Dear Friend,
First off, I never sought your opinion on my choices. You grew up in a similar background as mine, steeped in the Catholic faith where love and sacrifice are held in high regard. Do you have any idea of the sacrifices I made for my children? The countless needles I faced? The procedures I went through? The times I ended up in the ER, writhing in pain? The tears I shed?
You, who had your first child because you “forgot a condom that one time,” have you ever considered what it feels like to walk in the shoes of someone battling infertility?
Do you know the heartbreak of a body that refuses to fulfill its deepest desire? The despair that follows a negative pregnancy test, only to dig it out of the trash an hour later, praying for a miracle?
These children are created from an immense well of love—between a husband and wife, between hopeful parents, and the very essence of a mother’s dreams for her future family. Do you think that spending a brief time in a lab before I carried them changes any of that?
Each time I felt them move, my heart swelled with gratitude. My body nourished them; we shared nutrients, oxygen, and a heartbeat. When I hold them close, our hearts sync, speaking a language only we understand.
Can you fathom the depth of my love for them? Do you genuinely believe that bringing more love into this world could possibly be a “sin”?
You mentioned my cyst-ridden ovaries were part of a “bigger plan.” Did it occur to you that finding the incredible team at the fertility clinic was a part of that plan too? If you witnessed a child get hit by a car, would you just stand by and call it “destiny”?
You labeled my efforts as immoral, claiming I should not use “any means necessary” to conceive. Do you realize that many infertility cases are treatable medical conditions? If someone close to you battled cancer that could be treated with chemotherapy, would you advise her to refuse treatment? Would you tell her it’s wrong to fight for her life?
When you accused me of discarding “unused” or “weak” embryos like trash, did you know I refused to discard even the lowest-graded embryo? All embryos not transferred back to me were treated with the utmost respect, secured in a medical facility—tiny glimmers of hope that could one day give joy to another struggling couple if we choose to donate.
You claimed I was “taking life for granted,” but do you know how I mourned every egg that didn’t mature? Every embryo that stopped developing? Every transferred blastocyst that didn’t “stick”? Each month, I lit candles, laid out prayer cards, and wept until I could hardly see.
Look at my children—my beautiful, vibrant miracles born from love. They light up rooms and lift spirits. Hear the way they call me “Mama,” a precious secret shared between us.
Watch them discover joy in the simplest things, from pointing at airplanes to mimicking the sounds of a passing train. Feel their hands grasp yours in unfiltered trust.
You can call me a sinner, and I won’t deny it. I’m human and flawed, and I’ve made my share of mistakes. But being a mother? That’s not one of them.
For those of you curious about home insemination, check out this excellent resource on fertility insurance here. And if you’re looking for more guidance, this page on artificial insemination kits is truly helpful here. You can also learn about our approach to fertility in another one of our articles here.
To summarize, my journey through IVF was filled with challenges and sacrifices, all driven by an unwavering love for my children. Each step of the way, I fought hard for the family I’ve always wanted, and I refuse to let anyone redefine that love or the means through which it was achieved.