This single gay man had to pretend to have a wife to bring his babies home from the hospital

The following is an excerpt from “From Jet Setter to Fatherhood” by Joseph Tito.

With 10 days to go before we left, and my to-do list almost all ticked off, my nerves were beginning to steady. Given all the drama so far in this process, I should have known this calm would be short lived… and sure enough, the clinic dropped a bomb on my meticulously planned world. I got an email informing me that for me to leave the hospital with my babies, I would need to be with a female companion— and not just any companion (like my mother), but someone who could look like she was my wife! To add insult to injury, the clinic said if I couldn’t conjure up a “spouse” in time, it could provide a stand-in—for an eye-watering sum of $10,000. Yes, you read that right. 

I was pissed off, to put it mildly. I chose Kenya because the clinic had said the country was friendly to same-sex intended parents and single males like me. And now they were telling me I would have to conceal my true self if I wanted to have my family. I was angry and disappointed—more than that, I felt betrayed. How could the clinic go back on its word? Was this even legal? And why was I only given 10 days to find someone willing to travel across the world and pretend to be my wife?

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“That wasn’t in the contract,” I told Cathy the coordinator on the phone, sounding as furious as I felt. 

“Unfortunately, there has been an incident in Kenya, and it is out of our control,” she said. Her calm and cool demeanor didn’t crack. I was convinced there was more to the story, but even if there was it wouldn’t change the harsh truth: I was completely screwed. This situation wasn’t just a big inconvenience; it was a deep, stinging insult to who I am as a person. I’ve spent a lifetime fighting tooth and nail to be seen and accepted for who I truly am. I’ve battled to carve out a space in this world where I can walk freely, without having to wear a damn mask to fit into someone else’s box.

And now, after all that hard work, here I was, facing this ridiculous demand to hide parts of me as if they were something to be ashamed of. It felt like a betrayal from a society that still clings to these archaic ideas of what makes someone a ‘good’ or ‘fit’ parent. 

It was bullsh*t, plain and simple. 

With the clock ticking down, I felt cornered. If I didn’t go along with the charade, I couldn’t get my babies. But there was no way in hell I would pay some stranger to play house with me during the most important moment of my life. The thought of it was utterly obscene. I had to find someone I knew and trusted, and fast.

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