs, and she quickly agreed (she knew how much I wanted kids, and for that, I will be forever grateful). We found our surrogate online—a kind and generous woman who had served as a surrogate in the past who had found surrogacy personally fulfilling.  

I wish I could say it was easy. It wasn’t. We had to hire a lawyer and sign contracts. There were the provisions of life insurance (for her), review of medical policies to ensure obstetric care would be covered, review of state laws to make sure it was legal, and discussions on how she felt about carrying multiple gestations. We wanted to know how we could both be listed on her birth certificate (in some states, you can do a pre-birth adoption). For my sister, it meant ovarian stimulation so we could collect eggs and terminating her rights to her own eggs. There was the process of in vitro fertilization and then more contracts related to the storage of embryos we did not use.

We proceeded with one cycle, and we became pregnant. Because our surrogate didn’t live near us, we missed out on the OB visits. Instead, we relied on her self-reports. Ultrasounds were sent to us by e-mail, and we didn’t get to experience the growing miracle inside of her. I also privately worried that something would go wrong, and I remember days  when I felt too scared to exhale. I didn’t want to set up a room or a crib for fear it was tempting fate. Henry realized this, I think, but grabbed my hand and guided me through the preparations for this new life that would soon enter ours. Looking back, I worried about bonding: would I love this baby as my own and would she (we found out early) love us as her two dads?

I still remember the day we got the phone call. “Come quickly—I’m in labor.” I remember calling Henry and moving so slowly, as if life was in slow motion. We packed the car and drove many miles, hoping we would make it in time to see her deliver. We didn’t. We raced to the hospital and to the birthing area in time to see her being cleaned up. The nurses were kind to us—not only aware but embracing us as our daughter’s parents. They smiled as we approached, and one of them raised her to the window so we could see our brand new baby. I still remember the two of us looking at her for the first time. “Isabelle,” we said. He cried and so did I.

That morning, we held her for the first time—our daughter. I became Isabelle’s dad the moment I looked at her. Indeed, I fell in love with her immediately. She is our daughter and we are her dads. And nothing could be more beautiful. We now have three beautiful kids, and our family is just what I had dreamed of.

Cancer can take so much from a person, and from the ones they love. For those that always dreamed of having children though, options exist, and with options, so does hope. Mostly though, I want to help young men and women to see past cancer and to what’s possible.