Beth’s backward slide and panic attacks caused us to shelve our baby plans for a while, but she was determined to forge ahead once she felt we had found the right combination of medications and was stable enough. We were hunting around for reproductive endocrinologists, and someone recommended Dan Tulchinsky who was working out of the Malden Hospital. This guy was no lightweight. He was pretty accomplished. He was also an incredible homophobe who clearly had a problem with same-sex couples having children. I cannot recall exactly what his comment was, but it had something to do with refusing to help unless we had counseling first. While I don’t remember the exact conversation, I do remember two unspoken words that kept running through my head as he spoke. I believe they were, “Fuck you.” In spite of his credentials, Dan Tulchinsky was a totally negative experience (something that Beth did not need at this time). I brush assholes like that off, but Beth does not. It turned her off to the process for quite a while, like maybe two years.

By the way, I suppose this as good a place as any to relate the family response to our decision. There were really no issues on my side of the family, other than how some of the elders would take it once they found out. By elders, we meant good old Auntie Buddy and her sister, Auntie Muff (don’t ask, don’t tell on this one — for now). My sisters told me to do it and not worry about it. When we told Beth’s mother, her only response was, “Gay people shouldn’t have children.” Actually, she pretty much felt that gay people shouldn’t even draw a breath, so we just shrugged that one off and moved forward.

Going it alone

Our post-Tulchinsky foray back into baby making started at The Fenway Community Health Center, which has always been a great resource for the GLBT community. We were readers of Bay Windows and there was an ad there about an information session being given by a woman named Jennifer Firestone, who runs an organization called Alternative Family Matters. She was nothing like Dan Tulchinsky. She was positive and upbeat, and taught us how to deal with the negativity we’d come up against down the road. We have fallen out of touch with Jennifer now and I have been unable to find her organization on the web, but we were in touch with her for many years after.

After our visit to the Fenway, we were definitely ready to go. We left with all our ovulation charts and instructions for taking basal temperatures. All we needed was a physical and a letter from Beth’s primary care doctor stating that she was healthy enough to move forward. We had no problem getting that. Then, it was a question of deciding where to order the sperm and what kind of donor we would choose. There are many more sperm donor sources now, but back then there were just two reputable sources — the California Cryobank and one other somewhere in Virginia. We decided to go with the California Cryobank.

One other important decision we had to make was whether or not we wanted a donor who wanted to be involved, or one that wanted to remain totally anonymous. We chose the latter. What is right for each couple is different. We knew we wanted to build a family together and that we did not want to have to consult a third party for every decision. We also did not want the headache of dealing with the biological father should we disagree on certain issues. (By the way, Jennifer had chosen differently. She and her partner knew the donor and he was involved in the child’s life.) Now all we had to do was look for Mr. Right. Because we are both 100% Italian, we decided that we wanted a donor of Mediterranean descent — preferably Italian or Greek.

We had access to short bios online. If someone looked good to us, we could pay $25 to get a very detailed, multi-page report that would tell us everything about the donor: physical characteristics, education level, work history, ancestry, genetic diseases — the whole nine yards. We chose a Greek donor. Hey, what could be better — Greek and Italian. Can’t beat it. We registered with California Cryobank and sent in the required paperwork, including the letter from Beth’s doctor. We were all set and ready to go. All we had to do now was chart, order dad and break out the old turkey baster.

I do not know how it works now, but we literally had to make three attempts on our own before Beth could qualify as infertile and a candidate for artificial insemination. That meant $1,500 worth of “dad” right off the top, one of the expenses in the equation not covered by insurance. We would have no problem getting there. From the first attempt, Beth’s temps were all over the place. We couldn’t figure out if she was actually ovulating or not, but we pressed on. We’d take the temp. We’d order from California Cryobank and it would arrive via FedEx. [The first order had to go to the doctor's office as a confirmation that it was a legitimate approval. The rest were shipped to our condo in Beverly*.] Then we’d try the insemination at home and Beth would stand on her head for a while. The next step was the inevitably disappointing ept pregnancy test result.

Time to choose a new doctor

By the time our third attempt had taken place, Beth had moved on from her therapist in Cambridge to a new therapist in Newton. We’ll call her Laura Fames, even though I’d prefer to call her something quite different. In spite of my opinion of her as a therapist, she did turn us on to a great infertility specialist — Robert Weiss at Boston Medical Center. We made an appointment and brought all of our charts and bits of information with us. Beth and I both liked him immediately. He had no issues with lesbians having babies. Dr. Weiss had helped others. After looking at the charts, he determined that Beth had not been ovulating. He prescribed a round of clomid, an oral drug that induces ovulation.

The statistics we saw at the time showed that clomid was pretty successful, with pregnancy occurring within the first six cycles. We tracked temperatures again and when the time was right we went in to Boston Medical for artificial insemination. The one thing we didn’t want to do was hang around just…waiting. Then, inevitably, you start looking for signs…evening imagining them. We had a trip to Washington, D.C. planned and we stuck with it. It was one of our favorite places. We were going to drive down and hang out for a week, so we did. It kept our minds off what was hopefully going on in Beth’s body.

We stayed at the Omni in DuPont Circle because it has a large GLBT population. We did the Smithsonian in its entirety; my favorite at the time was the Air & Space Museum. We visited the Lincoln Monument and walked around the mall. We went by the White House several times, but never went on the tour. We could live without that. We visited some coffee shops. Yes, that included Starbucks. There was one right there in DuPont Circle. We ate dinner one night at Trumpets, a gay restaurant on Q Street. I remember we also ate at Nathan’s in Georgetown (now gone), but I really don’t remember any of the other restaurants we visited. We kept busy and kept our minds occupied. Because I was the Massachusetts 6th Congressional District coordinator (a fancy term for gay rights lobbyist) for the Human Rights Campaign (HRC), we paid a visit to our contact at their D.C. office. Before we knew it, it was time to drive home!

A triumphant return

On the ride home, Beth wasn’t feeling that well. To be honest with you, we didn’t put much stock in that because we figured it was way too early. Before we left on vacation, we had set up a time to go back to Boston Medical Center for a blood test. It was at least a week away so, again, we tried to put it out of our minds. Over the remaining waiting time, Beth complained about her back hurting and some nausea. We chalked it up to the fact that she was a chiropractor’s dream anyway and nausea was a way of life with someone who had ulcer issues in the past and who was presently saddled with panic disorder.

Our routine continued, and we went back for a blood test. The next day, we received a call from Dr. Weiss himself with the great news: Beth was indeed pregnant! So much for routine. Nothing was going to be routine anymore. Beth’s reputation as the Medical Marvel was about to be born. The fun was just beginning.

*Here’s a funny little story about one of our sperm shipments. One Saturday morning, we waited for the delivery to arrive. It didn’t show up at the door. We waived FedEx signature requirements and it had always been there just about the same time every time. We decided to track the shipment, and the records showed that it had been delivered. I was just about to call the toll-free number when our bell rang. The little old lady in the end condo was standing there with her son, who was holding the FedEx box from the California Cryobank. She said, “I don’t think this belongs to me.” We all just started laughing.