My sister had my baby!
Monday 30th March 2009
She was out of her seat like a rat up a drainpipe. 'Got it!' shrieked my sister, Angela Strannigan. 'Two little ducks, 22!' It was fair to say my big sis loved her weekly game of bingo. As for me, I couldn't have cared less. Instead of waving my dobber around, I had both my hands placed firmly on my own jackpot, Angela's six-month baby bump. 'Will you sit down,' I laughed. 'Poor Peanut must feel like she's on a bouncy castle in there.'
Peanut was my nickname for my baby. Yes, you read that right. Angela, 37, was pregnant, but the baby was mine. We've all heard the story. A woman can't get pregnant and her sister offers to help. Well, that's what happened to me in December 2005, when I was told I had pre-cancerous cells in my womb. I was 34 and had been with my fiancé, Chris, for six years. 'I'll do anything I can to help,' Angela said.
Angela and I had always been the best of mates. We lived just 10 minutes away from each other, and were as joined at the hip as two grown women could be. Which is why I was so close to her kids, Aimee, 13, and Lewis, 8. But I still longed for a baby of my own, with Chris, 30. I took the hormone treatment my doctor had prescribed and hoped it would stop the cancer developing. But three months on, I was diagnosed with cancer of the womb and told my uterus and ovaries would have to be removed. What was it Angela had said? I'll do anything I can to help. Angela was in the room with me when the consultant broke the news. I knew I didn't even have to ask. We didn't waste any time. That day, Angela and I both had scans to start the ball rolling for her to be my surrogate.
Over the next month, we both had injections to synchronise our cycles and make me ovulate. Twelve eggs were collected from me, and two healthy embryos were implanted into Angela. Two weeks later, she came round to do a pregnancy test. And when Angela walked out of the loo, a big smile spreading across her face, my eyes filled with tears. 'It's positive,' she grinned. After that, I barely had time to get my head round what was happening. But one fact didn't escape me. Angela's womb had a tiny life growing in it, and I was about to lose my womb altogether. The following day, I went to Singleton Hospital in Swansea
for a hysterectomy. The whole family pitched in. Our mum, Linda Richards, 61, even offered to clean both our houses so neither of us did too much. Fortunately, the hysterectomy seemed to stop the cancer in its tracks. Meanwhile, Angela was blooming.
Watching her glowing with health, stroking her bump, it was hard not to feel envious. Of course I'd have loved to have carried the baby myself, but this was as close to being pregnant as I was going to get. 'I'm just babysitting for nine months,' Angela said. Now, it was November 2006, and we'd all gone to bingo. The baby hadn't stopped moving so I'd abandoned the bingo to feel its tiny feet drumming on her bump. Pure heaven.
Only, the next morning, I woke up in a fog of sadness.
Tears dripped down my cheeks. 'What is it?' Chris asked. 'Hormones I guess,' I cried. The HRT patches I'd been on since my hysterectomy were sending me on an emotional roller coaster. I was over the moon about the baby, but some days, I was crippled by sadness. Then there was the guilt. How could I feel like this when I had a baby on the way? One thing got me through it. Well two, actually, Angela and the baby. She was 30 weeks along when Chris and I married at Swansea Register Office on 10 November 2006. 'I can't bear to leave you,' I told Angela the next day as we headed off to Rome for a two-night honeymoon. 'Peanut and I will be waiting for you when you get back,' she smiled.
I couldn't have asked for a more perfect surrogate. Or a more perfect sister. Angela had a tilted pelvis, so she'd had to have her two kids by Caesarean section, and she'd have one this time, too. Her husband, Jason, and I had both been with her for the births of her two. So I knew the drill. It was booked for 15 January 2007. On the way to Singleton Hospital, I felt like I was sitting on a live wire. Fear, excitement, worry. You name it, I was feeling it. I hadn't carried Peanut, what if I couldn't bond with the baby? What if she only wanted to be with the familiar smell of Angela? By the time Angela was gowned up and ready to go, I was a wreck.
Suddenly, I felt her hand in mine. 'Ready to be a mum?' she smiled. My nerves melted away. In the operating theatre, the consultant looked at our notes. 'So baby's to go straight to you, Lisa?' he asked. Angela and I nodded. To avoid any kind of embarrassing confusion, we'd written a detailed birth plan. It was only seven minutes from the first cut to that precious cry. 'It's a girl!' Chris cried. And there she was, being bundled into my arms. My daughter. 'Oh sweetheart…' I choked, taking in her tiny, scrunched-up face and delicate little hands. 'You're so beautiful,' I sobbed. Tears streamed down my face and I felt like I'd never stop crying.
'I'm going to call you Evie,' I whispered. 'Do you like that? Suddenly, I became aware of Angela smiling up at me. The look on her face was priceless. Sheer pride. 'Congratulations Mum,' she smiled. Angela's blood pressure had shot up, so she was being kept in hospital. 'I can't take Evie home and leave you here,' I insisted. 'I'm going to stay.' 'It'll be like when we were kids and we shared a bedroom,' she laughed. We had a private twin room with Evie's cot between us. Angela's breasts were leaking milk, but we bottlefed Evie so she didn't get confused. After four days, Chris and I took Evie home. She was 2 months old when Mother's Day rolled round. Dear Auntie Angel, I wrote to Angela. I love you so much.
She was an angel. She'd made my dreams come true. But my emotions were still all over the place. Days later, I woke up feeling so sad, I could have burst into tears. Just then, Angela called. 'What's wrong?' she asked when she heard my shaky voice. I confessed how awful I'd been feeling since I'd started HRT. 'Why didn't you tell me?' she said. 'The HRT obviously isn't working.' As usual, Angela was right. I went to my GP and it was decided it was best for me to come off the HRT. Within two weeks, I started to feel brighter.
'You saved me again,' I smiled to Angela when she popped round. Evie's 2 now, and I still can't believe my luck. Sometimes, I feel so grateful, I'll send Angela a random text in the middle of the day saying: Thank you so much, I love you. By giving me Evie, she changed my life forever. But you know what? She's so selfless, I'm still not sure she realises what she's done. Sisters like Angela don't come along often. Thank you sis. I love you.