By Kallie Fell

When Erika signed up to become a surrogate mother, she thought she was fulfilling a lifelong dream. Altruistic at heart and deeply empathetic, Erika had long imagined helping a family who couldn’t have children of their own. “I’ve always had a heart for people who can’t—people who are struggling, who feel invisible” she said during our interview. “I wanted to be a part of giving someone the joy of a child.”

So, when the opportunity finally came to become a surrogate mother, Erika took it. It wasn’t about money. “Years ago, I even offered to carry a baby for a friend for free,” she said. “This was something I felt called to do.”

A story that began with compassion and joy ended in trauma. Just one-week postpartum Erika is speaking out, hoping her story will serve as a warning about the hidden dangers in the booming surrogacy industry. She wants to expose an industry that wraps itself in the language of love and hope, but in practice, reduces women to vessels bound by legal contracts, stripped of autonomy, voice, and dignity.

Erika, a 35-year-old single mother of two, was finally in a financial position to pursue surrogacy after years of being disqualified due to government assistance. She connected with an agency, matched with intended parents, and signed a lengthy contract after what she believed was a thorough review. What followed was a nightmare: a complex pregnancy filled with stress, illness, and isolation.

A Story Too Compelling to Question

After contacting several agencies, Erika matched with a family whose story seemed profound: the intended mother’s brother had passed away, but had wanted children. An egg from a donor would be fertilized with the deceased brother’s sperm, and Erika would carry the child—a niece or nephew for the intended mother and father. “I thought it was beautiful at first,” she said. She thought she was helping the family and “honoring someone’s legacy.”

A contract was prepared and was reviewed by Erika with the help of a lawyer paid for by the agency and intended parents. After back and forth between attorneys, Erika signed and agreed to dozens of stipulations: no travel, avoiding certain foods, stipulations on exercise, and even a clause stating she could be kept on life support if something went wrong before delivery.

Erika thought she understood what she was agreeing to, but she didn’t understand what it would feel like to live under it.

The Cost of “Consent”

Soon after the embryo transfer, Erika’s health began to spiral. She was violently ill, vomiting daily, her hair falling out. She was diagnosed with hyperemesis. Her two young children watched as their mother’s health deteriorated and she was put on unpaid leave from her job as an assistant director at a childcare facility.

Then came something worse. Tests revealed carbon monoxide poisoning and toxic mold in her apartment. She and her children had to vacate immediately. With no local family in the state and no income she asked the intended parents to let her relocate to her home state for safety, where she would have the love and support of her own mother and family.

Their response was cold. They refused. Moving her would complicate their legal claim to the child. “I wasn’t asking for money.” Erika just wanted to be safe and wanted to make sure the baby she was carrying was safe. She thought they would care about her health, but it was clear they didn’t. She was told to stay, even though she was sick, her kids were sick, and she had nowhere else to go. Erika found herself homeless, carrying someone else’s child, unable to care for her own.

From that moment, everything changed. Erika was no longer seen as a partner in a shared dream—but a liability.

Controlled and Abandoned

Communication became strained. Per the contract, Erika was required to respond to messages within 24 hours—even as she juggled hospital visits, raising children alone, and attending school. When she missed updates, she was reported. When she sent appointment information late, she was met with hostility. She felt controlled and uncared for.

“I started to feel like at this point, I’m just a slave. I’m really, really tired. I have done everything and then more than I could do to ensure that I’m following a contract, that you have yourself a healthy baby,” she said.

Erika made the private choice to move back to her home state to find safety, shelter, family, and love. She began driving six hours round-trip to attend prenatal appointments in the state where the surrogacy contract was filed. She paid out of pocket for local care to avoid insurance complications. By the third trimester, she was thousands in debt, physically depleted, emotionally shattered, and felt utterly alone.

A Birth with No Humanity

Due to complications, labor came early. Erika spent 37 hours in agony, fearful she had preeclampsia and fearful of the dismissive doctors and nurses caring for her. She gave birth surrounded by strangers, in a hospital far from home, feeling more like a prisoner than a patient.

