For most of my life, things seemed to fall into place. My husband would often remark, “You’re just lucky.” To me, luck suggested a level of passivity that I had never embraced; I was determined and proactive. I pursued everything I desired—from my career to my living situation—and while it didn’t always come easy, I eventually achieved my goals.
However, that changed abruptly. If I had to identify a turning point, it would be in my apartment on Prospect Park West, just two months before a planned vacation to Peru with my husband, Ethan. We were excited for our first major trip after getting married and had decided that I would stop taking the pill that same evening.
Having been on birth control since I was 18, I assumed it wouldn’t take long to conceive. “If you get me pregnant before Peru, I’ll be furious,” I joked. Little did I know, I had no reason to be upset—I didn’t conceive. Our trip to Peru was unforgettable, filled with breathtaking sights and delightful Pisco cocktails.
Yet, that year passed without a pregnancy, and so did the next, and the one after that. In 2015, I did become pregnant through IVF, but experienced a miscarriage. By that point, we had tried one additional IVF cycle and two rounds of IUI—all to no avail. We diligently tracked ovulation, monitored temperatures, and followed stringent schedules, yet nothing worked.
About a year after our Peru adventure, we began visiting fertility specialists to uncover the issue. At 35, I underwent numerous tests and procedures. One revealed a healthy ovarian reserve despite my age, while another hysteroscopy uncovered tissue growth within my uterine muscle, which required removal. We also dealt with a bacterial infection in my uterus and discovered that Ethan had low sperm motility, leading him to undergo surgery to improve his condition.
One particularly distressing test involved a painful procedure to assess the state of my fallopian tubes, resulting in tears and confusion. Afterward, Ethan suggested we might need to consider alternative options if this was the path we were on. Ultimately, our doctors diagnosed us with “unexplained infertility” and deemed us prime candidates for IVF, with a live birth success rate around 30 percent due to my age.
Our first IVF attempt didn’t yield results, but it did familiarize me with the routine of daily hormone injections, countless appointments, and the frustrations of dealing with insurance. Eventually, I felt overwhelmed by the entire process. When we decided to try again, I did become pregnant—but it ended in miscarriage at eight weeks. I vividly recall the sorrow of hearing the heartbeat fade during follow-up appointments.
Despite feeling broken, I returned to work the next day, seeking distraction. But every inquiry about my visit to the hospital reopened wounds. A month later, during a family gathering, I received a call from our fertility doctor delivering unexpected news: my miscarriage was due to a chromosomal abnormality—a detail he presented as “good news,” which felt profoundly misplaced at that moment.
As time passed, I began to grasp the silver lining; at least there was an explanation. This meant that I could still conceive, which was a glimmer of hope amid our ongoing struggles.
After much reflection, we opted to explore adoption. The emotional toll of IVF had worn me down, and the certainty of adoption seemed appealing. We researched agencies and selected one that embraced open adoption—a model I found both promising and daunting.
The process was extensive, involving background checks, documentation, and multiple payments. Six months later, we were officially designated as expectant parents and excitedly shared the news with friends and family. However, our hopes were dashed when the agency suddenly declared bankruptcy, affecting numerous families, including us. It was devastating to see our trust and resources vanish overnight.
In April 2017, I felt ready to give IVF another shot, despite our past disappointments. I rediscovered my trust in the process—albeit a cautious one. We returned to a familiar clinic, hoping that our previous experiences might guide us. They suggested preimplantation genetic screening (PGS), a procedure that would test our embryos for chromosomal issues.
After the procedure, we learned we had two healthy embryos—a boy and a girl—but we chose to focus on health over gender. On April 5, 2018, our daughter was born, healthy and full of life. She quickly grew into a curious little girl, eagerly anticipating becoming a big sister.
In a delightful surprise, on November 15, 2018, I confirmed that I was 11.5 weeks pregnant with my first spontaneous conception after years of trying. The shock and disbelief of this unexpected news consumed me, but soon enough, I began to feel fortunate.
For those navigating similar paths, I encourage you to explore resources like ACOG for comprehensive information on infertility treatment. Also, for practical insights on boosting fertility, check out Make a Mom’s fertility booster. And if you’re interested in more about home insemination, visit Intracervical Insemination.
In summary, after years of trying to conceive through various means, I finally found joy and hope through unexpected avenues of fertility and adoption, leading to the family we have today.