Category: Pregnancy

Crying and Cursing while Rebuilding from Hurricane Sandy

11/5/2012

Crying and Cursing while Rebuilding from Hurricane Sandy

This post is dedicated to my friends on the East coast who are dealing with the devastation that Hurricane Sandy thrust upon you. I am deeply, deeply sorry for all of your losses.

There are a good number of you who were in the midst of undergoing fertility treatments or in the process of finalizing your adoptions. Given the lengthy power outages, road closings and transit shut-downs, sadly those procedures and plans were either put on hold or, worse, cancelled due to the upheaval.

In 2007, my basement flooded for the 2nd time while my husband and I were undergoing our first IVF cycle. Until hearing all of the sad stories and seeing the unbelievable destruction, I hadn’t given our experience a whole lot of recent thought. Many of those terrible memories have faded since the births of our sons.

On the night of our 2nd flood, my husband and I had just moved the contents of our basement back into their respectful places from the 1st flood that occurred 4 weeks prior. We never thought we’d ever encounter such an event ever again—at least not in that particular house. What were the odds? (Although, if you have been reading my blog, you have probably come to realize that my husband, Brian, and I should seriously start playing the lottery given our ability to beat crazy odds!)

During the 1st flood, I was running a board meeting that I chaired for Children’s Memorial Hospital. When I got to my car I saw that I had 25 messages on my mobile phone. As I was looking at the screen, my phone rang and it was my husband. Here is what I heard, “D’LO, our basement is flooded and we have lost everything. I am dealing with it and I don’t want you to come downstairs when you get home!” Our basement was fully finished with a family room, full bath with a steam shower, a fireplace and a fabulous laundry room. I don’t recall my response but I remember leaving the parking garage. As I pulled onto the street, I thought to myself, “Well, I’m just not going to go home. I’ll just drive tonight.” We had suffered a miscarriage about 6 weeks prior to the 1st flood and I was still very emotional. I came to my senses after I drove around hopelessly for a while. When I got home, I changed and started helping my husband rip out carpeting and drywall.

When the 2nd flood occurred, my husband and I were present. I was dressed in a pink sundress and was barefoot. Another deluge had begun and we both began to worry about our lovely new basement’s fate. We started to frantically move as many items as we could to the upper floors. Many of my husband’s vintage guitars had been lost in the previous flood along with furniture, photos, our washer & dryer, and a refrigerator. We learned a day after the 1st flood that we didn’t have what is called a sewage backup rider on our insurance policy and therefore were responsible for all of the remediation, repair, construction and replacement expenses. At least this time we wouldn’t have to pay everything out of our own pockets, or so we thought!

As we braced for the 2nd food, I stood in the bathroom with towels stuffed into the toilet and scattered on the floor around our steam shower. What we were dealing with was hydrostatic pressure which means that once the sewers and pipes fill up underground, there is nowhere for the remaining water to go and therefore it just pushes its way up into any opening it can find. In our case, it was any/all drains, the toilet and sinks. We heard a distinctive glunk, glunk, glunk, and with that my husband shouted, “GET READY!” Shortly after his proclamation, the towel in the toilet flew up to the ceiling and a geyser began to erupt out of that toilet. The steam shower was filling up and I was pushing against the glass door with all of my might only to see the filthy water rise above my waist. My husband came in and said, “Let it go, there is nothing we can do.” I started to scream as the putrid water began to run over my bare feet and quickly came up to my shins.

Immediately, I thought, “The IVF drugs are in the laundry room fridge!” I ran through the murk, mud and God-knows-what-else and opened the door to the fridge. I started grabbing as many boxes as I could and then ran upstairs to put them in our kitchen fridge. I can honestly say that I think that I had an actual break-down that night. (My mother, sister, several friends and especially Brian can certainly attest to that fact.) I couldn’t stop screaming and crying. I just couldn’t. Our dear friend, who my husband called to come over to calm me down, took the drugs home with her to store in their refrigerator.

My strength was gone and I allowed myself to completely give into my grief, anger and hatred that accompanied the crazy event. The hatred was directed at the home we had purchased in 2006; I felt that it was rebelling against us by not providing a safe haven while we were trying to heal from our miscarriages and get through our IVF process. We had so many unattained dreams that we believed would be fulfilled when we bought the home. None of that had come to fruition and the damn house was kicking us while we were down. I wanted to leave the keys on the front porch and allow any willing and able party the opportunity to tame whatever demons lived within it.

The next day I went to Home Depot to pick up more cleaning supplies. As I pushed the cart full of bleach, buckets, and fans, I cried openly. Many construction workers gave me questioning and fearful glances. It's not often you go to your local Home Depot to find a seemingly crazy lady without any makeup on, in torn up shorts, a gnarly t-shirt, salmon colored gardening shoes (which come to think of it, actually matched the gnarly t-shirt) crying her way through the aisles.