She was not allowed to hold the baby. Not allowed to see her. “The nurses shouted, ‘No contact. She can’t touch her. She can’t see her; she can’t take any pictures or anything. No skin to skin.’” The baby was taken away instantly.

Then came silence.

No thank you. No goodbye. Nothing.

Erika laments, “it hurt because like literally, I, I just saw that she was small. That’s it. I can’t give you any more details other than that. And the absolute worst part of it is I didn’t get the, I didn’t even get a thank you. I didn’t get to screw you. I didn’t get a anything from the family.”

She gave a family the most precious gift. She risked her health. She lost her job. She gave up time with her own children. She bled. She cried. She broke. And when it was over, she was discarded like she never mattered. A transaction.

Erika mourns the experience for herself, for her own children, and for the baby she birthed, “I don’t know if the baby would have any memory of just being snatched away like that from the only voice, the only body that she had known this entire time.” “They have no connection to their background. How do we tell this child… ‘I’m your mom and your aunt that your father was deceased prior to your conception.’ Like, how does that impact her life? How, how does that fill a void? And I feel like I thought that I was doing a beautiful thing. And on some level it was a very beautiful thing. But now I also have to deal with the fact that I’m potentially damaging this child. By playing the part that I played in it.”

Erika left the hospital and made the drive back to her home town two hours after giving birth.

Upon returning home, Erika was readmitted to the hospital with severe preeclampsia and pulmonary edema. Erika soberly talks about the long-term complications she might face and coming face-to-face with her own death as a result of the surrogate pregnancy:

Was it worth me bringing this life into a world? Was it worth me being treated like that? And my kids not getting the best of me throughout this journey, only for me to kick the bucket and not be here with them? For someone who didn’t care about my health, my children’s health, or anything.

In the hospital, Erika sat crying:

And I’m just crying because my kids are at home. My daughter’s calling me while I’m in the hospital and is like, ‘mommy, are you okay? I’m scared you’re gonna die. I’m scared you’re gonna die for doing this for somebody.’ I am officially one week postpartum today, but I’m alive. I’m alive, and I did the deed and the baby was born.

Why We Must Rethink Surrogacy

Erika’s story is not unique. It is not a rare tragedy in an otherwise noble system. It is the inevitable result of a commercial industry built on legal contracts and unequal power. Where the bodies of women—usually less wealthy—are rented to fulfill the dreams of those who can pay.

“I wanted this to be beautiful,” Erika said. Instead, she was “dehumanized”. Used. Left behind. Never the same.

Now, Erika speaks out not to discourage compassion—but to call for conscience. “I used to be pro-surrogacy,” she says. “But I would tell anyone now: Run. Don’t do it.” “No one should have control over another human.” “I am grateful that I am alive and I still am able to care for my children.”

If her story doesn’t make us rethink the ethics of commercial surrogacy—what will?

The full interview between Kallie Fell and Erika can be viewed on YouTube.

Author Profile

Kallie Fell, Executive Director
Kallie Fell, Executive Director
Kallie Fell, MS, BSN, RN, started her professional career as a scientist in the Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology at Vanderbilt University Medical Center utilizing a Master of Science degree in Animal Sciences with an emphasis on Reproductive Physiology and Molecular Biology from Purdue University. While assisting in the investigation of endometriosis and pre-term birth, Kallie simultaneously pursued a degree in nursing with hopes of working with women as a perinatal nurse. After meeting Jennifer at a conference, Kallie became interested in the work of the Center for Bioethics and Culture and started volunteering with the organization. It is obvious that Kallie is passionate about women’s health. She continues to work, as she has for the past 6 years, as a perinatal nurse and has worked with the CBC since 2018, first as a volunteer writer, then as our staff Research Associate, and now as the Executive Director. In 2021, Kallie co-directed the CBC’s newest documentary, Trans Mission: What’s the Rush to Reassign Gender? Kallie also hosts the popular podcast Venus Rising and is the Program Director for the Paul Ramsey Institute.