Slate's Bizbox



diary: A weeklong electronic journal.


Entry 2

Updated Wednesday, Oct. 30, 2002, at 2:04 PM ET

Zac Unger is a firefighter in Oakland, Calif. His daughter was born three months premature and is in the neonatal ICU.

More photos from Zac Unger.

Percy had a rough day yesterday. I've barely gotten familiar with her personality, but as soon as I peeked into the incubator I could tell that she wasn't herself. She wouldn't open her eyes at the sound of my voice, and she barely fought when the nurse pushed a feeding tube into her stomach. She was listless, not making any of those little squeaks that I've gotten used to ever since they replaced her breathing tube with a less invasive nasal oxygen setup.

Her lab work makes it look like despite all my hand-washing, she's getting an infection. Also, she keeps forgetting to breathe, a condition that the nurses refer to as "apnea." I had a hand on her tiny foot when her alarms sounded. I watched her heart rate fall from where it should be—about 150 beats per minute—down to 90, 80, 70. It's paralyzing to watch, and it just keeps happening. When her oxygen-saturation falls, she starts to turn a little blue, and we have to rub her tiny chest with two fingers to get her heart going again. It's a struggle not to lose hope every time she crashes. The nurses say she'll outgrow it, so I try to trust them.



Even just getting to this scary, premature point of parenthood has been a struggle. The first miscarriage was easy. After you have one you learn that everyone else has had one too. You hear "my sister had one, and little Jenny's 6 now" and "Nicole Kidman had one, so at least you're in good company." Miscarriage No. 2 was disappointing, but still within the realm of random misfortune. No. 3 was sickening, but No. 4 was by the far the worst, the realization that it wasn't bad luck, that we were marked by something awful and mysterious that we wouldn't be able to overcome. Miscarriages Nos. 5 and 6 were sad, but not surprising, like incomplete Hail Mary passes from a backup quarterback.

embryonic cells

A year ago we were at our most despondent, and we decided to try using a surrogate. We guessed that our embryos were good—we'd made it to the second trimester twice—but that there was something immunological or structural that made it impossible to carry a baby to term. I felt like we'd been thrown a lifeline when we finally found Jessaca, a strong, friendly, well-grounded woman who had two healthy deliveries to her credit. So, Shona's egg and my sperm did their thing in a Petri dish, the doctor implanted little 8-celled Percy into Jessaca's womb, and we were on our way.

After six months of surrogacy I felt like we were actually going to have our baby. But just when it seemed safe to let the guys at work in on my big secret, Jessaca came down with HELLP syndrome, a debilitating and unforeseeable form of pre-eclampsia. They call it "maternal-fetal incompatibility": My baby was very literally killing Jessaca. Her blood pressure skyrocketed, her liver shut down, her kidneys started to fail. Sick as she was, she struggled to hold on and give our baby every golden hour she possibly could. But finally, in order to save our surrogate's life, our baby had to come out three long months before she was due. Approximately 5 percent of pregnant women will get pre-eclampsia. Of those, 5 percent will progress to HELLP, and only a small percentage of those will deliver earlier than the relative safety point of 30 weeks gestation. I don't even know what the odds are of having six unexplained miscarriages, but it feels like we must be bumping along the bottom 1 percent of the bottom 1 percent of bad luck. When I learned that even our surrogate pregnancy was drifting toward disaster, I felt like we'd never see daylight again.

Within 48 hours of delivering Percy, Jessaca lost 30 pounds of water weight and her blood pressure stabilized. We had dinner with her the other day, and now she's as healthy as ever, home playing with her own little girl. Having a surrogate is an unavoidably strange experience. I got her pregnant, but she's not my wife. She carried Percy and felt her kick, but she's not her mom. What she is is the woman who saved Shona and me from the depths of despair, the woman who gave us our tiny, terrifying, beautiful premature daughter. Surrogacy didn't work out perfectly, but it's working.

Percy and Mom, 15 days after birth

From her very beginnings until today, Percy's entrance into the world has been a massive team effort. We've had support from so many unlikely places. Yesterday another mother in the NICU offered to share her breast milk with Percy, and that unexpected generosity from a stranger sent Shona and me into tears.

I'm hoping this current blood infection will pass through Percy quickly. I'd harbored a secret hope that she'd be in the 20 percent of preemies her age who don't get infections, but I should know better than to play the odds. The job is mostly up to her now. Everybody on her team has done their best to give her a good start, and now she has to take over and be strong for herself. She's lost her fight for a little while, but I'm confident she'll get it back. That's why we named her Percy. It's short for Perseverance.


Entry 2

Updated Wednesday, Oct. 30, 2002, at 2:04 PM ET
Print This ArticlePRINTDiscuss this in The FrayDISCUSSEmail to a FriendE-MAIL
Share on FacebookPost to MySpace!Share with MixxDigg ThisShare with RedditShare with del.icio.usShare with FurlShare with Ma.gnolia.comShare with SphereShare with Stumble Upon
Zac Unger is a firefighter in Oakland, Calif. His daughter was born three months premature and is in the neonatal ICU.
Join the Fray: our reader discussion forum
What did you think of this article?
POST A MESSAGE | READ MESSAGES

Remark From The Fray (Day 4):