Upon leaving, I got into my car and listened to my voicemail. The nurse from my doctor’s office had called with more details about our IVF cycle. I begrudgingly returned her call and told her that we had decided to put our IVF cycle on hold. When she heard the reason, she tried to convince me otherwise. At that point, my head was ready to explode and she clearly didn’t understand how devastating all of this was for me. I wasn’t willing to go through an IVF cycle while I was trying to put my home back together. I also felt the stress would be detrimental to the outcome.

When I arrived home, I got right back to work on the clean-up that needed to be accomplished. I was beyond livid because we learned that even though we were covered under the newly added sewage back-up rider, we couldn’t use the coverage. Our agent advised us that this disaster would be considered the 3rd strike on our policy. “What was the first strike?” you ask. Well, six months after we bought the home, our neighbor’s tree was struck by lightning, cracked and collapsed on top of our home. Ironically, the 2nd strike was related to the 1st flood even though we weren’t covered under the policy. The reason we were given was that the 1st flood had been recorded by the insurance agent, who we ultimately fired, and still counted against us. If we chose to put the claim in for the 2nd flood, we would probably be dropped by our current insurance company and not likely eligible for any other home owner’s insurance. (At the time this seemed ludicrous to me. Now that I have some perspective, 3 major catastrophic events to a single home within 2 year period does seem like a humongous liability!) We had put a big portion of our savings into the first basement reconstruction and we were in the midst of an expensive IVF cycle; I was left wondering, “How are we going to afford to fix all of this?” As I cleaned, I did a lot of crying and cursing at that damn house.

My experiences pale in comparison to what you have been through. I know that many of you didn’t have the opportunity to run into your basements and save your fertility drugs. To add insult to injury, you / your donor / your surrogate were trapped with no way to get to your doctor’s office for whatever next steps were planned. For those of you who were having babies through adoption, getting to your baby was next to impossible. Oh, I am so very sorry that Hurricane Sandy got in the way of your hopes and dreams!

I am saying a prayer for all of you while you are in the process of rebuilding your lives and trying to grow your families simultaneously. The only thing I feel may be important for you to hear is that when I was crying and cursing, I didn’t see any goodness down the road for me/us. Those were some of the darkest moments for me, my husband and our marriage. Now that I have my 3 boys, I can tell you that I seldom think of those very bleak days. I was able to move on and find happiness as a mother. In fact, had we gone through that IVF cycle during our 2nd flood, I may have never had the opportunity to be the mother to my guys.

My prayer is that your horrific days will soon pass and you will find your ultimate happiness as a loving parent and all of this horribleness will be nearly forgotten.

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Our Private Domestic Adoption Success Story

10/15/2012

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Our Private Domestic Adoption Success Story

Our eldest son turned 3 years old last week. We adopted him domestically and were present for his birth. From the moment he entered the World, we have thanked God and especially his birth mother for such an amazing gift. We have discussed his adoption openly and last night as my husband was bathing him, our son asked, “What did my birth mother say when she gave me to you?” I was so touched and astonished that he is already starting to understand and ask about his journey.

If adoption is something you are considering, I thought you may want hear Brandon’s story…

The moment my infertility was confirmed, I knew right away that I wanted to adopt domestically. I started researching our options and persuaded my husband to attend a free orientation that was being hosted by The Cradle, a local and well-known, full-service adoption agency. The program gave us a general overview on the differences between pursuing domestic and international adoptions. We listened to adoptive families share their stories. The one that sticks out the most for me was this family with 3 adorable and rambunctious boys. The parents had conceived their first naturally and then struggled with secondary infertility. They had chosen to adopt from Russia given that was the country from where their ancestors had migrated. The main obstacle they faced was that the paternal grandfather did not support their decision to adopt. Fast forward to when they brought their almost 2-year-old son home, Grandpa was the first to hold him once the toddler departed the plane and was placed into his arms by mom. Grandpa immediately went from being dubious and uncertain to elated and overjoyed. His change of heart seemed to happen instantaneously.

When we left the orientation and got into our car, my husband turned to me and said, “I don’t want ‘A’ baby, I want ‘OUR' baby.” While I understood what he meant, I couldn’t connect with his differentiation. The orientation/genetics of OUR child made no difference to me. I felt that once a child was given to me, in whatever way that happened, I would love him/her as my own. I share this memory because I think it illustrates a very common stumbling block for many couples who endure infertility—we aren’t always on the same page. The irony is that we’ve never needed our partner’s support and understanding more!

