Does This Baby Make Me Look Straight?: Confessions of a Gay Dad Read Online Free PDF Page B

next day. The lawyer had warned us against giving her any money, officially. It is illegal to buy a baby in California, so we were limited to pregnancy-related expenses, which would have to be documented and would likely be scrutinized closely by the courts. All financial requests were to go through his office and be paid from an escrow account we set up. But we didn’t see any harm in making her feel like she was being taken care of. She texted me when she got to Vegas but that was it. She didn’t return any of our calls for almost two weeks. We were convinced we’d never hear from her again. We had heard stories of birth moms who backed out of their arrangements with prospective parents or changed their minds altogether. But eventually she surfaced and assured us that everything was fine. We just had to get used to the fact that she was in control of every part of the process, down to the frequency of our contact.
    Over the next few weeks, contact with Samantha was limited. We assumed this was normal. But then we started hearing from her all the time because her roommate was kicking her out of her house. She feared she was going to end up on the street. She couldn’t live with her mom anymoreand her boyfriend wasn’t an option. I didn’t ask why because I was afraid of the answer. But we also knew we couldn’t let our birth mom—and by default, our child—live on the street.
    I started calling residence motels and apartments in Las Vegas—on the outskirts of the Strip. We didn’t want to spend a fortune but wanted to make sure she and her child had food and shelter, a cell phone, and of course, a working TV.
    I found a place that allowed me to pay by the week. I’d have to call at the same time every Monday and give them my credit card number and they’d charge it for another week. Samantha asked if we could just send her the rent, but I didn’t feel comfortable and again, we’d been advised against sending money directly to our birth mother. That being said, on more than one occasion Don or I would find ourselves at Western Union wiring money for “essentials.” I had a sick feeling in my stomach about the whole situation, but what did I know? I assumed it was about the whole journey—about becoming a dad. Certainly women suffered a sick feeling for months of their pregnancy, so I could hardly complain. This would be our sick feeling. It was our first venture into open adoption, and I kept hearing I had to breathe and keep an open mind—and a bottle of Maalox handy.
    We’d call. No answer. Call again. No answer. “Maybe she’s out of town?” Don would offer. “With what money?” I’d ask. No way she was out of town. In my mind, she was lying facedown on the floor of her motel room surrounded by hypodermic needles.
    Around this time, our lawyer called to ask if Samantha had taken her mandatory blood screening. We checked withour doctor, whose office confirmed my memory that they had not taken blood at her last visit. She had told the nurses she was “needle phobic.” I decided to call Samantha’s doctor in Las Vegas, whose number was on the proof-of-pregnancy document we’d received from the attorney.
    The nurse, named Vicki, was a firm, impatient woman with a smoker’s rasp who told me right off the bat she was not at liberty to discuss confidential medical records of patients. I tried to explain that I was one of the prospective adoptive dads of Samantha’s unborn baby and I was looking at a proof of pregnancy issued by that office. She asked if I was calling from Los Angeles. “Yes,” I replied. How it was relevant, I didn’t know. She asked if I was in show business.
    “Uh, yes,” I answered, worried this would impact negatively her willingness to help. She asked if I was gay. I pretty much gave up any hope that she would be helping me out after that one, but it was too late to start making up stories.
    “Yes. My partner and I are both adopting.” Vicki’s demeanor turned on a