Our Epiphany, Our Mission

At the time of their marriage, Owen was a mature 26 years of age and Barb was 27 as her birthday preceded his by six months. To her irritation, he frequently boasted to their friends of his skill as a lothario in landing an experienced older woman as his sex toy. Maybe Barbara wasn't yet fully experienced but she was well on her way.

Returning to Chicago after honeymooning in the Canadian Laurentians, their lives became fuller by the day. Owen's further promotions at Morgan represented financial security and Barb left Chicago Title to become a fulltime home maker, albeit to the moans of her department manager who appreciated how valuable she had become to the company.

Thanks to more than a little behind the scenes lobbying by his firm's senior Chicago partners, Owen was able to secure a seven figure jumbo mortgage from "The Gray Lady of LaSalle Street" and they bought their ivy-covered brownstone on Beldon Place. Their social life blossomed. Their circle of friends grew exponentially. Their devotion to each other deepened.

Sexually, the fumbling couplings of their early experiences grew into skilled harmony. With their willingness to experiment and the aid of a few tasteful books on alternative positions, nothing was off limits. Sex was glorious and they reveled in their compatibility.

Both were committed to do everything possible to keep their marriage fresh and to avoid the suffocating predictability of many unions. Owen learned that Barbara needed to be cared for and cared about daily. While accepting that his work required long hours, Barbara made sure that their time together was devoted to sharing intimate communication on all things. They had no major secrets and the minor ones weren't important. Arguments arose from time to time but they were usually resolved quickly without recriminations. They became one with each other.

The Epiphany

Two and a half years into their marriage, Owen's career was accelerating and Barbara found great satisfaction in being a home maker and an active volunteer in several of the charities they both felt worthwhile. They deserted their joint Presbyterian upbringing and became confirmed Episcopalians. On an average of twice a month, they attended Sunday service at the imposing diocesan cathedral on Huron Street, especially when Bishop Frank Griswold was officiating. "Remember," Owen joked, "Good Anglicans do everything in moderation and it wouldn't be proper to be seen in church every Sunday. Besides, I sure don't want to be known as a Bible thumper in the office. That wouldn't set very well with the brass. Don't forget, those guys are into God's wrath and atonement and all that stuff. Episcopal tolerance just isn't their bag."

On a cold November evening, the decision was made. Their marriage needed one more adornment for fulfillment. A child. It was time. Surprisingly, they sealed the agreement with a chaste kiss and went hand-in-hand to bed, foregoing sex.

Barbara had long ago replaced a diaphragm with monophasic estrogen pills as her birth control of choice. The first step was for her to discard the daily regimen of pills prescribed by her gynecologist, Dr. Benjamin Leventhal, and out they went the next morning. Conception did not

occur the first month as the residual effects of the oral contraceptive were flushed from her body.

Neither did it occur in the second month despite intensive couplings during Barbara's ovulation. In the third month, she started to track the timing of her menstrual cycle more carefully and they loved frequently during her three days of fertility. Nothing. With growing frustration, she took temperature readings twice a day and again they loved each other to distraction during her fertile period in the fourth month. Conception continued to elude them.

For the first time in their marriage, Barbara did not tell Owen her plans in advance. Quietly, she met with Dr. Leventhal to discuss their repeated failures and ask for his advice. Approaching the consultation with some uneasiness, she agreed with the doctor's recommendation that both she and Owen undergo a battery of fertility tests.

Her visit with Dr. Leventhal was difficult to bring up that evening but with the strength of a second large glass of Pinot Noir, she proceeded. Owen was surprised that she had seen the doctor without telling him but listened carefully to her fear that they may be incapable of conceiving the child they both wanted so much. He tried to calm her by citing the many advances in female fertility that had been developed over the last decade. "I'm sure the tests will show that some hormone injections are all that are needed to put you on the road to motherhood" he lightly said and Barbara basked in the certainty she always placed in her husband's words. The next morning she called Dr. Leventhal's office and scheduled her tests.