We officially began pursuing private domestic adoption in December of 2007. My husband had obviously warmed to the idea but he still had some apprehensions for sure. We chose private as opposed to working with a full-service agency or going the International route. Personally, I felt private would enable us to adopt sooner but I can’t point to any data that could have proven my hunch and I know a lot of couples who have had a great experience with full-service agencies. It’s just what felt right at the time.

Once our adoption pursuit began, we also decided to work with a marketing agency; the agency’s primary role was to reach out to potential birth mothers. I was told when we began working with the agency that I could call for updates. And you know I did. I called every Tuesday at 10 AM. After about 4 Tuesdays, I could tell that the firm was not all that thrilled I was touching base on such a regular basis. In fact, they so much as told me that, “I didn’t need to worry because they were doing their job.” Well, you know that didn’t sit well with me. If I had to ‘pay to play’, I felt that I had every right to have full insight into how many potential birth mothers had viewed our profile and showed interest. Given that, I unapologetically, called for my updates. (I share that  anecdote because you should feel good about your fertility/adoption partners. If something feels amiss, advocate for yourself and your family and DON’T feel the least bit guilty about doing so!)

30 Tuesdays plus 2 days later, we connected with our son’s birth mother. She was 5 months pregnant and knew she was having a boy. From the notes that I took on those Tuesdays, I recorded that 40 hard copies had been sent to potential birth mothers in almost as many States. I don’t have access to the online profile that was posted and therefore I am unable to share that data with you, unfortunately.

The night we connected with our birth mother was a little surreal, actually. I was in Detroit on a business trip when I got the call from our marketing agency. I was informed that a birth mother was interested in speaking with us that evening. They warned me that she had also requested a meeting with another couple so as to set my expectations. I arranged for us to be the second couple interviewed merely because I wanted to make sure that I was home and not stuck on a run-way. Before I called my husband, Brian, to inform him of the interview, I contacted our attorney to make her aware of the birth mother’s basic information (age, marital status, state of residence, etc.). Our attorney counseled us to move forward with the interview but to be mindful that this may not be the perfect fit (on either end).

Thankfully, my plane arrived on time. When our home phone rang, my stomach started doing flip-flops. I didn’t want us to mess THIS up. The conversation actually occurred between our birth mother’s mother (our son’s birth grandmother) and us on speaker phone. We chatted for over 2 hours and she finally said, “I want you to speak to my daughter. I choose you but I want her to make the final choice.”  I have to say that I wasn’t feeling completely excited and hopeful when we hung up the phone though. I was fully aware that the likelihood of us ever hearing from her ever again could have been fleeting.

Thirty-or-so-minutes later, our phone rang again and it was our son’s birth mother. We chatted for at least another hour. During that call, we were told that we would be the parents of her unborn son. We discussed meeting her in person the following month. While this was the news I desperately wanted, I was skeptical. We had been through so many false starts on our own and I was fully aware of the non-completion rates in domestic adoption. I wasn’t quite ready to let my heart out of its cage and let it fly free just yet. I did start a journal that same evening though. If I really was going to be this baby’s mother, I wanted to start documenting every detail from that moment forward.

Once the connection was made (or “match” as it’s called in adoption-speak) I decided that I wanted to do whatever I could to support our son’s birth mother no matter what the outcome. I understood the full magnitude of the loss for which she was preparing herself. I couldn’t fathom the thought of giving birth to a live and healthy baby only to relinquish him/her to people whom I had only known for a short while. I felt that this was the time that God was allowing us to prove ourselves as deserving parents and I prayed that it would all work out.

I began speaking to our son’s birth mother on a very regular basis. We did not formalize the number of times that we would connect but let it happen very organically (as hippy-dippy as that sounds). The funny thing is that I am not loosey-goosey at all. I am extremely regimented and I like lots and lots of order. I literally let myself be guided in a way that I had never allowed myself to be ever before. Strangely enough, it felt totally natural at the time.

My biggest concern was that our birth mother had the emotional, financial and physical support that she needed to carry her baby/our son. In the beginning of our relationship, I really just tried to get a general sense of whether the decision to give her baby up for adoption was truly her own or if she had been coerced/influenced by others. Much of what we talked about in the beginning of our relationship had to do with her everyday life. I was surprised that she didn’t barrage me with a multitude of questions like how we planned to raise her baby or who we were as people or even as a couple. In retrospect, the profile that we provided gave her the preliminary information and beyond that, she was probably just giving it up to God. I was told this would be the case by other adoptive families but still found it perplexing. I allowed her to take the lead. I realized that once the baby was born, she may begin to feel a tremendous loss of control. My goal was to give her as much power during this stage as I possibly could.

