Bearing Gifts - February 28, 2004

Approaching the door of John and Morag Riva’s house, I’m overtaken by three cats travelling at speed, making for the rectangle of golden light. As they go in, a curious dog comes out to investigate the guest. Some time later, John and Morag emerge amid a homely chaos of animals and children. As Morag makes steaming mugs of coffee she remarks that, to her, coffee is almost as good as a pregnancy test. "When I’m pregnant I go right off it. It’s one of the first signs. I start drinking tea. Not so much a craving as an anti-craving!"

There’s not much Morag doesn’t know about pregnancy. She has, in her own words, "been pregnant most of my life, or that’s how it feels". As well as her own three children, she has given birth to seven surrogate babies - seven gifts of life for couples unable to have children of their own. Frank, cheerful and easy going, she is a powerful advocate for surrogacy, which still provokes fierce moral and ethical debates across the world.

It was in 1990, once Morag already had two daughters, Jenny, now 20, and Vicky, 15, that she first wondered about surrogacy. She had read about the high-profile case of Kim Cotton, who gave birth to a baby for American parents in 1985, for a fee of Ł6,500. It provoked moral outrage, but for some childless couples it seemed to offer a fragile strand of hope. "It was a novel idea. I suppose I was attracted by the novelty value," says Morag. "I had a really easy time being pregnant with both girls, and we didn’t intend to have any more children of our own. I wondered, could I do that?"

Morag contacted Cots (Childlessness Overcome Through Surrogacy), the charity set up in 1988 by Cotton and Gina Dodds, the first Scottish woman to have a child by a surrogate. With no official guidelines for surrogacy in Britain, and the legal position unclear, Cots aimed to help match childless couples with potential surrogates, and offer help and advice.

Morag was prepared to go ahead, but only with the full support of John and her family. "It’s a fabulous thing to do, but it’s not worth risking your own family for," she says. John, a policeman, had few qualms. "I’m very, very confident in Morag’s emotional stability. I think it takes a very, very strong character to do what she does." He grins. "I did think she was a bit insane though."

It was only when Morag met the first couple she hoped to work with that she was struck by the full significance of what she was about to do. "I think it was only then I realised how desperate people are to have a baby. You get very complacent about your fertility when it’s not a problem. But when a couple wants children and can’t have them it dominates their lives. Most couples, before they come to surrogacy, have tried everything else. They really are desperate."

As she became friends with the couple, she made a crucial decision. "I made up my mind, however hard I found it, I would hand the baby over. I would not allow myself to change my mind."

The question of whether a mother can or should be made to give up her newborn baby remains the most contentious part of surrogacy. Unlike in the US, the law in Britain does not recognise surrogacy arrangements as binding. Although all surrogate children are created using the sperm of the intended father (and in host surrogacy, the mother’s eggs too), the surrogate is recognised by law as the natural mother. If, as happens in a small number of cases, she decides not to hand over the baby, the law will support her. Cots emphasises that this happens only in a tiny proportion of well-publicised cases. There is, on average, one surrogacy a week in Britain - Cots has handled nearly 500 since it began - the vast majority of which happen quietly and successfully.

However, when problems do occur, the inadequacy of the law is exposed. It is likely that firmer guidelines will be needed as the demand for surrogacy increases. More people are turning to surrogacy, particularly as women put off having families until later life. Often, by the time they discover they have fertility problems, they are already too old to adopt, and there are fewer and fewer babies available for adoption.

Morag gave birth to her first surrogate child, a boy, in 1991. She felt no reluctance when the time came to hand him over. "I was close to the parents. It was fabulous to see them with the baby, they were so delighted. I didn’t think of it as giving him away, I thought of it as giving him to his natural parents."

She says she has never thought of the surrogate babies as her own. "My second was born at 3am in a very busy labour ward, and I was left on my own in a room with her for three hours. I think if you don’t bond with a baby in those circumstances, you’re not going to. After I had done it once, I knew I could do it again."

However, she recognises the potential problem and says she would never try to persuade another woman to become a surrogate. "You have to know from within yourself if you’re strong enough to do it. It’s not for everyone. You have to have a very compartmentalised mind. You have to be able to say ‘It’s my body, it’s not my baby.’"

Back in 1991, surrogacy was still treated with suspicion. The Warnock Report in the mid-1980s had claimed that surrogacy was detrimental to marriages and should be banned. Some early surrogates were bombarded with moral criticism and with unwarranted attention from social services. However, the only hitch Morag encountered was when she went along to register the birth. She discovered that under Scottish law, if a surrogate is married, her husband is considered the baby’s natural father unless he makes a signed declaration in the presence of a Justice of the Peace. John says, "It’s getting to be a standing joke with my favourite Justice of the Peace. ‘Oh, it’s you again, John.’ ‘Yep, the baby’s not mine. Where do I sign?’"