The tests amounted to nothing more that an internal examination, blood and urine samples and a pap smear. Everything would be analyzed and reported within 24 hours. The next afternoon, Dr. Leventhal called and cheerily said, "Barb, Ben Leventhal here. The results are back. You're A-OK in every respect and there's nothing preventing motherhood for you." He went on for some time suggesting what might be the next action for them to consider. "Discuss all of this with Owen and let me know your decision. I'll set up everything and please take my word on this, Dr. Bradburn is first rate and Owen will like him."

Her first reaction of relief was followed by dread. "Did this mean that something is wrong with Owen? Never. It can't be." Visualizing his penis straining upward in lust, he was the vision of virility. No, not just the vision! He WAS virility incarnate! Waves of negative emotions swept over her. This will kill him. Him, not me, being unable to conceive a child. Before her mood darkened, she willed herself to remember the doctor's assurance that men as well as women can be medically assisted with fertility problems. She paced repeatedly through their home that cheerless afternoon, waiting in agony for his return and the evening's conversation.

He immediately recognized her depressed mood, marked by near silence during dinner. "Oh God," he thought. "She heard from Dr. Leventhal and the news is bad." Over coffee in the den, he softly said, "Out with it Barb. Tell me how bad it is and how I can help you."

"It's how I can help you," Barbara thought, fearing the effect of the news on her husband. Breathing deeply, she said, "Yes, Ben did call today. Nothing was found in the tests that might indicate I'm unable to conceive." She sat back and waited for his response, knowing what her words implied.

"What did he say we should do next?" Owen asked warily. "Did he say it's my fault? That I'm sterile?" "No, no, he didn't say that at all," she quickly answered. "He's an OB/GYN, not a male specialist. He wasn't talking specifically about you, just in general terms. What he said was that there are many hormonal treatments available for men that have proven very effective." Pausing, she continued, "He also said that in vitro fertilization is always an option if the hormones don't work. But first of all he wants you to see a Dr. George Bradburn at Northwestern University Hospital. Ben said that Chicago is lucky to have him here because he's one of the top male fertility experts in the country. Please Owen, see this guy. I'm sure he'll prescribe something simple and we can get on with having a family. Ben will be happy to set up an appointment and explain our problem to Dr. Bradburn in advance." Shyly, she added, "If you want to know a secret, Ben asked my opinion about your libido. You can imagine my response to that! I blushed when I called you my stallion, but that's exactly what you are to me! He laughed and said he was pleased to hear that your desire level is obviously not our problem! Isn't that good news?"

They slept fitfully that night. At breakfast the next morning, Owen showed his lack of sleep. "OK, I'll go ahead. I'll call Ben today and have him arrange an appointment for me with Dr. Bradburn. I want to get this over as soon as possible." Darkly, he continued, "If I have to find some stud to fuck you into pregnancy when I can't, I have to know that too!"

Barbara was thunderstruck. "Fuck" was simply not in Owen's vocabulary. Even in his deepest lust while thrusting her to orgasm he had said the word no more than a dozen times during their entire marriage and never outside their bed. But now, his depression was palatable. "Oh God," she silently pleaded, "don't let this effect this man I love so much. Show us a solution."

Owen called Dr. Leventhal who arranged his appointment with Dr. Bradburn for the next Monday afternoon. During the week before the appointment, he was withdrawn and silent at home except for small talk or when a question from Barbara needed a reply. Respecting his mood, Barbara was equally quiet and their evenings were spent reading, watching television or listening to music. They went out for dinner with Carl Gebhardt and his latest girlfriend on Saturday but they didn't care for her very much and the evening was dull.

After seeing Dr. Bradburn on Monday, Owen returned home without going back to the office. "Sit down Babe, we have to talk," he dourly announced. Pouring a neat scotch, he started without preamble. "I'm sterile. No, that's not quite correct. I have what Bradburn calls a marginal sperm count. Do you want to know how he knows that? I had to jack off into a dish to give him a sample. Can you believe it, me sitting by myself choking the Bishop in his goddamn examination room! He didn't even have the courtesy to have his nurse slap the monkey for me! It was humiliating! After 10 minutes Mr. Ugly wasn't cooperating so he gave me a sleazy porno magazine to stimulate my imagination. God, what a shitty experience, jerking off to a picture of some bimbo blowing Ron Jeremy! What a fat slob he is. How could anyone gobble his dork? Money I guess. To top it off, the bastard wouldn't let me keep the magazine as a souvenir."