I flew to meet her and her extended family 2 months before our son was born. We met at her doctor’s office. I still remember what I wore—a cotton burnt red sundress that was smocked at the waist. My hair was twisted in a bun. I wanted to look attractive yet casual. Most importantly, I was hoping to portray someone who would be a loving mother. I was so anxious as I sat waiting to meet her. I checked my cell phone compulsively just to be sure she wasn't trying to reach me to call off the whole thing. When she walked in the door, I knew it was her from the photos she sent the first night over email. I stood to greet her and she extended her hand. I threw my arms around her and hugged her immediately. I wanted her to feel my warmth and appreciation right away. I realized that my eager gesture may have been premature and even unwelcome. On the other hand, I felt that anything less would have been disingenuous and insincere.

The high point of the visit for me was when she allowed me to sit with her during her ultrasound. It was a very intimate moment, as you can imagine. Here we were, having been strangers a few months before and now we were sharing this wonderful and emotional moment. When I saw our son on the screen, he was sucking his thumb and his heart was clearly beating. The majority of my previous ultrasounds had ended in tears and confusion. I was beyond elated to see this healthy fetus up on the monitor. I worked hard to keep my emotions in check for fear of spooking this amazing woman who held my happiness in her belly. It was really difficult. I could also tell that the nurse administering the ultrasound had never participated in this type of moment between an expectant birth and adoptive mother. There were all sorts of intense feelings flying about that room on that particular morning.

That first trip to meet our birth mother was both exciting and heart-breaking for me. On one hand, I was growing confident that I would likely be a mom in a few short months. On the other, I struggled with how the birth of my future child would affect his birth mother in the long term. As she and I grew closer, I encouraged her to work with a counselor or therapist but she was not in favor of doing so. In a way, I had become almost a parental figure to her but I had to respect the obvious line between protector and independent party. That was one of the most difficult aspects of this experience for me. I felt a need to support her but knew that I had to stick to my role and not deviate in a way that could ultimately harm her. The night before we left, I gave her the journal that I had started the night we first spoke. I told her that she was welcome to read the entries that I had written to Brandon (my husband and I had chosen his name at this point and our son's birth mother was aware and had embraced it). I also invited her to write a note to him if she wished. The day we left, she returned the journal to me. She and her mother had both written entries. (Recounting that memory is very emotional for me, I must say.)

As time drew closer to our son’s birth, I continued to speak with our birth mother almost daily. She invited us to participate in his birth; her offering seemed to drive home the reality that we were REALLY going to be parents in the coming weeks.

Exactly 2 weeks before his birth, I was chatting with her and asked about her birth plan. I wanted to make sure that she still wanted us to participate and, if so, to what degree. She mentioned that she would like to take Brandon (she referred to him by the name we had chosen) home for 1 night. ZOIKS! My heart began to race. I suddenly felt that my precious child was slipping away from me. Immediately, there was a pit in my stomach and an internal philosophical struggle started to play out in my mind. My brain told me that even though I loved this human that another was carrying, I had no right to claim him as my own. I was abundantly aware that the person with whom I had grown so close had the absolute right to keep her unborn child. My heart started to crack at this point. I/we had so much to lose and I was frozen with fear. I was having difficulty forming words or even breathing, for that matter. When I hung up the phone, I admonished myself mentally for having asked the question that produced an answer that would be left hanging until it wasn’t. Terror and dread were what swirled in my head.

After that bewildering conversation had taken place, my anxiety began to take hold of me. I spoke to our attorney about my fear. Brian tried his best to stay positive but reminded me that we should prepare ourselves (he wouldn’t say the rest). On those days, I would go to the nursery and sit in the rocking chair, which was newly upholstered, where there was a large ‘B’ stenciled the wall and anxiously rock with my conflicted emotions. Brandon’s drawers were already stocked with little bitty diapers, receiving blankets, white onesies and everything else a newborn baby could ever need/want. How was I going to NOT bring him home to his room? It, my heart, had pried its way out of its cage and was starting to flutter—there was no way to force it back in NOW!!!

I didn’t sleep for the 2 weeks leading up to our son’s birth. On one hand, I couldn’t wait to meet Brandon (the son who we already named). On the other, I had a feeling of utter dread. I spent hours crafting my impassioned plea to his birth mother over and over in my head. I was noodling with every word so that whatever did manage to fall out of my mouth would assure her that we were absolutely the perfect parents for Brandon. Oh, those were long and worrisome nights.

The day before our son’s due date, we flew to his expected birth place. His diaper bag was packed with adorable outfits, diapers, bottles and pacifiers. It was late when we finally made it to the apartment we rented for a month. We tucked ourselves into bed as birth mom was scheduled to be induced at 5 AM the next morning. The night consisted of us tossing and turning and not sleeping a wink. We didn’t speak; we just counted the hours, minutes and seconds until we could leap out of that bed, shower and drive the short distance to the hospital.

We arrived at the hospital at 4:59 AM on the dot. When we got to birth mom’s room, she informed us that her labor started at 3 AM. The Pitocin was administered about 5:30 AM and I was fully expecting Brandon to be delivered in no less than an hour.

