Their surrogate child was born 10 weeks early in Ukraine. Then Russia invaded

Melbourne chefs Jess van Nooten, 39, and Kevin Middleton, 42, were shocked when their surrogate baby, Alba, was born 10 weeks premature in Ukraine. Then there was an invasion.

Jess van Nooten and Kevin Middleton: “We’ve survived a lot,” Jess says, “and are more committed to each other than ever.” Credit: Scott McNaughton

Kevin: We met in the kitchen at Donovans in St Kilda 20 years ago. She was 19, I was a bit older. She had to walk past my section to use the oven. She was cheeky, would do a little strut. Six months later, we moved in together. Becoming parents was on the backburner until Jess hit 30, then we thought, “This is our time.” But nothing happened. We tried procedures, medications. The toll IVF took on Jess, mentally and physically, was horrible. It was hard to watch.

We exhausted every option before looking overseas and in May 2021, we finally met our Ukrainian surrogate over Zoom. Five embryos travelled from Melbourne to Odesa on liquid nitrogen via a special carrier that cost us $5000. When our surrogate got pregnant after the first try, we were elated.

At 28 weeks, I was at work when my phone started buzzing: “Your baby’s been born ­unexpectedly; she’s alive for the moment.”

The next day, on February 23, 2022, we started the first leg of our journey, but in Dubai the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade called to tell us that Russia was invading Ukraine and we had to return home. It just wasn’t an option; instead, we flew on to Poland.

There, we learnt that Alba had a brain bleed, collapsed lungs, non-functioning intestines. We looked at each other in horror, but had no time to do anything other than work out how we were going to get to her. Chefs are good under pressure; we learn to focus on the next step.

In Chisinau, Moldova [three hours’ drive north-west of Odesa], we holed up in a hotel for nine days waiting for the agency to arrange a safe ­passage south for us. It was torture. We’d spend all day messaging the agency; they’d respond at night with a single sentence. Finally, they organised a driver for us but, half an hour from the border, we had to get out and walk. There were tents in fields, families separating, girls carrying cats. We were told someone would meet us.

When we found Alba in the neonatal ward in the hospital in Odesa, she weighed just1.3 kilograms. The back of her hand was the size of my thumbnail. She was in a critical condition. In that moment, I was terrified, but also so happy to see Jess with our baby for the first time. We’d wanted this for so long.

We waited there a month. When we weren’t with Alba, we were in a shelter looking at ­photos of her and talking about our plans for her. We were in a war zone and Jess was looking for me to reassure her we were safe. I told her the explosions were miles away, but I was never sure. Keeping her in a good head space was my everything. Reassuring her also helped me feel less scared.

‘I told Jess the explosions were miles away, but I was never sure.’

Kevin Middleton

At the end of March, we boarded a medevac flight to London; we had to find $70,000 for that. Inside Great Ormond Street children’s hospital, I got to hold Alba for the first time. I was ­shaking and crying and laughing. Jess had the ­biggest smile I’d ever seen on her face.

Since we got home, Alba has been diagnosed with cerebral palsy. It’s a lot – we’re in the thick of it – but she’s the most amazing little girl. We were told she wouldn’t walk, but she seems to like proving people wrong.

Jess and I had no choice but to be strong for each other in Ukraine, but her resilience and determination continue here. She just makes everything work somehow. I have no idea how.

Baby Alba was born 10 weeks early and weighed just 1.3 kilograms.

Jess: We thought we had all the time in the world to have kids. You think IVF will fix everything, but for lots of people it doesn’t. We did seven cycles and 14 embryo transfers ­without success. I was miserable. It sucks the life out of you. I know it was hard on Kev watching me go through it.

Being on local surrogacy pages felt like being on Tinder. We ended up choosing Ukraine and, in due course, sent our five best embryos. Soon after, we got a message saying, “Congratulations, your surrogate’s pregnant.” It was the best feeling. When Kevin rang me to say the baby had been born prematurely, I ­remember dropping to the floor in shock.

We were so excited on the flight – we’re going to meet Alba! – but, landing in Dubai, we found out that the invasion – we’d been trying to ignore the threat – was under way. We had to face our fears: what did this mean for us? Was Alba safe?

The days we spent in Chisinau waiting to get to Alba were the hardest. To be honest, we hardly said anything to each other because we were both absolutely petrified. We were sent this picture of her and she was grey. I thought she was dead. Kev and I were on the same page emotionally, though: this baby was our daughter and we were determined to be with her.

When we got to Odesa, she was alive but so tiny. We were crying, shaking and also aware of how surreal this all was. When we met our ­surrogate, I hugged her and cried. I’ll for­ever be grateful to her. We know she’s safe. When the war’s over, we’re going to see her again.

‘We’ve been in and out of hospital a few times – our struggles aren’t over yet – but Kev is this beautiful, doting dad.’

Jess van Nooten

Having a premmie baby is hard enough: add a war zone, a language barrier … I don’t know how we did it. I remember cracking one day in Moldova when I couldn’t get a taxi: Kev just walked away and calmly asked if I was done yet. We laughed sometimes, too: how many times do we have to buy kefir, cream, anything, before we figure out which one is milk?

It’s so good to be home as a family. We do all the normal things. We’ve been in and out of hospital a few times – our struggles aren’t over yet – but Kev is this beautiful, doting dad. I love watching him with Alba: he makes her laugh. I’m routines, bed, milk; he’s Fun Dad and she knows it. Little things that might frustrate other parents – like Alba throwing her dinner at the wall – are moments I know he treasures.

We’ve survived a lot, including all the ­complications that continue to this day, and are more committed to each other than ever. Would we do it all over again? Yes.

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