MY SISTER GAVE ME A BABY

Kirsty Chisholm, 33, had almost given up hope of having a baby of her own, until her younger sister made an incredible offer

An incredible act by a sibling

Balloons and bunting bobbed and fluttered as our family and friends joined us, excited for the big reveal. Pink and blue plates, napkins and cups surrounded an enormous cake. All my husband Charlie and I had to do was cut it. As we did, two layers of blue sponge emerged – we were having a boy! My sister Karen gave us a big thumbs up. She already knew, of course. In fact, she was the one with the bump. After years of trying to conceive, my incredible sister was carrying our baby.

With only just over a year between us, Karen and I grew up doing everything together. We relished sharing a bedroom and our parents’ divorce when we were nine and 10 brought us even closer. As teenagers, our paths diverged. Karen was rebellious, I was bookish. We would often clash, but within minutes we’d be friends again, fiercely loyal to each other. So when we grew up and I married Charlie and realised I couldn’t get pregnant, it was Karen I turned to for support.

She was brilliant and helped me through rounds of fertility treatment, leading me firmly past the maternity unit, where all I could see were excited faces and pregnant tummies, and coaxing me through the sadness each time someone close announced they were having a baby – even when one of those was her (I was obviously thrilled to be an auntie). But after three years of hospital visits, hormone injections and scans, the news got worse. My consultant called and told me I would need my ovary and Fallopian tube removed the following day. Waiting at the hospital, I stared at a poster that was stuck to the wall, it read, ‘The only thing more painful than having a baby, not being able to have a baby.’

When I came round from surgery, Charlie was at my side and Karen rushed to see me, bringing my adorable 10-month-old nephew, Tom. As Karen comforted me, Tom played on Charlie’s lap. Watching them, I could see what an amazing dad Charlie would be, yet it felt further away than ever. Karen, of course, read my thoughts. ‘Shall I take Tom away?’ she whispered. I nodded. When I think back to that moment, it’s still painful to remember how I reacted, but Karen understood completely.

Tests showed that I had a rare type of ovarian cancer, GCT. As it’s oestrogen driven, I was advised that having a child would increase the likelihood of the cancer returning. My only option was to have my eggs harvested before I began chemo. We were lucky enough to get five embryos, which were frozen. I called our embryos my pot of gold – the promise of a future family one day.

Six months of chemo was gruelling, but despite having her own partner, and by now two boys, Karen, armed with magazines and cups of tea, was there. When I was too weak to even get out of bed, she would climb in and hold my hand. The treatment finished just before my

30th and the future opened up again. We’d talked about Karen carrying a baby for me, but it always seemed like a whimsical idea that we were throwing around to make me feel like there could be a Plan B. Now I realised that my Plan B really was my best option – there was only one person I could ask for help.

After doing lots of research, I presented Karen with a folder of information on surrogacy, then asked the question. I knew she’d say yes immediately, but I wanted her to digest what a huge thing it would be to carry someone else’s baby for nine months, and then give it away. I told her not to rush her decision. It was a nervous wait – not because I was worried about the answer, but because it was such a huge journey to embark on together.

Within a couple of days, Karen called me. ‘Let’s do this,’ she said. ‘I want to help you have your baby.’

Karen had fallen pregnant quickly with her own sons, so when we received the first negative result, she was hugely disappointed – and felt she was letting us down. Charlie and I were accustomed to bad news, but Karen wasn’t, so the negative tests after rounds two and three were equally hard to bear. Embryo number five was our last chance – it was implanted in Karen’s natural menstrual cycle, and we just had to wait.

I was at work when my phone rang, ‘We’re pregnant!’ shouted Karen. That night, we celebrated with Prosecco, well, me at least, and tears. The journey had truly begun.

My sister made her pregnancy mine. I was at every appointment and scan, and she would take my hand, place it on her growing belly and say, ‘Feel that, that’s your baby moving.’ She said she didn’t want me to miss any part of becoming a mum. I think she worried about that more than I did. Perhaps she thought I would feel disappointed or envious that I wasn’t carrying my own baby. But I can honestly say that I didn’t. I’d come to terms with that and felt admiration for my sister and excitement for the baby.

I covered all my sister’s pregnancy costs, from lost wages to childcare as in a normal surrogacy arrangement, but she was giving me so much I wanted to do something to show my gratitude, so I surprised her by arriving with a wardrobe of new maternity clothes.

On the due date, Karen, her partner Chris, Charlie and I drove to the hospital together. Because the baby was big, Karen was induced, but as the hours passed and nothing happened, we sent the men home. The midwife brought a fold-out bed into Karen’s room so I could sleep next to her as she was in pain, and we held hands across the gap. I had a flashback to when we were two little girls on our annual camping trip, but this was very different.

The following day, with all four of us there, Karen’s waters were broken. It was awful seeing her in so much pain. I’d been her birthing partner when she’d had her first child, but this time it was my fault she was suffering, and I felt helpless. But she got through it and, two hours later, I stood at the bottom of the bed and watched my little boy, Matthew, enter the world. ‘This is your baby,’ the midwife said, passing him to me. As I held him, skin-to-skin, I realised Karen was watching us from the bed with a huge smile on her face. We were both crying happy tears – and everything felt right.

After the birth, Karen was taken to one room and Matthew and I went to another. I don’t know how she felt that evening, having given birth and not having a baby beside her. I’ve never asked, and Karen has never said. But the next day, the three of us had breakfast together and it felt completely natural and wonderful.

The two years since then have been a blur of the usual day-to-day highs and lows of motherhood, with the extra dimension that how we got here is never far from my mind. Shortly after Matthew was born, I was advised to have a complete hysterectomy. The cancer had returned, so I feel very grateful that I have a great surgeon and the right treatment. Matthew is two now, and I have check-ups every three months, which I find reassuring as I want to stay on top of my health – I’ve got a beautiful boy who needs me.

Karen and her family live minutes away, and our lives are as connected as ever. Matthew adores his ‘Aunty

Kar’ and I have to agree, Karen is pretty extraordinary. She’s given us the greatest gift and thinks nothing of it. It’s been a long, difficult journey, but we’ve done it together. Karen and I shared a womb, and there aren’t many sisters who can say that.

Around 7,400 women are diagnosed with ovarian cancer a year, and early detection makes a big difference to survival rates. Scientists funded by Ovarian Cancer Action are working on developing a screening tool for high risk women. To help Kirsty raise money to fund this vital research, visit justgiving.com/fundraising/ the wheeled warriors or ovarian.org.uk.

‘WE WERE BOTH CRYING. FINALLY IT FELT RIGHT’