22 hours later, our son was born just after 3 AM. There was some drama that occurred during those hours. There was a moment right before she began to push when I thought, “Uh-oh, here we go—we are NOT going to be parents…” The drama was brief and it really boiled down to a very long and drawn out labor. We stood in the hallway outside of her room while conversations were occurring behind the scenes. We were invited back in and once the pushing started, everything seemed to be back on track.

When Brandon FINALLY made his appearance, I was elated, concerned and overwhelmed. Our birth mother insisted that I cut Brandon’s umbilical cord. Nervously, I agreed. The doc started to holler at me because I wasn’t doing it fast enough. I had to holler back at him because Brandon’s little fingers were in the way and I wanted to avoid cutting them at the same time.

Brandon was whisked away to be monitored, poked and prodded and in that moment I had an out-of-body experience. To my left, was my precious little baby undergoing blood tests. To my right, was the amazing woman who had just endured 24 hours of labor and was planning to give us our most beloved gift. My instinct was to go to birth mom. I couldn’t abandon her; I wanted her to know how much we deeply cared about her. I sat next to her and held her hand. Brian went to be with Brandon.

The room eventually settled down and Brandon was ready to be held. She (birth mom) quietly and almost apologetically asked if she could hold Brandon. Her request both broke and warmed my heart; it shocked me that she had given us the ultimate power to allow her that first moment with her/our child. Without hesitation, I said “Of course!” She held him and we took photos of their precious time together. She asked which of us wanted to hold him next. I pointed to Brian. He was unable to speak at that point. The joy that he had been trying so hard to control had been immediately released the moment he cradled our son. He was overwhelmed by his love for the little being and his tears were unrelenting. At that moment, neither of us had any doubt that the baby he was holding was meant to be OURS.

Reluctantly, we left the hospital around 5 AM. On our way back to our apartment, we called our close relatives to share our joy. We hadn’t slept in days and desperately needed some rest. Our slumber was brief. We excitedly headed back around 9 AM to see our sweet little guy.

That morning, we brought our birth mother flowers and Krispy Kremes. When we stepped into the flower shop, I remember wanting to do something so much more for her. Showing up with a bouquet of flowers and donuts just felt like an insanely inequitable gesture; it certainly couldn't begin to demonstrate our deep gratitude for the unbelievable sacrifice she was about to make--her greatest loss was to become our most beloved gift. The bottom line is that there are strict legal limitations on what adoptive parents are allowed to give birth mothers/families and we were bound by those very same rules.

That afternoon, I stood by our birth mother’s bed and I asked her how she felt. Her first response was quite casual and I realized that she hadn’t taken the question the way I had intended it. A second later, she looked at me as if to understand and began to cry. She asked if she could take Brandon home for the night. This time, I was looking her in the eye and I couldn't avoid her request. Inside, I began to panic. I tried my best to look as composed and deliberate as possible. I told her that Brian and I were going to go out for about an hour so that she could spend some private time alone with Brandon. I said that upon our return we would like to speak to her further about the plan.

Once we were in the rental car, our hearts and minds were racing. We both knew that our future as parents would be decided in the next 2 hours. We went to a fast-food restaurant, ordered, sat down and inhaled our meals without uttering a word to each other. I recall it being the most bizarre and harrowing thirty minutes of my life. Our fear was so palpable that we were both rendered mute. My motor skills were diminished by lack of sleep and the horror of having to walk away without my living/breathing child made it nearly impossible for me to put one foot in front of the other. I dropped my phone as we were getting into the car and I watched it happen as though it was in slow motion. Every time I looked at the scars left on that phone, it conjured up all of those uneasy feelings of those frightening moments.

When we arrived back at the hospital, we entered the parking garage to find our birth mother and her friend taking a stroll. I really couldn’t believe I was going to have to have ‘the talk’ in a parking garage but that was the scenario we had been dealt and it seemed to make the precarious situation even scarier.

We got out of the car and walked up to our birth mother and her friend. Here is what I remember of our conversation after we made idle chit-chat… I looked at our birth mother and said, “What has been my biggest concern since we met?” Our birth mother looked at me but did not respond. I said, “Your well-being. Do you feel that Brian and I are meant to be Brandon’s parents?” She started to cry and so did Brian. I reached to hold her and she allowed me to do so. She responded by saying, “Yes, I knew from the moment we met that you were meant to be his parents. I just wanted a little more time with him.” I then said, “You are bartering with me the way I would barter with God if I knew he was getting ready to take someone away from me who I loved more than anything. If you trust that we are meant to be Brandon’s parents, we need to be able to start bonding with him and taking on our roles as his mother and father. This is where our paths have to start moving forward. Will you allow us to take him tonight?” She agreed.

