The Rough and Winding Road

Many women recall dreaming of their wedding as a child. They may have pretended to walk down the aisle, say "I do," or toss their bouquet. As a young, altar girl in the Catholic church processing in behind our priest, I would often imagine myself walking those same steps as a bride someday. That was as far as my wedding dreams went. When I eventually did marry my husband years later, I did walk down an aisle, but it was under a blue sky and lined with grass.

     What I more often dreamed about as a little girl was being pregnant, having my husband feel my large belly, and having a bambino of my own. I loved playing with dolls and knew (by the age of 12) that my future daughter would be named Sophie. I still love that name and am set on it! I would think to myself, "This feels like an ordinary day, but someday it might be my baby's birthday."

    Fast forward to my 29th birthday in 2011. My husband and I were traveling in Europe where he was on a summer study abroad session for graduate school and I had hopped along since I am a teacher and have the luxury of free summers. We had been married for five years and up until this point I had tried out many of types of birth control from the Nuva Ring (loved it!) to a variety of pills (hated those!). On this trip, however, I announced to the dear man that I was through with birth control. I had been feeling the baby itch for some time and we had been discussing possible "start trying" times. That past school year, three other teachers in my building (all with variations of my first name) were pregnant and glowing excitedly. I was ready for my turn! I did give my husband the option of using condoms, but we all know how that goes.


We began trying that August and tried some more, and some more through the Fall. I was attempting to stay relaxed and waited for it to happen. Well, it kept not happening so I decided to do a little On-line research. I have heard countless women and doctors advise against this because it has been known to cause a baby-desiring woman like myself to become obsessed, but I pursued the internet baby-making bibles anyway. I learned about ovulation (most commonly between cycle days 11-14) and timed our intimate moments accordingly. Even with this my Aunt Flow kept visiting! Didn't she get the "You're no longer welcome" memo?!  Apparently, not.

     I am a big goal-setter and have been quite successful with this. My goal for pregnancy was to have my first of two children (spaced four years apart and one of each gender, or both girls) by my 30th birthday. I'm a planner, what can I say? As the months ticked by I refined my goal to having a baby during my 30th year. A few weeks after Christmas I decided that it might be a good idea to seek some professional advice (my mother's suggestion). I thought it was customary to try "on our own" for a year and then seek help, but I realized that my late night internet searches were beginning to take a toll on my sanity. Or rather, my sweet mom realized this. Before seeking help (because that would mean bringing in the big guns!), I resolved to take February off from the baby craziness. I drank wine, was intimate when I actually felt like it, and was so happy! It was a wonderful and much-needed vacation. At the beginning of March I called the hospital and set up an appointment with the reproductive endocrinologist. I was feeling relaxed (thank you, vacation!) and confident that the professionals would be able to help us. I also noticed that my bosoms were a bit sore and my period was late. Not imagining that I could possibly be pregnant, my first thought was to inform the doctor that my period was irregular and that they might need to address that, as well. With my appointment approaching and no Aunt Flow, I decided to take a pregnancy test so that I could tell the doctor that I had indeed seen a negative result.

     Surprise! It was positive! I practically had a heart-attack and am sure I added a few wrinkles to my forehead from opening my eyes so wide. As my husband and I were walking our dog that night he audibly pondered the notion that he might be inadvertently contributing to our failed pregnancy attempts. I couldn't keep the secret any longer and exclaimed that I didn't think so! After hearing the news of my best test result EVER (and, not to brag, but I was the Valedictorian of my high school class, so I care about grades) he almost had a heart attack himself.


    The next day I cancelled the appointment with the specialist and began looking at Craig's-list for strollers. I was so glad to be done with the baby-making journey and not to be one of those women who had trouble conceiving. I reasoned that I had just been a little stressed about it all and once I relaxed it had indeed worked out!  In March I flew back to my home state to visit my parents and sister. I could barely contain my excitement as they opened the gift bags I had brought them; each containing a onesie with a special message. It was great to have them in the loop, but I felt uncomfortable with all the chatter about me being a mom because I was not having any pregnancy symptoms other than a lack of period and slightly larger breasts. My mom attempted to put these fears to rest by assuring me that she, too, had easy pregnancies and recommended I count myself lucky.


  I tried to do this, but as the weeks passed on I couldn't shake the fear that there might be something wrong. I moved up my first ultrasound visit to the 8th week of my pregnancy so that I could finally put these fears to rest. As the hubs and I walked up to the pre-natal floor of the hospital I was incredibly nervous. The nurse who had ushered us into our exam room did a quick pelvic exam and then brought over the ultrasound equipment. I shared my concerns with her, but, like my mom, she was quick to put them to rest. Then she saw the ultrasound image. The look on her face was one of confusion and concern. She asked us to wait a moment so that she could grab a doctor to take a look at the screen. This was it, I realized. My doubts were becoming true. The doctor who came it looked at the screen and explained that things did not look as they should. I did have a gestational sack, but there was no heart beat and the sack looked as though it was caving in. I was crushed. After another visit with a different doctor to confirm the results and following the recommendation of this doctor, I decided to have a D&C that week.

  The night before the D&C was the hardest of my life. I was crumpled up on our bathroom floor crying so hard and feeling lower than I had ever felt. I honestly did not think I would be able to go through with the D&C. I just didn't think I was strong enough. My husband came upstairs and consoled me and let me know he would be there with me every step of the way.

   The next day came and went. It was difficult, unfamiliar, and many tears were shed. I resolved to never go through that again, if I could avoid it.

  After the regulatory month off following surgery we began trying again. I also decided to visit an acupuncturist to see if holistic medicine would help. I actually really enjoyed acupuncture. The women who administered it were kind, patient and good listeners. They helped me to realize that I ovulate late in my cycle (by recommending I take ovulation predictor kits until I had a positive test result, not just on days 11-14) and that my body temperature was a little lower that the norm. Though I enjoyed the holistic approach, by July I was not pregnant and decided to see the medical specialist after all. We met in late July to talk about options. I began trying to convince my husband that Clomid was not very invasive and might be a good next step. My 30th birthday was approaching and though my sister and her boyfriend were flying in to celebrate, I was not looking forward to it. For me, this birthday represented failure and sadness. We went camping and I visited the campground rest room often to see how my period was doing. I had started the day before they flew in, but never progressed much. On the afternoon of my 30th birthday, after returning to our home, I took a pregnancy test and received my second positive result. This one lasted a week.

 Fast forward a year. I have since taken 7 cycles of Clomid, four IUIs, taken $150 injections to induce ovulation and progesterone suppositories (what fun!). Oh, and had three more early miscarriages. After the last one I told my husband that I didn't think I could do it anymore. Going to the doctor had become a depressing, taxing experience. Even when it worked...it didn't last for long. The doctors were not terribly helpful and I was tired of the roller-coaster of emotions. My husband was supportive and agreed that we could stop. I had been considering the possibility of adoption for a few months by that point, but on that day, we both agreed that it would be a better option for us. I'm sure he will soon eat these words as we begin our pursuit of adoption, but as we sat at our kitchen island with solemn faces, he stated that adoption seemed so much easier than having a baby ourselves. I agreed.

And that, dear reader, is how we ended one journey, and began another.