People Magazine

JILL SMOLOWE, NATASHA STOYNOFF, 
February 27, 2003

“This is the place where babies are made, families are formed, hopes and wishes and dreams are realized.” 
- Mission statement of a California fertility clinic

Eight hands are on Deborah Bolig’s bulging stomach, searching for signs of two kicking 5-month-old fetuses. “Which one is on the left?” asks former Good Morning America host Joan Lunden. “The boy,” Bolig answers. “He’s been kicking a lot more than the girl.” Again, all eight hands probe. “The babies have been a little quiet this morning,” she adds. “As soon as things quiet down, they will wake up.” While Bolig’s husband, Pete, looks on proudly, Lunden wraps the pregnant woman in a hug as Lunden’s husband, Jeff Konigsberg, drapes a protective arm around Bolig’s shoulder. “Deborah tells me everything that’s going on,” says Lunden with giddy delight. “When you have a really nice relationship with the surrogate and her husband, it’s great.”

For many fans, who cheered the blonde dynamo on through three pregnancies during her 17 years cohosting GMA and sighed contentedly when, eight years after a bitter divorce, she wed Konigsberg, the big surprise is that Lunden has chosen at 52 to build on her brood of three grown daughters. “Even before I met Jeff, I really wanted to find somebody who wanted to have a family,” says Lunden, who has written two parenting books. For men and women battling fertility problems, the bigger headline is that Lunden and Konigsberg, 42, are enjoying such a happy, stress-free experience with surrogacy, a word that often conjures up images of heart-wrenching custody battles. “You usually only hear about surrogacy when there’s a horror story,” says Lunden. “Word needs to get out that it is a viable option if done safely and correctly with a good agency so everyone is protected.” As for Lunden, whose current gig as host and producer of A&E’s Behind Closed Doors has included rock climbing and skydiving, the prospect of twins seems a great adventure. “I’m not the typical fiftysomething. I don't even have a second thought about it,” she says. “I’m choosing a lifestyle where I will have a couple of little ankle biters chasing me around for the next 10 years. I want it!”

If all goes according to plan, on or around June 9, Bolig, 42, also a mother of three girls, will give birth in Cincinnati to twins with whom she has no genetic connection. Konigsberg provided the sperm; a different woman (perhaps Lunden -- she declines to say) provided the eggs. Embryos that resulted from in vitro fertilization (IVF) were then implanted in Bolig, the “gestational surrogate.” Lunden and Konigsberg, who at this point are called the intended parents, will be on hand for the delivery, at which point they will become the actual parents, with only their names listed on the birth certificates. Why are they so confident about a happy ending? “This,” says Lunden, “is a journey that started quite a while ago.”

In November '96, to be precise. By then Lunden, recovered from the 1992 collapse of her 13-year marriage to TV producer Michael Krauss and still months from her bruising ouster by GMA execs, was ready again for love. Seated in a suburban deli, she spotted Konigsberg. “He had this great smile,” Lunden recalls, “and I said, 'Why can't I meet a nice man like that?' ” A moment later Konigsberg, who owns and directs children’s summer camps in Maine, walked up to her table. “There was an unbelievable instant connection between us,” says Lunden. The relationship progressed quickly. A few months later, she says, “I did a fertility test, just to make sure. You want to know what your options are.” The tests indicated that pregnancy was still a possibility.

After they married in April 2000, they turned immediately to IVF to try to get Lunden pregnant. “I think we went through five attempts,” says Lunden. “They were disappointments, obviously, and big ones. I love being pregnant, and I wanted to do it so Jeff could have that experience.” About a year ago, Konigsberg told her, “I really think time is of the essence.” Hoping to maintain a biological connection, they decided to investigate surrogacy first. “Adoption wasn't the next step for us, which is funny because my brother Jeff is adopted,” says Lunden. After doing research on the Internet and speaking with friends who had enjoyed positive surrogate experiences, they made an appointment at the Center for Surrogate Parenting (CSP) in Encino, north of Los Angeles. The choice of venue was deliberate: unlike most states, California favors the intended parents should a custody dispute arise.

During six hours of interviews with the center’s staff, the couple voiced their concerns. “How can you be assured that (the surrogate) is clean-living and not smoking or drinking?” Konigsberg asked. Lunden wondered, “Do you have to worry about the person keeping the baby?” Their concerns eased when they learned that each month CSP screens hundreds of applicants, from which only six are selected. “The surrogates have had their own biological children, and they are financially solvent,” says Konigsberg. “The center makes sure everyone is on the same page.” After discussing how much contact the pair wanted with the surrogate before, during and after the birth, the staff decided Bolig was the best candidate for them.

