Rajaram Rao lovingly tickles the cheek of one of his twin daughters, gently touching her face. His face beams with wonder, happiness, and pride as a new parent showering his child with affection. Before moving on to his other child, he carefully adjusts the baby’s blanket. It’s something he’s always wanted: to have his own child to play with. It’s just that they didn’t have children until well over half of their marriage had passed. “I can’t wait until they’re old enough to play with them,” he says eagerly.
Erramatti Mangayamma, his serene wife, looks fondly at their children. It was definitely worth spending almost an entire year in a different city away from her hometown in the southern Indian state of Andhra Pradesh while she was pregnant. “No one can call me barren or look down on me for not having children anymore,” she continues, her voice filled with pride.
Due to the increased risks to both mother and child after the age of 40, most medical professionals set a cutoff age for IVF therapy around that mark. When Erramatti decided she wanted to start a family, she went to an in vitro fertilization clinic at the age of 72.
When they first met, she told them, “I’m 65 and I want to have a child through in vitro fertilization,” he said. “We found out the truth only after her husband and family submitted her school records, which indicated her birthday as September 1, 1946,” Dr. Umashankar explains.
If lying about some details was what it took for Erramatti to get pregnant, so be it. Becoming a mother allowed her to achieve a lot not just in life, but also from the stigma she faced from the people of her community.
She wanted to have a child so she could prove to herself and to the world that she was a real woman in a culture where motherhood is revered but where thousands of women in rural India are sometimes shunned for not having children.
Erramatti was taken into surgery on the big day. Since her body wasn’t ready for natural childbirth, the medical staff decided to perform a C-section. After three hours of labor, Erramatti gave birth to two healthy girls, and the attending physician rushed out to make the happy announcement.
“Even I didn’t believe it at first. It’s a medical miracle,” Dr. Umashankar exclaims, his pride still audible in his voice. “Because of her age, we were prepared for whatever might happen during the delivery. Unexpectedly, everything went off without a hitch.”
They’ve never experienced being an outcast for not having children or hearing people pray for your death so they can inherit your wealth. They’ve never had to console a wife who was just called a barren lady during a social event, so they have no idea what it’s like. We were willing to risk our lives if it meant finally starting a family.
Rao has developed an optimistic outlook. “I am finally going to fulfill my lifelong dreams.”
Criticism is plentiful. “Some people are blaming us for having children so late, but there were also a lot more people who were blaming us for not having children for decades. Ignoring them and reveling in the glory of fatherhood is his plan.
The group considered concerns about the safety of the mother and fetus, the length of life, and the psychological and social support needed to raise a child to adulthood.
Erramatti says, with tears running down her face, “I thank God and the doctors who have made this possible.” “No one can call me sterile anymore,” she said.
