I am sharing this very personal story not because I’ve lost all gauge on my TMI filter but because I know there are others out there that are feeling just like I did once…sad, low on hope and faith and worn down. My wish in sharing is to allow for that little glimmer of hope and comfort of knowing you are not alone to grow inside of someone like I wish it had done for me sooner. Finally opening up to friends and family was my absolute saving grace during this time of despair.
It was this time last year that several tests, procedures and surgery resulted in doctors telling me it would be both dangerous and unlikely for me to ever conceive a child naturally. It was the darkest time in my life.
I was never one of those women that had dreamt of a family and children since the time they could ovulate. In college I would ignorantly argue with those that planned on doing nothing more than being a mother after they graduated. Just like every 20-something, I had it all figured out. I would be a successful corporate exec and not get married until close to 30. Kids were never really part of the plan. It wasn’t until a rainy night in January 2004 that I discovered that we can’t plan life; all we can do is be available for it. It was on that date that I met a dark-haired, not that tall, but very handsome man named Mike Howell. It didn’t take long to fall in love and by May 2006 I was married at age 25. It wasn’t until I fell in love with Mike that I discovered I wanted to be a mother one day. Mike is the kindest, most patient, loving person I have ever met in life and I knew I wanted…no, there needed to be…more of him in this world. However, we both agreed we wanted to enjoy being young and selfish for a few years before starting a family. We were in no rush. It would all come in time.
Fast forward 4 years when it was finally “time”. When we first started trying, it would make me so nervous that I would shyly giggle at the thought of trying because I thought for sure I would get pregnant pretty quickly. I had no reason to believe I wouldn’t; after all, I had just watched numerous friends and family get pregnant within the first couple of months of trying. But after a few months of negative pregnancy tests, instead of a child, a seed of doubt and worry began to grow inside of me. I must mention that I’m a worrier by nature. I will ask you a million times if you’ve checked that the doors are locked or that the stove is off or if I turned off my flat iron…even though I’ve already checked…twice. So, at first, I could rationalize that my gut feeling was nothing more than my natural tendency to fret. But a few more months with no luck went by and so I finally decided to go to my OB/Gyn. I got the general check-up and was assured there was no reason to be concerned until at least after a year of trying…and even then it was perfectly normal to take that long. I was given all the statistics. 92% of women get pregnant after 12 cycles (or about 1 year) and a “typical” woman takes six months to conceive her first child. I don’t remember ever being notified I was typical. This brought no comfort to me. But this is a medical doctor telling me I have nothing to worry about. So I shouldn’t worry, right? Wrong.
By the end of 2010 I knew something was wrong. But I was also too scared to start the process of finding out what the “something” could be. A part of me wanted to live in the world of not knowing for a little longer. If I didn’t know the problem, it didn’t exist and there was still hope. So I let a few more months pass by…months where I would drop to the floor in a puddle of tears and look up to the sky asking God why this unbearable pain was being brought upon me and my husband. During this time we tried everything to ensure we had covered all of our bases. I took pre-natal vitamins, I charted, I took my temperature, I bought ovulation test after ovulation test. All of this coupled with my deepening despair began to take its toll. It wasn’t fun anymore. I wasn’t fun anymore. I wanted to get back to just being me and being Mike’s wife. I wanted us to just live and not plan all the time. I didn’t need to have hope but I needed to cut ties with disappointment for a while.
So for a few months in the beginning of 2011, we stopped “trying”. It was the first time in so long that I began to feel peace again. It was as if the dark storm clouds had started to part and I could finally feel the sun shine upon my skin again. I lost weight…a lot actually…and I remembered how to smile and laugh. By the time we returned from our 5 year anniversary trip to the Bahamas in May, the desire to try had snuck back in. At this point, my OB/Gyn was beginning to suggest running some tests. I agreed, reluctantly, with the reassurance from Mike that this would just confirm that everything really was ok and all it would take is time. The doctors ran all the tests…ovulation, FSH, hormone, etc. Everything (including Mike’s test) came back not only normal but in the very healthy ranges. See, silly girl, everything is ok. But why was I still not pregnant? So we decided to proceed with the big, bad HSG in July 2011. It is essentially just an invasive X-ray but I was incredibly nervous nonetheless. The doctor that performed the procedure reviewed the results with me and Mike immediately following. She said she had a little trouble getting the dye through on one of my Fallopian tubes but otherwise, it all looked good. She would send the results on to my OB/Gyn. As we left the hospital we called family and friends to tell them the good news. I could feel a sense of relief coming through that phone. Perhaps it sounds a bit egotistical but it was as if we had all overcome a big hurdle. We were going to win this battle together. But I was reluctant to celebrate. Maybe it was just because I was in so much pain during and after the procedure (something that is not normal). Something told me don’t celebrate…not quite yet. It was early the next morning that my OB/Gyn called me at my office and delivered the news that would change my life forever. I had one very weak Fallopian tube and one that was not functioning at all. It would be very unlikely for me to ever conceive and if I did, I would run a very high, dangerous risk of having an ectopic pregnancy. She immediately started talking about IVF and other options. But her words became muffled and distant and my vision became blurred as my eyes filled with tears.
This is when my heart dropped and life seemed to stop.
