At 28, my husband, Jake, and I felt ready to start our family after three happy years of marriage. I had just completed my course of Accutane, a medication that required a six-month wait before trying to conceive due to potential birth defects. We had just returned from a delightful trip through France with friends, and it felt like the perfect moment to settle down and welcome a little one into our lives.
However, the journey didn’t unfold as we envisioned.
After a year of trying, I finally got the exciting news that I was pregnant! The stress that had built up began to fade, and I was filled with hope. But just six weeks into the pregnancy, I took my dog, Bella, to the local park, and a sudden, intense pain shot through my abdomen. This wasn’t the typical nausea that accompanies the first trimester; it felt as if someone was stabbing me. I collapsed to the ground, struggling to breathe.
Fearing something was seriously wrong, I called my doctor, who bluntly insisted I seek immediate medical attention. Desperate for reassurance, I contacted another physician who dismissed my concerns, saying it was likely nothing serious. Yet, the pain persisted. With Jake out of town, I made the drive to the doctor’s office alone. After a vaginal ultrasound and some probing questions, the diagnosis was clear: I had an ectopic pregnancy, where the embryo had implanted outside the uterus, specifically in my Fallopian tube. The treatment involved a shot of chemotherapy to help expel the embryo, and while I was surprisingly upbeat at the time, I think it was just relief to know I could get pregnant.
Unfortunately, the shot didn’t help, and I found myself facing surgery. The hope was to remove the embryo while preserving my Fallopian tube—an essential part of my reproductive system, especially given my struggles to conceive. When I woke up post-surgery, I learned that the situation was far more complicated than anticipated. The doctors discovered that the embryo had implanted on my bladder instead of in the tube. They were almost gleeful at this rare occurrence, telling me that such cases are a rarity in a doctor’s career.
Moving on from that experience, I focused on the fact that I could conceive. Jake and I resumed our attempts to get pregnant, but it took an agonizing year and a half. The pressure turned intimacy into a stressful chore, but eventually, we were blessed with a beautiful daughter, Lily.
Two years later, I faced the heartbreak of two miscarriages. The first occurred naturally one evening, while the second required a hospital visit and a D&C procedure to remove the tissue from my uterus. In search of answers, we consulted a fertility specialist. After numerous blood tests and examinations, he delivered the devastating news: I had “Diminished Ovarian Reserve,” meaning my eggs were aging and unlikely to lead to a successful pregnancy. He recommended considering an egg donor or adoption.
The costs were overwhelming. An egg donor would run about $20,000, while domestic adoption started at $10,000 and international adoption could reach $20,000 or more. The flood of advice from friends and family was relentless—“Do you really want someone else’s egg?” I even spoke to a woman who had adopted two children from Russia, but the process seemed daunting and not what I envisioned for my family.
Seeking a second opinion, we learned that In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) might offer us a glimmer of hope. This process involves fertilizing an egg and sperm outside the body and then implanting the developing embryo in the uterus. I began a rigorous routine of hormone injections and blood thinners. I learned to administer shots to myself, marking my belly with bruises. Jake supported me through the process, which included some less-than-romantic moments with a collection cup.
The first IVF cycle sadly ended in failure, leaving me feeling defeated. I wondered if our little family of three was meant to be. But after some soul-searching, we decided to give it one final shot. I endured another round of treatments, appointments, and discussions about embryos.
At the end of the second cycle, I was thrilled to learn that four viable embryos had been created! The doctor suggested transferring only two to minimize the risks of a high-order multiple pregnancy, but I chose to put all four embryos in. I wanted to maximize our chances of success since I couldn’t bear the thought of going through this process again, especially after hearing from the first fertility expert that I might never conceive with my own eggs.
To my amazement, three of the embryos took! At my six-week ultrasound, I saw three tiny heartbeats flickering on the screen. My first question was whether all three would make it, and the doctor assured me they would. My second question was whether there were any hidden surprises, to which he confidently replied no.
Seven years into my journey filled with ectopic pregnancies, miscarriages, and IVF cycles, I now have four beautiful children. The road hasn’t been easy. Raising multiples can challenge patience, finances, and relationships, but this experience has taught me valuable lessons.
Always seek a second opinion; without it, I might not have my wonderful triplets today. Miscarriages are excruciating, but acceptance is crucial in moving forward. Trust your instincts; I knew deep down that I was meant to have more than one child. Sometimes, you just have to put all your eggs in one basket and hope for the best.
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Summary: My path to motherhood was fraught with challenges—an ectopic pregnancy, two miscarriages, and the emotional rollercoaster of IVF. After a long and tumultuous journey, I am now blessed with four beautiful children. Through it all, I’ve learned the importance of second opinions, resilience, and trusting one’s instincts. Sometimes, you have to take risks and put everything in one basket to achieve your dreams.