Speed Bump

The surrogacy process is so complex that Zach and I have had to take a project-managment approach to the whole thing in order to stay on track (and to keep our brains from spontaneously detonating).

We have files.

We have task lists and timelines.

And today we had an actual meeting, which generated a whole new task list.

One of those tasks is for me to create a full-on matrix of all the information we've collected about the eight agencies we're in the process of researching. (Yes, EIGHT. Yes, MATRIX.)

But I don't need that matrix to report the results of our most recent surrogacy consultation, because I can sum that up in one elegant phrase: HELL, NO!

Having given some of the many considerations further consideration, we've concluded that we want to work with an agency that fully pre-screens its surrogates.

So our first indication that this particular agency was a no-go was finding out that they hold off on the medical and psychological screening, as well as the criminal background check, until after there is a match.

But we continued the conversation, because you never know—we might be persuaded to change our minds on that point. (Not likely, but possible.)

Then we got to the all-important subject of medical insurance. And here's where the red flags started to fly.

First we were told that the agency has had success with surrogates applying for medical coverage through a particular HMO that does not specifically ask about surrogacy on the application.

So the surrogates aren't committing insurance fraud, the agency representative says, unprompted.

Wow. Really? That's your sales pitch?

Because Zach and I are scrupulously honest about EVERYTHING.

We tell waiters and waitresses when they've forgotten to charge us for a soda.

We hand back money when cashiers give us the wrong change.

We report undocumented income on our tax returns.

We're probably the only people in the borough of Brooklyn who got the (required) permit for asbestos abatement, which adds extra hassle and time and expense to the process, rather than exhanging winks with a contractor.

Need I go on?

So the idea that we would work with an agency that takes a very shady shortcut—one they have to defend as "not insurance fraud"—is so far-fetched it couldn't even hope to grow up and become a nonstarter.

The agency rep went on to say that at least one other carrier does cover surrogacy but reserves the right to put a lien on the surrogate's compensation. So we change the contract to say that we're reimbursing for living expenses rather than for surrogacy, she says.

That's two flavors of shady, as far as we're concerned.

So now Zach and I are staring at each other, incredulous, and the rep just keeps talking (she was on speakerphone, so she couldn't see the open mouths and raised eyebrows on our end of the line).

Then she rattles off the surrogate fees, which—as with every agency—vary depending on whether you work with a first-time or "proven" surrogate. (Those are base fees for "singleton" births. Fees are higher if it's a multiple birth or if a C-section is required, or both.)

But then she told us that the fees were negotiable—and that she's the one who decides what's appropriate for each woman. They tell me what they want, and I tell them what they're worth, she says.

And now we can't get off the phone fast enough.

Because it took a long time and a lot of thinking and reflecting and soul-searching for us to get comfortable with the whole notion of surrogacy to begin with.

And one of the things that enabled us to get comfortable was the fact that the fees are set from the get-go. Potential surrogates know the fee structure an agency uses before they sign up. And intended parents like us do, too.

And we all trust that the fees are fair (or we wouldn't be working with the agency that set them).

And that allows us to put them aside and focus on the qualitative aspects of the process—finding the right surrogate (or couple) and building a relationship with each other.

So the thought of an agency haggling with its surrogates is just unseemly, and something we want no part of. Even writing about it is distasteful to me.

As unpleasant as the interaction was, it did serve one very important purpose: to reinforce the fact that we need to continue to do our homework, to be thorough and methodical in our approach, and to stay true to ourselves and our values as we ease on down this long and winding road.