Last night, I dreamed of a dark and billowing mass of smoke. It was eager in its searching, slithering low like a snake and sniffing pointedly like a rabid dog. It moved quickly, but there was no need for stealth; it was invisible and weightless it its hunt. It would creep up a person’s back or wind itself around someone’s shoulders. Though it wasn’t seen, there was a palpable shift in the air when it was near. Maybe the person felt a sudden chill. Perhaps the hairs on the back of the neck would stand on end, with the odd feeling of being watched. The seemingly causeless whisper of paranoia would dissipate as soon as the entity left. It would inhale the person’s scent deeply, deliberate for a moment, and then dismissively move on, leaving a vapor of charcoal dust in its wake.
It snaked its way through the streets, moving quicker still as it sensed it was closing in on its prey. The scent was a homing beacon, growing stronger as the entity drew closer. Now rushing, it sped into a familiar building, slithered up the steps, and into the room. It stopped short, then sinuously rose to hover over the bed where the sleeping boy lay. I could sense in the entity an evil smirk of satisfaction when it leaned over and whispered into Baby M’s ear, ‘I found you.”
Analysis wasn’t necessary to figure out from what dark recesses of my subconscious mind the nightmare arose. Strange thoughts can arise when in moments of mental crisis. When Former IM said, “Baby M has Leukemia,” I literally heard and saw glass crashing, as if someone had thrown a brick through a wide pane of glass. My next thought – and I know this is crazy – was that it was my fault. Not my fault through anything that I did or didn’t do when I was carrying him, but my fault because as far as surrogacy is concerned, I seem to have some sort of curse.
In my attempts to have a second successful surrogacy journey after Baby M, I’ve been matched with four sets of intended parents, have had three fresh transfers, one frozen transfer, one negative cycle, and three chemical pregnancies. I’ve never really thought of that as being “cursed,” per se, but I have spent most of the past year absolving myself of undeserved guilt and chalking it up to just dumb bad luck. But this? In the seconds after I heard Leukemia, the pieces of my mind tumbled like an avalanche. I literally shook my head in effort to clear out the sound of crashing glass and to set the broken shards right again. The reassembled picture was fractured, and what I saw was a curse – that whatever it was that took the other babies – the ones whose parents entrusted me to take care of them and bring them home – had missed Baby M the first time around and had been looking for him ever since.
Former IM is not the type who asks for help; she is a resilient, can-do type of person who doesn’t want to be a burden on anyone. But, she adapts to situations as she sees fit. Today she told me, “Moxie, let your heart lead you. I have learned quickly that people want to help, so let them help. This is about Baby M; I just can’t be prideful.”
I cannot thank you enough for the many ways in which you’ve shown your love and care. Many have shared love for Baby M through emails, Twitter, Facebook, Baby M’s Caringbridge guestbook, and here on my blog. Several of you have asked how you can help. Help is definitely needed. It will be a long, hard road for Baby M and his family, so the need for help is not only immediate, but constant. I don’t yet have an exact plan, but I am working on bringing together a few ideas. Please stay tuned through the next few days if you’re interested in helping. If you have any specific ideas or things/services you can offer in fundraising efforts, I’m all ears. You can holla at me through the Contact page above. xoxoxo