Our adoption remains open and we both feel so unbelievably blessed to be Brandon's parents. Brian's original disinclination to adopt has been replaced with his infinite love for our son. His devotion to Brandon is unwavering. The song that always takes me back in time to those early days after he was born is, I can See Clearly Now, by Johnny Nash.

In our case, I feel that the relationship that we fostered with our son's birth mother was what allowed her the assurance of knowing that she was making the best choice for him. We respect and cherish her and we have such gratitude that she allowed us to participate in his birth.

If you feel adoption is your path to parenthood, here is a link for further resources Adoption Resources Information.

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Egg Donor Cycle—Originally Deemed a Failure

10/5/2012

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Egg Donor Cycle—Originally Deemed a Failure Results in Twins

In March of 2008, I received a call on my cell phone while I was standing in a Starbucks with my boss. As it turns out, my fertility doctor was on the other end. What I remember of the conversation was this… “This is Dr. K.; I don’t have good news for you. The retrieval from your donor was a failure. We were only able to retrieve 1 egg and I don’t expect a positive outcome from this cycle. We will check to make sure your donor followed the proper protocol. Our experience with her indicates that she most likely did follow it, however.” My response was, “Why are you calling me?” SILENCE------and then our doctor said, “Is this Denise Steele?”

Remember my earlier post where I told you that the road to figuring out how my husband and I would ultimately build our family was long and winding? Our decision to move forward with egg donation was complex, to say the least. I really had no desire to pursue it and was focused on adoption. My husband, on the other hand, had doubled down and believed with all of his being that this would be our winning hand. Neither of us could have predicted how prophetic his metaphoric belief was to be. Ultimately, we decided to pursue adoption and egg donation to increase our chances of having a family. I happily agreed to project manage the adoption process and my husband, Brian, took on the egg donor endeavor.

Coincidentally, we connected with our adopted son’s birth mother just a few days after we signed the contract with our egg donor. We decided to put the egg donor process on hold until our son was born. Our donor decided to work with another family in the meantime. After having been through a cycle, she was only willing to commit to working with us up until a certain date. We literally waited until the last possible second of her commitment window. Our oldest was just 3 months old when we moved forward with the egg donor process.

Once our egg donor started her cycle, I was very clear about the level of involvement I wished to have. Bottom line, I really just wanted my husband to mark the dates on my calendar when I was due to be seen by my doctor. I did help choose our unknown donor and was present for the visits with our attorney to finalize the contract, however. Beyond that, I wanted as little to do with the process as was possible.

You may view my stance as being detached and cold. The losses that we suffered beforehand were so devastating to me that I had built a protective wall around my heart and had grown callused to the idea of carrying any future pregnancies. I never miscarried on my own; once we learned that our unborn children had been lost in utero, I carried them around waiting for the inevitable to happen but it just never did. During those days of waiting, I would go into my doctor’s office for status checks and every single time I would think, “Maybe they will see a heartbeat and realize that the baby is still alive.” It was torturous. In my last miscarriage, I came down with an infection and my doctor was forced to do an emergency D&C in the hospital. I was admitted overnight and was put on an antibiotic drip. I left with enormous horse pills that I had to take every 4 hours for 10 days. I would set my alarm clock to wake at 1 AM and 5 AM to gulp down my meds, gag from the nasty taste they left in my mouth and then cry myself to sleep.

I predicted that any future pregnancies would end in heartbreak and I had no desire to put myself through that again. Growing close and loving a little being whom I would never get to smell, hold, feed and care for didn't appeal to me whatsoever.

Going back to the phone call with our doctor, my original reaction was not one of concern or despair; I was actually aggravated and confused. I had instructed my doctor’s office to plainly write on any/all of my records that “ALL COMMUNICATION MUST GO THROUGH THE HUSBAND!”

I responded to my doctor's question by confirming that he was speaking to his intended patient. Then I firmly asserted that all communication was supposed to go through my husband as was indicated on my chart. He explained that he had other procedures to get through that morning and that Brian should contact his office with additional questions.

As I was standing next to my boss, whom I liked very much but had no intention whatsoever of disclosing that I was trying to get pregnant through an unknown egg donor, I excused myself so that I could call Brian with the news. Not surprisingly, he had a lot of questions. Frankly, I was totally annoyed that I had to be the one to address them. I undoubtedly instructed him to call our doctor’s office to get the answers that he needed and deserved.