Biting her lip to keep from laughing, Barbara patiently let her husband rant until he ran out of steam. She then quietly asked what the doctor suggested as a solution.

"I shouldn't slam Bradburn. He's a good guy. Ben Leventhal said he would be. Businesslike and no hypocritical crocodile tears. I liked that." Taking a deep sip of the scotch, he continued. "As I get it, I'm not totally hopeless. I do produce a small number of fertile sperm and they can cause conception under certain ideal circumstances. He gave me a pamphlet describing some positions for us to try that may improve the chances." Pausing again, he went on. "Then you are suppose to carefully monitor your temperature during your ovulation. I guess the drill is that when the temperature is right I drop whatever I'm doing at the office and race home for a quick fuck in some ridiculous position. Maybe you should practice standing on your head. Maybe I should set up a goddamn trampoline in the bedroom. Jesus Christ, what a mess!" Barb could take no more. Holding her ribs she rocked with laughter at his raving. He looked up in surprise before seeing the humor. He laughed and wrestled her to the carpet. That night sex was fantastic.

They followed Dr. Bradburn's instructions during Barbara's next cycle. She took her temperature every eight hours and twice Owen answered her call to return home for a midday romp. And a romp it was with Barbara positioned flat on her back with pillows under her hips and her head and shoulders hanging downward over the edge of the bed. This isn't romance he complained. This is a chore to be completed when the thermometer demands. Somehow they managed to awkwardly join and he quickly climaxed. Barbara cooperated fully but needed a lubricating jelly to accept him. There were no orgasms for her during their six exposures over three days. A tube of Ben Gay ointment and Owen's massaging was needed to iron out the kinks in her back.

No conception resulted and they continued the prescribed positions for another month. Still nothing and Owen fell into depression. Never a heavy drinker, he started to need a second scotch each night to help him fall into a fitful sleep. His mood at breakfast was dreary. In the office, his trusted sansei secretary Tomoko asked him if he was facing a problem because he had started to bark at his assistants. Snapping back, he had her sobbing before realizing he had to grab onto himself or this sterility thing was going to hurt those he cared for and himself too. Apologizing and soothing Tomoko down before she quit and added an additional burden, he called Barb and the in vitro appointment was scheduled.

Again, he masturbated into a dish in one room of the clinic while her egg was withdrawn in the next. The egg and sperm were introduced to each other but they chose not to dance and conception failed.

It was time to look at other options.

First, adoption. To Barbara, adoption was something to deeply respect ... for others. Both she and Owen fully appreciated the nobility of a caring couple nurturing an unwanted infant. Indeed, one of their favorite philanthropies was the Episcopal Charities of Chicago and their adoption center. But Barbara wanted more than simply raising another woman's child. She wanted the full experience of pregnancy, the feeling of movement as the fetus grew and the pain of childbirth. Emotionally, she desperately needed all of this for her sense of fulfillment as a woman. She tried to explain her needs to Owen who, as a man, could not fully comprehend but could accept. They put adoption aside as the last resort.

In vitro conception using donated sperm was the next alternative. Barbara would play no role in the process other than receiving the fertilized ovum. However, all of her instinctual wants in pregnancy would be satisfied. While never identifying the donor, the clinic went to extreme lengths to match the male's genetic characteristics, intellectual level and personality profile with the recipient. Also, there would be no health danger as the history of every donor was carefully investigated. Barbara favored this alternative but it gnawed at Owen's self-esteem. "We'll have no say in the selection of the donor," he said. "Christ, when you buy a car you look over the lot but here you get what you're given. I'm sorry Barb, but I have a real problem with that because I'll always stew over his identity. Would I have liked him? Would I have respected him? Could I have accepted him as a friend? I need to know these things. This is important to me." They slept that night without arriving at a solution that was acceptable to them both.

