The Advocate • March 26, 2008
Labor of Love
by Thomas Beatie
Thomas Beatie gives The Advocate a first-person account of how it feels to be pregnant and carrying a
child for his wife and himself.
To our neighbors, my wife, Nancy, and I don’t appear in the least unusual. To those
in the quiet Oregon community where we live, we are viewed just as we are -- a
happy couple deeply in love. Our desire to work hard, buy our first home, and start a
family was nothing out of the ordinary. That is, until we decided that I would carry
our child.
I am transgender, legally male, and legally married to Nancy. Unlike those in same-sex marriages, domestic partnerships,
or civil unions, Nancy and I are afforded the more than 1,100 federal rights of marriage. Sterilization is not a requirement
for sex reassignment, so I decided to have chest reconstruction and testosterone therapy but kept my reproductive rights.
Wanting to have a biological child is neither a male nor female desire, but a human desire.
Ten years ago, when Nancy and I became a couple, the idea of us having a child was more dream than plan. I always
wanted to have children. However, due to severe endometriosis 20 years ago, Nancy had to undergo a hysterectomy and
is unable to carry a child. But after the success of our custom screen-printing business and a move from Hawaii to the
Pacific Northwest two years ago, the timing finally seemed right. I stopped taking my bimonthly testosterone injections. It
had been roughly eight years since I had my last menstrual cycle, so this wasn’t a decision that I took lightly. My body
regulated itself after about four months, and I didn’t have to take any exogenous estrogen, progesterone, or fertility drugs
to aid my pregnancy.
Our situation sparks legal, political, and social unknowns. We have only begun experiencing opposition from people who
are upset by our situation. Doctors have discriminated against us, turning us away due to their religious beliefs. Health
care professionals have refused to call me by a male pronoun or recognize Nancy as my wife. Receptionists have laughed
at us. Friends and family have been unsupportive; most of Nancy’s family doesn’t even know I’m transgender.
This whole process, from trying to get pregnant to being pregnant, has been a challenge for us. The first doctor we
approached was a reproductive endocrinologist. He was shocked by our situation and told me to shave my facial hair.
After a $300 consultation, he reluctantly performed my initial checkups. He then required us to see the clinic’s
psychologist to see if we were fit to bring a child into this world and consulted with the ethics board of his hospital. A few
months and a couple thousand dollars later, he told us that he would no longer treat us, saying he and his staff felt
uncomfortable working with “someone like me.”
In total, nine different doctors have been involved. This is why it took over one year to get access to a cryogenic sperm
bank to purchase anonymous donor vials, and why Nancy and I eventually resorted to home insemination.
When I finally got pregnant for the first time, I ended up having an ectopic pregnancy with triplets. It was a lifethreatening event that required surgical intervention, resulting in the loss of all embryos and my right fallopian tube.
When my brother found out about my loss, he said, “It’s a good thing that happened. Who knows what kind of monster it
would have been.”
On successfully getting pregnant a second time, we are proud to announce that this pregnancy is free of complications
and our baby girl has a clean bill of health. We are happily awaiting her birth, with an estimated due date of July 3, 2008.
How does it feel to be a pregnant man? Incredible. Despite the fact that my belly is growing with a new life inside me, I
am stable and confident being the man that I am. In a technical sense I see myself as my own surrogate, though my
gender identity as male is constant. To Nancy, I am her husband carrying our child -- I am so lucky to have such a loving,
supportive wife. I will be my daughter’s father, and Nancy will be her mother. We will be a family.
Outside the local medical community, people don’t know I’m five months’ pregnant. But our situation ultimately will ask
everyone to embrace the gamut of human possibility and to define for themselves what is normal.
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