Again, I realize that my behavior seems icy especially since Brian had suffered through the same painful losses as I. To be blunt, I was resentful towards my husband, about this particular issue, because I felt I had done my part and had been pushed to my emotional brink. I was angry because I felt that he was putting his own selfish desires ahead of my pain. I had sacrificed a great deal and I didn't think he fully appreciated the hell that I had been through emotionally and physically. Suffice to say, I wasn’t willing to participate in the minute details that were required in quarterbacking an egg donor cycle. My feeling was that if he was committed to carrying out this egg donor ‘thing’ he was going to have to have skin in the game too. I wasn’t amenable to letting him get off (pardon the pun) by delivering his man-sample to our doc's office and then transferring all of the other responsibilities over to me. NO, I was not. I was willing to show up for the necessary doctor’s visits but beyond that, he was going to take ownership of this undertaking.

When I arrived home and got out of the car and was walking into take care of our new, beautiful baby, I felt an enormous weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I recall thinking, “Ok, now we're done with all of this baby making business.” The earlier phone call had put to rest my relentless wondering and worrying. A newfound sense of freedom had come over me and it allowed me to start looking forward to our life with our baby boy. Quite simply, the finality enabled me to start breathing again.

The next morning the phone rang. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying off. I picked up the phone with no expectation as to who would be on the other end again. It was the nurse from our doctor’s office. She stated that the donor egg had indeed fertilized and that I was to come in for the transfer the day after next. All I said was, “Ok.” I was puzzled by this notification because I remembered Dr. K. saying that ‘it’ had failed. I never anticipated getting a call from his office or that there would be any next steps. Well, so much for breathing!

I yelled downstairs to Brian and said, “It fertilized. We need to go in on Monday.” Understandably, he had a lot more questions and was just as baffled as I. Our exact conversation is a bit fuzzy but I am 100% certain that it ended with me snip-snapping, “Call the doctor!”

We went in that Monday and Brian couldn’t help but be a little excited. I was living up to my end of the bargain by undergoing the transfer procedure. We were given a card with a photo of our embryo on it. I recall wondering what I was supposed to do with the card when no pregnancy came of the transfer. It felt wrong to throw away a card with a perfectly nice picture of an embryo.

Anyway, Brian was allowed to be in the room and held my hand through the procedure. We waited for about thirty minutes. Brian is a very sentimental person but after all of this, my wistfulness was gone. My attention was concentrated on getting back to our, now, happy lives with our baby boy.

Fast forward to the first ultrasound, I knew that I had become pregnant as a result of the transfer but didn’t fully buy into the idea of it. Dr. K. said that he never thought we would get to this stage and I mimicked his skepticism. I took my place on the examination table and our doctor performed the ultrasound. Here’s what I heard next, “Huh! That’s interesting, I see 2 gestational sacs.” I looked at him and said, “What does that mean?” He said, “You are having identical twins.” WHAT? NO!, I thought. Then, I said, “No, we only had 1 egg.” (As an aside, being a twin myself, I never wanted twins. If our donor would have produced more eggs and more embryos would have developed as a result, it was my/our wish to transfer only 1 embryo at a time.) He looked at me and said, “You should know this since you are an identical twin, it split.” I looked at the screen in total disbelief and pointed to one of the white dots and said, “That is an air bubble and it will be gone in my next ultrasound.” He just laughed and said, “That is not an air bubble.”

The next day I left for a business trip in Florida. I was in denial about being pregnant with twins. However, when I went to bed that night cuddled up with one of our baby boy’s onsies, I started to panic about the idea of having 3 babies in 8 or 9 months. The following morning, I awoke to seeing blood -- not a lot but enough to think that I was miscarrying. I had never bled before so I thought, “OK, here we go with an actual miscarriage.” I called my doctor’s office and the nurse to whom I spoke said that there was nothing that could be done but just to wait and see.

I returned home and drove to my doctor’s office from the airport. Before he did the ultrasound, he said, “Bleeding is very common with twins.” I was completely agitated because I couldn’t understand why he kept harping on this twin thing. What I saw on the screen were those same 2 white circles that had appeared the week before. I was braced for the bad news. I figured that I was going to have to endure yet another D&C. Dr. K. said, “They are fine and they ARE twins. I am pretty certain that you are going to end up with 2 babies.” This was the very moment when the reality that I was going to be a mother to 3 babies in less than a year started to sink in and I was absolutely terrified. I was trying to get my head around the fact that just a few months before, I was on my hands and knees begging to be a mother. Now, I was feeling overwhelmed and insecure because I wasn't confident that I would be able to handle what God was giving me/us.

On October 5, 2009, Logan and Trevor were born. In fact, today is their third birthday. They were delivered at 32 weeks gestational via emergency caesarean section. Logan was baby ‘A’ and weighed 5 lbs. 1 oz. A minute later, Trevor, Baby ‘B’, followed and weighed in at 4 lbs. 7 oz. Their birth was a bit chaotic. As it turns out, I was in very bad shape. I had 7 blood transfusions and a full hysterectomy about an hour after they were born. For whatever reason, God decided to spare my life and granted me the gift of raising my 3 sons.