After her first surrogate birth, Morag went on to have two more children for the same couple, a daughter and a son. The families stay in touch and meet twice a year. "After that, I guess I was hooked. It does become a bit addictive," she laughs. There followed four more babies for different couples, including twin girls. "I was like a whale before I had them, absolutely huge, but the birth was really easy, probably easier than the others because the babies were smaller."

Listening to Morag talk about pregnancy and birth would be enough to turn most mothers green with envy. No morning sickness, no cravings, no epidurals, straightforward births which were often over in less than an hour. "I’ve given up making jokes about waiting another half hour before we go to the hospital," John grins.

Throughout, Morag has maintained jobs as a shop manager then a medical receptionist, as well as looking after her menagerie of 13 horses, six sheep, five dogs, three cats and two large ducks. "The pregnancies have not affected my life very much. I think if they had I might have stopped doing it. I’ve been at horse shows the day before I give birth, and two days afterwards."

Cots insists that the base of a successful surrogacy is a strong ‘triangle’: a close relationship between the surrogate and the intended parents. They will spend time together and undergo counselling before a final decision is made, during which time they will agree on the amount of contact they will have during the pregnancy and the amount of contact the surrogate will have with the family after the birth. "That has to be whatever makes the parents comfortable," says Morag. "I have worked with couples who don’t want any contact after the birth, but I think they were motivated by insecurity. Once they realised I wasn’t a threat, they were happy with that. We all keep in touch with Christmas cards and photos."

She stresses to all her intended parents that she would like the children to be told about the surrogacy as soon as they are old enough to understand. "I think the younger they are, the easier it is for them. It’s just a fact, they grow up with it." Her first three surrogate children know her as their ‘tummy mummy’.

"I think if you don’t tell them, somewhere along the line they will find out. People say, ‘What will you do if they want to find you, like adopted kids?’ That’s not going to happen because they all know who I am. If they ever wanted to come here, they’d be welcome. And, as with any friend’s child, if they were ever in need, I’d be there for them. Though hopefully they won’t all want to come at the same time!"

She says the potential rewards of surrogacy are limitless. "It’s a totally life-changing experience for the parents. It’s quite an amazing feeling knowing that you can change somebody’s life like that. Most parents are comfortable financially, they have good jobs, great lives, but the one thing they want is the one thing they can’t have, and you can change that for them. And you’re not changing their lives for an instant, you’re giving them a family forever."

She has faced down moral objectors, including appearing on a Kilroy-style talk show in Ireland, where surrogacy is illegal. "All I can say to people is, ‘I’m sorry if you have a problem with what I have done, but it’s your problem not mine. I have no regrets and I wouldn’t change any part of it.’"

She adds that money plays no part in her motivation, though she does welcome a modest reimbursement - the law allows for surrogates to be paid ‘reasonable expenses’, usually Ł5,000 to Ł10,000. "It’s certainly not a way to make money. When you hear these wonderful stories about how much surrogates get in America, or Tracey Barlow from Coronation Street getting Ł25,000 to do it, I think, ‘Wow that sounds great.’

"But I don’t think I would ever be motivated by money. If you were doing it purely for financial motivation, I think you would have to close your eyes to the imperfections in the situation - like the surrogate who worked with Michael Jackson (the star’s third child, Prince Michael II, was born to an unknown surrogate). I would have to be sure in my own mind that I was happy where the child was going."

Even though pregnancy had played a regular part in their lives for more than ten years, Morag and John got their biggest surprise to date in 2000, when Morag discovered she was pregnant with their son Jamie, now three. "Do you mean we can keep this one?" asked Vicky. "Is this one for us?"

Morag says that the whole experience was completely different from her surrogate pregnancies. "The whole pregnancy and birth were utterly different. There was the sheer practicality of going round and buying baby stuff. With surrogacy, your whole life is geared towards giving birth and then getting back to normal, being able to cut your own toenails again.

"When I was handed the surrogate babies in the hospital, I would think ‘Yes, he’s a nice healthy baby, got all his fingers, got all his toes, they’ll be delighted.’ With Jamie, I thought, ‘Nice healthy baby, got all his fingers, got all his toes, and he’s mine and I love him.’ From the very beginning, I saw him in a totally different light."

Ironically, before Jamie was born, Morag had planned to retire from surrogacy. "But afterwards I thought, ‘Well that wasn’t very difficult, I could probably still do this.’" She is currently working with another couple for whom she hopes to have a baby - her eighth surrogate child. When will she stop? "I’m 43 now, and there will come a point when I can’t have any more. I don’t like to think I’d still be having children when I’m 55."

At this, John just grins. "I’ve given up saying, ‘Never again,’" he says.