Then Lunden and Konigsberg needed to convince Bolig that they were the right couple for her. “We sat down and wrote Deborah a letter,” says Lunden. “I was nervous.” She needn't have been. “In the letter the overall feeling was that they loved children,” says Bolig. Last August Lunden and Konigsberg traveled to Cincinnati. “Talk about the ultimate blind date!” says Lunden. Both women remember feeling an immediate bond. “Once I got over 'Oh my God, it really is Joan Lunden,' I forgot they were a high-profile couple,” says Bolig. “I thought they were a really loving, wonderful couple.” Pete says he found them “extremely down-to-earth and easy to talk to.”

Over the course of that lunch, Lunden and Konigsberg realized that Deborah, a proofreader for a bookbinding company, was in this for more than the roughly $22,000 she will earn as a CSP surrogate. (For Lunden and Konigsberg, the tab will be closer to $65,000 when medical and legal costs are factored in.) She told them that at 25, she first read about surrogacy and “knew that I wanted to do it.” So much, in fact, that prior to marrying Pete in 1988, she expressed her interest. Last February Deborah delivered twin boys for a British couple. “At the birth, I felt such pride,” she recalls. “I just created a family for them!” Lunden says she and Konigsberg “liked that Deborah had gone through it before, understood it, knew what she was getting into.” Lunden left the lunch convinced that “Deborah would take care of these children like they were her own.”

Pete’s support was also critical. “You need to have the right kind of spouse who’s going to really embrace this,” says Konigsberg. “He has the responsibility of taking care of their three daughters and making sure his wife is comfortable.” Their early impressions of Pete, 49, a corporate health and safety project manager, have been borne out. “He’s very protective of Deborah, Joan and me,” says Konigsberg. Pete says, “I get the benefit, by marriage, of being around.”

On Oct. 10 at a hospital near L.A., Lunden held Deborah’s hand as the embryos were transferred to Deborah’s uterus. “Jeff left the room when we actually did the stirrup thing,” Lunden says, laughing. Relations grew intimate so quickly that both were in the room for the first ultrasound on Nov. 7. “Deborah was lying down,” Konigsberg recalls. “The doctor said, 'Would you like to hear the second heartbeat?' And I said, 'We're having twins?' I looked at Joan. ... I gave Deborah a kiss. ... Then, I kissed Joan.” Says Lunden, with a laugh: “He didn't know who to kiss first!”

Since then the couples have been in constant contact. The women speak daily; the husbands exchange e-mails. “Joan,“ says Bolig, “is easy to talk to because she remembers what it’s like to be pregnant.“ Lunden knows all about her surrogate’s first 12 weeks of morning sickness and her ongoing heartburn, as well as the twins' every kick and hiccup. “She really gives me a sense of the pregnancy,“ says Lunden, “so I can enjoy the experience.“

Lunden’s daughters -- Jamie, 22, Lindsay, 19, and Sarah, 15 -- are also getting a vicarious thrill. “Lindsay says, 'I want to go pick everything out with you,' “ says her mom. As for Sarah, the only one who still lives at home, “She’s really psyched she’s not going to be the youngest anymore.“ All three daughters, says Lunden, will make great babysitters. “This experience has made our family that much closer,“ says Konigsberg. “At a time when these girls are gaining independence, this has been an experience where they have been able to come back to the nest.“ While the Boligs' girls (Alexandra, 14, Victoria, 12, and Kate, 11) understand that the babies are not their siblings, they too are delighting in the pregnancy. “They’ve said they are proud of me,“ says Bolig. “They tell their friends, ’my mom’s a surrogate.' “

Back home in suburban Connecticut, Lunden and Konigsberg have already picked out cribs and changing tables, though not names. For the last month they’ve been practicing late-night feeding shifts in their six-bedroom modern house. “I'll say, 'Honey, you get a good night’s sleep -- tonight I'll take care of the twins,'“ says Konigsberg, smiling. “So when they actually arrive, it will be Joan’s turn.“ As they look ahead to the delivery, they talk about the day they'll tell the twins about their origins. “I’m going to say, 'Kids, your mommy needs to tell you something,' “ Konigsberg jokes. “Not only will we tell them,“ says Lunden, “but hopefully they'll meet the Boligs at some point. Our hope would be that Deborah and Pete remain part of our lives and connected to us forever.“

