For much of my life, things seemed to go my way. My husband often called me “lucky,” a term I found a bit disheartening. To me, luck suggested a level of passivity that didn’t resonate with my approach to life. I was always driven, pursuing my goals with vigor—be it a job, a new apartment, or a promotion. I didn’t always get what I wanted easily, but I eventually did.
Then, everything changed. I can trace the shift back to my Brooklyn apartment two months before a planned trip to Peru with my partner, Jack. It was our first significant getaway a year after tying the knot, and that evening marked my decision to stop taking birth control.
Having been on the pill since I turned 18, I believed it would be just a matter of months before I would conceive. “If you manage to get me pregnant before our trip, I’ll be furious!” I joked. Ironically, I had no reason to be angry—pregnancy didn’t come. We enjoyed a fantastic trip to Peru, filled with breathtaking sights and sweet Pisco cocktails.
In fact, I didn’t conceive that year or even the next. In 2015, I did get pregnant through IVF, but it sadly ended in a miscarriage. We attempted another round of IVF and two IUI cycles, but nothing worked. This was in addition to the countless temperature readings, ovulation kits, and period tracking apps I tried.
About a year after Peru, we sought help from fertility specialists, beginning a series of tests to uncover the reasons behind our struggles. I was 35 at the time, and those months turned into a blur of doctors and procedures.
One test indicated that my ovarian reserve was healthy for my age, while another procedure revealed that some tissue had invaded my uterine muscle. We had it removed, only to discover a bacterial infection in my uterus that needed two rounds of antibiotics to clear up. Jack faced his own challenge with low sperm motility and underwent outpatient surgery to “unblock” veins.
The HSG test was a particularly traumatic experience for me, involving a balloon and dye to check the flow in my reproductive organs. I left the room in tears, shaken by the discomfort. Jack’s response was pragmatic: “If this is what it takes, we might need to consider alternative solutions.”
Ultimately, doctors told us that despite some scarring in one of my tubes, we didn’t face any major issues. This was frustrating for someone like me, who prefers to fix problems. We were labeled as candidates for IVF, but with only a 30 percent chance of a successful live birth based on my age, it was hard to remain hopeful.
The first IVF cycle didn’t yield a pregnancy, but it did acclimate me to the routine of daily hormone shots, bruises, and endless appointments. If the injections didn’t wear me down, dealing with insurance certainly did. Jack eventually took over the task of navigating insurance policies and appointments.
After a few months, we tried IVF again. This time, we learned that “success” meant a pregnancy that ended in an eight-week miscarriage. The heartbeat that had once filled me with hope dwindled during those early appointments until it vanished.
One Thursday, I went to work despite the heartache. My boss and Jack urged me to stay home, but work provided a distraction from my grief. I scheduled a D&C for the next day, and every time someone casually asked about my reason for being there, I found it hard to hold back the tears. I remember telling Jack, “It’s not what they said. It’s how I feel—broken.”
A month later, while attending Jack’s dad’s 50th reunion, I received a call from one of our favorite fertility doctors. “I have good news,” he said. “The miscarriage was due to a chromosomal abnormality.” I was left feeling annoyed rather than relieved—why was he telling me this amidst a joyful family gathering?
Over time, I came to understand the silver lining of his message: the miscarriage wasn’t due to anything I could control, and it meant there was still hope for future pregnancies.
Eventually, we turned our attention toward adoption. The toll of IVF and its disappointments had worn me out. Adoption seemed like a more definitive path, plus it offered an opportunity to help a mother in need.
We researched agencies, finding one that specialized in domestic adoption and embraced open adoption—a model where birth parents and adoptive parents meet before the birth, ensuring the child knows their story. While I agreed with the concept, I found it daunting. Would I be secure enough to foster a healthy relationship with a birth parent?
We dove into the adoption process, completing background checks, fingerprinting, and creating our birth parent letter. After six months, we were approved, and I felt a mix of excitement and apprehension as we spread the word to friends and family.
However, just as we were settling into our new journey, the agency declared bankruptcy, leaving us and over 500 other waiting families devastated. We had invested time, money, and trust in a system that had failed us. I felt like a fool.
Support groups sprang up online, and lawyers held calls for those affected. Jack and I participated briefly but soon realized we needed to step back; the emotional toll was overwhelming.
By April 2017, I told Jack I was ready to give IVF one last shot. I found myself feeling surprisingly optimistic. We returned to our trusted Brooklyn doctors, who suggested preimplantation genetic screening (PGS) to help identify healthier embryos.
PGS revealed two healthy embryos—a boy and a girl. Choosing one felt wrong after everything we had endured. So, we focused solely on health.
On April 5, 2018, at 6:38 p.m., our daughter was born, weighing six pounds, 11 ounces, and in perfect health. She has grown into a vibrant girl, full of energy and curiosity.
On November 15, 2018, I discovered I was pregnant again, this time naturally. It was my first spontaneous pregnancy after more than five years of trying. Initially, disbelief clouded my mind, but as the weeks progressed, I began to feel a sense of gratitude.
I had finally crossed the threshold into motherhood, and now I truly felt blessed.
For those navigating similar challenges, remember that there are resources available. The March of Dimes offers excellent information on pregnancy, and if you’re considering at-home options, check out the At Home Insemination Kit blog post. With the right tools and support, there are ways to boost your fertility, like the supplements found here.
Summary
This journey through infertility and adoption highlights the emotional toll and resilience involved in the pursuit of parenthood. After years of struggles, I finally felt a sense of luck and gratitude when I became a mother, showing that hope and perseverance can lead to fulfillment.
Leave a Reply