Zac, you need insurance counseling. Your post contains some misinformation that could be costing you a bundle of money. The most glaring is that the insurance company has a rule on whose insurance company has to cover a baby when each parent has different insurance. There is no such rule. Your wife should have been able to pick up coverage of your infant from day one (this is a little complicated, since it depends on a couple of additional facts, but most of the time you can add a dependent upon the birth of one). The so-called birthday rule has to do with the coordination of benefits when someone is covered by more than one insurer, not on whether the insurer owes you coverage to begin with.
Under federal law you have the right to add a new dependent so long as you act within 30 days to add her -- the surrogate thing is a little odd -- but the right applies to adoptive children, so whichever way, if you are the legal guardian of a new dependent there should be no issue with coverage if you act promptly. Finally, ignore those hospital charges. Your insurer, and certainly your wife's HMO should be able to negotiate serious discounts, and I mean in the 30-50% range. Moreover, and here's where you need to keep on top of things: Your maximum -- as well as your copayments and co-insurance -- should be calculated in line with what your insurer is PAYING and not what your hospital is CHARGING. Charges are a hospital's wish list. No one really pays full charges. Unless your insurer is seriously out of step with the California norm. You don't want your $2million maximum being determined by an amount that is being charged if your insurer has only paid half that much. Good luck.

-- Barbara

(To reply, click
here.)


Remark From The Fray (Day 3):

Try Hazel's -- very good, will be a nice break for you from the bad strip mall food. Also, take a drive out into the country side sometime. Very pretty and may get your mind off the vagabond. The central valley does have its virtues, and I hope it helps your baby girl to grow strong so you can take her home.

-- Emily de Ayora

(To reply, click
here.)


Remarks From The Fray (Day 2)

Am I alone in my confusion? I don't understand why a person would pour thousands of dollars and gallons of tears into the effort of bearing their own child when there are so many children already out there who need a good home and loving parents.

I feel for the author. My prayers are with him, his wife, and their tiny, fragile daughter. But in the back of my mind, I wonder why these people were so desperate to have "their own" child that they endured six miscarriages, paid for in vitro fertilization and a surrogate mother when they could more easily have saved a child from our overcrowded foster care system, or from starvation and poverty in a 3rd world country.

What motivates this difficult, and, to my mind, somewhat selfish choice? Even though I am not a parent myself, I do understand that there are no easy answers, no simple solutions.

-- Miss mae

(To reply, click
here.)


You try because it would be YOUR flesh and blood. Surrogate or not, Percy will be their flesh and blood. My wife and I had a difficult time having a successful conception. And while the thought of adopting, possibly from the 3rd world, was discussed at various times, until someone comes out and says "You can't have your own...period", you keep trying. And for better of worse, medical science has given people a lot of things to try.

-- Scott

(To reply, click
here.)


I guess some people have a special need to pass on their genetic material, but I can't imagine loving our daughter any more if we had gone through the pregnancy ourselves.

However, I hesitate to suggest adoption too strongly. After all, if someone can't view an adopted child as "their own" or somehow inferior to a birth child, then they really shouldn't adopt.

-- Ferante

(To reply, click
here.)


Everyone knows that there are risks involved in the costly process of assisted pregnancies, but there are just as many in the difficult and sometimes process of adoption. People sometimes wait years for a child, or are deemed, for one reason or another, unsuitable to adopt. People who have done all the paperwork to adopt children in foreign countries have suddenly been told that they can not bring their children home due to kinks in the red tape. Young mothers who give up their children for adoption have come back later and taken the child back. Foster care can be equally heart-breaking. Families take in a child and become attached to that child, only to have the child removed at a later date. Surrogacy is a choice. It is one that medicine has made available to us, and no one should be criticized for the decision to take advantage of that advance.

-- Christe

(To reply, click
here.)


Remarks From The Fray (Day 1)

This one brought back a lot of memories. As another "graduate of NICU" and as an alumnus of the Life on a Lillypad club (what our mothers-on-bedrest group was called), I watched others go through this and thought "but for the grace of God there go I".

I was pregnant with the twins, and started spotting in class (I was in college at the time). I went to the doctor, and he sent me directly to the hospital where I spent four months on drugs (magnesium sulfate and tributiline) to stop premature labor. Luckily for me, it worked, and instead of being born at 24 weeks and at just over a pound a piece, my daughters were born at 35 1/2 weeks, at over 5 pounds a piece. We spent 16 days in NICU due to hardcore jaundice and a suspected heart murmur in one of them.

I was incredibly lucky, in many respects. My daughters were over seven pounds before they came home - they made up for lost time in a big way. The heart murmur never materialized into anything real and a few days under the lights dealt with the jaundice. The only side effect we had was spending six months on caffeine and periodic monitoring to prevent and monitor sleep apnea (worked - mostly because they didn't sleep!). We took them off it in due time, it took three days for their systems to get to normal, and they have never looked back. That was almost 12 years ago.

I can remember the fear of looking at your child in incubator, afraid every second of loosing her, starting at every beep and red light on the countless machines hanging off her. I only had to do it for a couple of weeks - they have months of this heartbreak in store even if all goes well. I watched other parents looking through the glass at extremely tiny ones, with hope and terror and anguish warring for space on their faces. I can empathise about the pain of not being able to hold the child - that was the hardest part for many of the mothers. I can assure you that the only thing you can do at this point is talk about the baby and pray, and wash your hands all the time (I would swear I still have Betadine stains under my nails).

He has a tough row to hoe, both as a father and as a husband. You are so helpless. If he finds any sort of help and comfort from writing this stuff down, then let him. I'll read, and commiserate.

-- MsZilla

(To reply, click
here.)

(11/1)





Washington Post