-- JILL SMOLOWE
-- NATASHA STOYNOFF in Cincinnati

Boomers trying to beat clock

CHARLIE FIDELMAN, Montreal Gazette

Monday, May 27, 2002

"This is the place where babies are made, families are formed, hopes and wishes and dreams are realized." 
- Mission statement of a California fertility clinic

There’s a murmur of anxiety among the couples sitting in the pale blue waiting room of the Procrea fertility clinic. Some couples hold hands. Others are so nervous they're sitting apart, not even looking at each other. The world of clinical baby-making can be a brutal one for baby-boomers who are trying to beat the clock. "This is your last chance," a Montreal gynaecologist told a pair of professionals in their early 40s making a second stab at an in vitro fertilization (IVF) treatment. A few days later, the couple got a call from a hospital technician with a brief message: the last chance failed, goodbye. "That was so cruel," said Margaret (not her real name) of the call that marked the end of her and her husband’s hellish road to parenthood. The couple was devastated. It wasn't supposed to happen like that. Both planned for education and career, followed by marriage and a house - and then children. Simple as pie. Only it wasn't.

It’s no secret fertility dwindles with age. Recent research, however, suggests it declines earlier than expected for both men and women. Science devoted to resetting the biological clock shows it starts ticking loudly - at age 27 for women and 35 for men. What’s available for want-to-be parents who are past their best-before due date? The choices are assisted reproduction, adoption or learning to live without children, Procrea gynecologist Louise Lapensee says quietly. But most people making the rounds of fertility clinics aren't looking for adoption. They want their own bundle of joy and they'll pay whatever it takes to get one. In Canada, the average cost of a baby conceived through IVF is $16,000. Add to that the physical and psychological stress - one in three couples split - and the final cost is high. (A psychologist’s visit is included with IVF treatment.) "I’m here to help them go there if they want to go in that direction," said Lapensee, formerly of the McGill Reproduction Centre, which, like Procrea, is among the largest clinics in Canada. Together, the two perform about 130 IVFs a month.

"It’s always a pleasure to say, 'You are pregnant,' but there are limits," Lapensee said. "Some people will pay anything even for a tiny, tiny chance." Despite great strides, science can go only so far, she said: "Women are waiting too long. If I could pass along one message, it’s start earlier. Don't lose precious time." Reproductive technologies are subject to legal and scientific limitations. In Canada, cloning, the sale of eggs or sperm, and commercial surrogacy are illegal. IVF - where egg meets sperm in a petri dish and the resulting embryo is later transferred to the uterus - is rarely performed on women older than age 52.

Andre Gosselin and his wife, Francine Corbeil, found happiness for more than $11,000. "It was all worth it," Gosselin said of their pretty twin girls, born 13 months ago. By then, they had experienced five painful years of high-tech efforts at making babies - and had had enough. The couple canceled plans to start another baby when none of their frozen embryos survived the thawing process recently. "We agreed to stop there because we achieved our goal. The emotional strain was too much," said Gosselin, 48, a school principal on the South Shore. "Each month when it didn't work was like a death. Four years of mourning was tough," he said of failed attempts before IVF. "It’s so difficult that if the IVF hadn't worked, we’d have called it quits then and there." When three years of trying to make a baby the old-fashioned way didn't work, the couple sought professional help. The clinic recommended artificial insemination, the first line of intervention. Seven failed insemination attempts later - at $250 a shot - the couple was desperate. Next in line? IVF. But one try only. Forget the money-saving package of three IVFs for the price of two. "The economic factor is one thing, but the psychological aspect is just enormous," said Gosselin, head of the Quebec Fertility Association, which offers support and counseling. The IVF treatment gave Gosselin and Corbeil four embryos. Two were implanted in utero, two were frozen. Exactly 14 days later, the couple returned for a pregnancy test. But they couldn't handle sitting anxiously in Procrea’s reception room. They went home for the announcement. Gosselin recalled feeling euphoric when the clinic called:"It washed away all the pain and tiredness. We cried, we laughed. We couldn't believe it." A photo of the smiling twins hangs at the clinic, along with other "success stories."