The next Saturday morning was gray and wet. Not a day I would have chosen for an epiphany, Owen thought. Yet that is precisely what had occurred. Maybe a dream last night. Maybe a vision. Maybe a message from a higher power. No, I'm not going to credit or blame God for this. It's a solution. Nothing more. Nothing less.

It was his epiphany.

Owen's standard Saturday morning treat for Barbara was to prepare breakfast and everything was ready as she shuffled into the kitchen in her comfortable flannel robe and fur lined booties that she liked so much. Her hair was mussed from sleep and she was squinting because she hadn't put in her contacts. She was beautiful! Owen's heart swelled with love for this glorious creature. "Eat, woman, eat! Once again your Superman husband has solved the problem! Burlesquing, he beat his fists on his chest and made an off key rendition of a Tarzan yell. Barbara stared in disbelief. What's going on in the mind of this madman now?

What was going on was that Owen had arrived at a very logical solution to their fertility problem. A way to satisfy Barbara's need to experience pregnancy and his need to know the donor who would give them the gift of parenthood. The solution was simplicity itself. It was perfect.

He would select the donor and the donor would insemination her. It would be a natural conception. A conception designed by Mother Nature.

The Mission

To say Barbara was stunned would be the understatement of the decade.

She had come to accept the need for donated sperm. However, from the first she assumed that the traditional in vitro method of surgically implanting a fertilized egg in her uterus would be used. Not for a second had she ever conceived they would know the donor, much less that a natural impregnation would be involved. It was insane! Crazy! Bizarre thoughts raced through her mind. Would they see the man afterward? What would they feel if they did see him again? Could they live with themselves? Could they live with the child the union produced? Barbara immediately dismissed the last thought as unworthy of her. The child would not have been involved in the decision. Of course the child would be welcome. The child would be holy. Barbara was ashamed that her thoughts had included the child. But Owen's idea meant adultery pure and simple! There was no other word for it. Adultery! The whole idea was impossible.

He rattled on. "Don't you see it's the perfect solution? Not only will you experience pregnancy but I can choose the donor. And I would be satisfied in knowing the father as a man I can relate to and respect. When you think about it it's not really different from in vitro. The donor would be nothing more then that, just the donor. It's the perfect solution." Hesitating, he softly said, "And I can live with this, Barb, I really can. Yes, another man will be involved but it's not adultery in my eyes. I don't know what it is but it's not adultery. It's just a way for us to have the child we both want so much. Look on it as a mission. A mission to bring a child into our lives."

"Let me think, Owen," Barbara said. "This is a bit much to chew on on a Saturday morning." To lighten the mood, she continued, "and speaking of chewing, where's that wonderful breakfast you made for me? It's probably cold by now but your love is the only warmth I need. Thank you for that love ... but I need time to think about this alone. Let's talk tonight."

Anxiously waiting for the evening, Owen's mind was busy reviewing his opinion of his many male acquaintances that might quality as the donor. He rejected all but one. By evening he was ready to introduce Barbara to the future father of her child.

"It's Carl darling, Carl Gebhardt. Let me explain why. First, he's a dentist and these days dentists are every bit as careful in protecting themselves from disease as doctors are. Obviously, his health is a consideration and I will discuss that with him but I'm sure there'll be no problem there. Second, this will be a surprise for you but Carl fathered a child with a girl back in Toledo while they were both high school kids. I never knew her name. The child was a boy. The girl went to some out-of-town clinic for the delivery and the baby was immediately put up for adoption. Both of the families cooperated in keeping everything quiet. Anyway, that proves he's fertile ... but never say anything about his son for God's sake. It would devastate Carl to know you knew. Third, and most important to me, I have known Carl from my first day at Denison. We are as close as two men can be. I respect him. I know he would keep our secret forever. Finally, I think he could live knowing that he produced a child that he could never recognize. At least I'm pretty sure because he knows our problem and would do anything he could to bring happiness into our marriage. I suppose it would be a good idea to have some kind of document assuring his confidentiality in case anything happened to me. Maybe a written pledge of secrecy on all matters between us without specifically mentioning his paternity of the child ... something like a gag order. I can check the details with a lawyer."