I left work immediately barely able to get out the words to my boss “I have to go”. I remember calling Mike from the car but I don’t remember what my first words to him were or what his response to me was. They may not have been all that audible as great sobs had now taken over my body. I do remember he said he would come home immediately. The idea of going back to an empty house to wait for Mike with this huge bomb just dropped on us was too much to bear. I called a close friend and she spoke to me my entire way home. I don’t recall the exchange of that conversation either but I do remember the comfort it brought to have someone with me. As is with most great tragedies (and don’t mock my use of this word until you’ve been in my shoes), a great deal of the events is now a blur. Without me having to ask, my friend showed up at my door very shortly after I arrived home. I will never forget how grateful I was to see her. Mike showed up not too long after. I don’t remember what we said to each other but I know there were a lot of tears and a lot of hugs. It was an hour or so after that when my mother-in-law arrived. We opened the door both with tear-stained faces and she immediately took us both in her arms. It was a motherly touch we both so desperately needed at that moment. We began to grieve as a family.
As I have done often in my life during great hardships, I rallied. Looking back I know it was just a desperate attempt to yank at any thread of remaining hope and the refusal to be sucked into this quicksand of depression. I immediately started talking about IVF and adoption when it was too soon to be thinking about that. I didn’t want to allow myself to dwell in the news that had just been given. I knew I couldn’t allow myself because nothing good was waiting for me there.
The next couple of months were some of the most difficult of my life. It seemed every TV show or commercial had babies. Every time I went on Facebook or went into the office someone was announcing their pregnancy. I had some good days but the bad days were always really bad. I put an enormous amount of blame and guilt on myself. It was my fault we couldn’t get pregnant. I was defective and broken. I worried Mike’s desire to have a biological child of his own would overcome his love for me. But remembering our discussions about adoption long before we started trying and Mike’s testament that he just wanted to be a father…regardless of how a child came to us…helped get me through this time of self-doubt. We both wisely agreed that we needed to allow ourselves some healing time before we considered any other options for parenthood. So we did just that. It was ok to be sad and heartbroken. It was during this period and all the months of despair preceding it that I received a great blessing. It was the blessing of realizing what amazing friends and family we have. I became even closer to my mother-in-law, made several new girlfriends who shared similar stories, and forged deeper bonds with existing friends. I received regular words of comfort and hope, silly cards that brought smiles, flowers, balloons, teddy bears and most important of all…love and acceptance. No one ever lost hope on us and our dream of one day becoming parents.
But sadness is a place you unwillingly visit; it is not a place you have any intention of dwelling in. So the “what next” discussions began. We were told I was an excellent candidate for IVF. But IVF doesn’t come cheap. It will usually run around $15K. I’ve never been one to even bet you a $1 on something. I wasn’t about to place a $15K bet. Even if we came up with the $15K, what if it didn’t take? We wouldn’t have any more money to try again. I wasn’t ready to put myself through that physical and mental pressure. Mike also did not want to see me endure any further testing, daily injections or procedures. We had put my body through enough. So the conversation turned to adoption. It was such a foreign concept to me despite our numerous previous discussions. I didn’t know anyone (or at least so I thought) that had adopted. I didn’t understand the process. I read horror stories of failed adoptions and astronomical costs. I worried that I wouldn’t bond or love the child because we didn’t share DNA. I worried Mike would feel he was missing out not having a child with his big brown eyes or my “cute” nose.
A dear friend’s words helped me find my way: ”Let go and let God”. That became my daily motto and can still be found written on my kitchen white board today. Mike and I decided the new year approaching was a great time to announce our official decision to adopt. We allowed ourselves to just enjoy the holiday season leading up to that. But when you’re ready to really do something, you can’t just sit back and wait. So we started doing little things that we thought were “safe” in the timeline of the process. You later learn how much you have to protect yourself from the ups and downs of adoption. We started cleaning out the office that would one day be our child’s room. We got rid of years and years of junk…a very fitting physical representation of what we were mentally doing as well. We even started putting together our adoption profile book.
We rang in the New Year and celebrated our announcement with a champagne toast from Mike’s father. Our lives had never been filled with more hope and promise. The doctors could tell us we couldn’t conceive a child. But no one was ever going to tell us we weren’t going to be parents. Our adoption story is short but sweet…perhaps a tale for another day.
Our son was born in the very early morning of Wednesday, April 11 in St. Petersburg, Florida. Mike and I arrived hours later to hold him for the very first time. And wouldn’t you know it? We have a beautiful baby boy who just happens to have big brown(ish) eyes and a very cute nose. J
This is the story of my darkest days turning into the light of my life. I will never forget the pain and despair that was endured to get here and I don’t wish it upon anyone. But I also wouldn’t change it. Those dark days brought me the greatest blessings I could ever hope for. I am eternally grateful to my friends and family who were always there to lend an ear, an encouraging word, a shoulder to cry on, a reminder to never give up and faith that Mike and I would one day be parents. Their love and support (aside from the love we have for each other) is what got us through. This experience also delivered a miracle from God. Every day I get to wake up, hold my son, look into eyes and say…yes, baby boy, you were absolutely worth every single tear.
Life doesn’t always give us the happy endings we plan. Sometimes…if you hold on tight and don’t lose faith…it brings you to a special happy ending bigger and better than you could have ever dreamed meant just for you.
Erica Howell