Such stories are great inspiration for Isabelle Ouimet and Alain Hebert, who have everything ready: a suburban house within walking distance of an elementary school, a big back yard, a dog, a van. All they need is a child. Ouimet, 27, and her partner have been trying for a baby for eight years. Doctors can't explain their infertility. "My good luck I didn't wait until age 35 to start," said Ouimet, a television producer. She reels off the names of fertility drugs like they're candy bars: Puregon, Profaffi, Lupron, Humegon, Gonal, Progesteron. With every injection, she complains that medicare covers abortion but not infertility treatment: "I can't believe that it’s so easy for some people (to get pregnant) - and they don't even want to have children, whereas we have to spend so much money to produce a future taxpayer." The couple opted for the three-package IVF deal. Ouimet had three embryos transferred as part of the second IVF. The first one failed. The pregnancy test is next week. And if that fails, too, there’s always one more cycle of IVF to go. But the money has run out. "I might have to put aside my dream - for a baby, for a family," she said with regret. Reproductive technology has made huge strides since Louise Brown, the world’s first test-tube baby, made her debut in 1978. Today, an IVF baby is hardly remarkable, unless born to celebrity parents like Celine Dion and Rene Angelil. An estimated one in eight couples in Canada are sterile, defined as the failure to conceive over 12 months of unprotected sex. Infertility is creeping up slightly because people are waiting longer to start their families, said Dr. Norman Barwin, head of the Infertility Awareness Association. "But the perception is that it’s higher because of greater awareness of clinics and technologies." And even more would seek treatment if government insurance plans covered costs, fertility groups contend. "We have two-tiered medicine," Barwin said."Those who can have access and those who can't."

By the time a Canadian couple knocks on the door of a U.S. clinic seeking a surrogate mother, they’ve usually been through the fertility medicine mill. Most have been told there’s no hope; they can't have children. After eight miscarriages, Lenore, a Montreal photographer, knew she had to try something else. After her first unsuccessful IVF at age 35 in 1995, Lenore and her husband flew to Chicago’s Beer Clinic for testing then not available in Canada. Results were discouraging, but at least they knew the cause: Lenore’s immune system was killing off the fetuses. But none of the subsequent treatments - drugs in Chicago to counter the immune problem, combined with IVF treatments in Toronto - worked. "I did it all. Meanwhile, the clock is ticking. When I lost the last pregnancy in 1997, I decided that was it. We’d have to look for a surrogate,"said Lenore, who called the Centre for Surrogate Parenting, considered the Cadillac program for surrogacy in the United States. "This was all-out guerrilla warfare to try to have a baby," Lenore said. About three Canadian couples a month use the facilities' services, said centre director Karen Synesiou, paying between $60,000 to $75,000 U.S. each - travel and hotel not included. "You need a medical reason to do surrogacy," said Synesiou, who recently refused an Olympic athlete who didn't want to take time out to have a baby. Commercial surrogacy is illegal in Canada. Also, not-for-money deals require adoption because the person giving birth is legally the mother. Intended parents who, like Lenore and her husband, supplied the embryo through IVF would have been obliged to adopt their own biological child. In California, the intended parents are the legal parents. No adoption is needed. Still, it wasn't an easy decision, said Lenore, who abhors the term "rent-a-womb." "A woman is devoting time and energy to care for your child that she will then return to to you," she explained. "You're paying for services. It works out to less than working for McDonald’s. It’s a 24-hour job. It’s not like she can get away. If there’s an emergency, she’s in charge. You have to trust her." Suddenly, at week 29 of the pregnancy, the surrogate mother started bleeding. Lenore and her husband left Montreal and rented an apartment near the hospital, later haunting the intensive-care unit for the three months their baby was inside. "Every night at midnight, we’d mark the calender with X. We’d gotten through another day," said Lenore of the last agonizing weeks of pregnancy. Baby Adam was born two months early but viable."Whatever I achieve in my life, that will be the greatest achievement ever," Lenore said of Adam, now 21/2. "That child beats it all."

The Infertility Awareness Association of Canada can be reached through Anna Maria Henderson at (514) 842-1231 Ext. 34507.

The Web site for California’s Huntington Reproductive Centre iswww.havingbabies.com, while

Zouves Fertility Centre is www.goivf.com

(both work with the Centre for Surrogate Parenting atwww.creatingfamilies.com or 1-818-788-8288).

Charlie Fidelman’s E-mail address is This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..

In Vitro Fertilization On average, in vitro fertilization (IVF) treatments will cost about $16,000. This consists of a basic IVF package (three cycles) costing $9,000, plus $7,000 for medication. But you can expect to pay more if you're an older woman who requires more doses of fertility drugs, or additional procedures including egg or sperm donation, embryo freezing, storage and subsequent transfer.

Typical costs of treatment

Please note - different clinics charge different fees. This is a hypothetical case, based on the Montreal Gazette 2002 article Boomers trying to beat clock.

Other costs: (when it’s male-related infertility)

Frozen Embryo Transfer Costs

If you are willing to bear the cost, experts say a successful pregnancy can easily set you back $40,000 or more.

Source: Fertility Awareness Association of Canada