What I remember of their birth was feeling a huge sense of relief when I heard them cry for the first time. I was carrying posterior and only felt them move a few times throughout my entire pregnancy. The day I was taken to the hospital, the medical staff was having a difficult time picking up both heartbeats. I was convinced that my fears had come to fruition and that we would not be bringing home 2 babies. Trevor came out needing to speak to the CEO of the hospital right away. His screams were so fierce that I recall having a sense that he was going to be more than just ‘ok’.

Upon reflection, I am now able to understand that my inability to embrace the egg donor process was my way of protecting my heart. My detachment was elemental because I wasn’t going to allow for any future heartbreak especially since I had just found immense joy in raising our adopted son.

My pregnancy with Logan and Trevor was quite risky. I endured serious complications but the worst was that I was unable, or maybe even unwilling, to allow myself to grow emotionally close to them in utero. Admitting this is very difficult and makes me feel very ashamed. Given my history, I had built up a wall and had decided, unconsciously of course, that I would give into being the mother of these 2 children IF and WHEN they came to be born and were alive. Wow! The magnitude of that realization is striking me as I type. Let's just let that sit for a moment...

Of course I do wonder if my experience would have been entirely different if we were childless during the donor process and my pregnancy. But here's the thing, creating families through alternative methods is so very complex. There is no book titled, What to Expect When You Adopt or Have a Baby through Surrogacy or Egg Donation. We (you, me and everyone else facing infertility) have been dealt a hand that tests everything we thought we knew about ourselves, our partner and those trying to support us. When our children arrive, in whatever way that happens, we will love them with all of our being. That love is the only given in all of this.

Looking back, I am truly amazed at what it took to build our family. Clearly, my road to becoming a mother was laden with potholes. At times, I/we got off course and even lost our way. Once we arrived at our destination, it became abundantly clear that what we had endured was worthwhile and our journey was beyond extraordinary.

Handing out birthday cake to my sons and their preschool friends today was what I had envisioned when I was so desperate to become a mother. I fantasized about snuggling with my kids on their birthdays and that is exactly what I did this morning. It was glorious and it took me back to when they were these tiny, helpless little humans in the NICU and we worried and wondered, “Will they grow into healthy little boys?” I can attest that they most certainly have. The song that takes me back to the day that they were born is, Here Comes the Sun.

My life is good and full of meaning now. I sincerely hope that you will experience the same joy (and craziness) in the very near future!

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Dealing with Insensitive and Hurtful Comments During Infertility

10/1/2012

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Dealing with Insensitive and Hurtful Comments during Infertility

Let me be the first to say that before infertility smacked me in the face, I may have hurt or offended others by asking insensitive or even ignorant questions about their fertility struggles. I want to say how deeply sorry I am for whatever words I may have spoken or actions I may have unknowingly taken that hurt you. Clearly, I was stupid and unaware back then and now I know better.

So let’s start with that, our family and friends desperately want to try to help us but they fumble at times. That happens whenever we are faced with a major challenge and it definitely applies to infertility. While their intentions are good, they make mistakes and sometimes don’t even realize that the words they choose may be hurtful and biting. For those that have never been through what we have, there is a lot of curiosity and sometimes questions leave people’s mouths before they ever consider how their words are being received.

I am writing this in part to try to educate those around you. Feel free to send my blog to your entire network so that nobody feels singled out; I am happy to be the bad guy in this situation.

I have personally been on the receiving end of obtuse comments. This narrative exemplifies what we sometimes experience as parents who have built our families through creative measures…

After our twins were born, we went as a family to an annual 4th of July celebration. Our friends knew about our struggles and were elated that we had finally completed our family. We wanted to share our happiness and our adorable little guys with everyone. At the time, our twins were 8 months old and our eldest was 20 months old. We had a great day. However, just as we were leaving, one of my husband’s oldest friends and I were chatting and he asked me a question that still irks me to this day. Given our close relationship, he knew all about our losses and how we created our family. In fact, he was at the party that I wrote about in an earlier blog entry where I had a mini break-down. On that glorious 4th of July afternoon, he literally said to me, “So the twins are Brian’s but not yours, right?” The impact of this question was so stunning to me that it felt like he had punched me right between my eyes. My first inclination was to slap him as hard as I could, drown him with whatever beverage I was holding, and scream, “ALL of my kids are mine! I nearly died giving birth to MY twins and if you think for one second that they aren’t mine, you are a BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEPing idiot!”

Mercifully, I composed myself and simply said, “ALL of my kids are mine. They don’t happen to share my DNA but you better believe that they are MINE.”

Now seems like the appropriate time to share some phrases that one should NEVER say to someone who is facing infertility or has created their family through alternative methods:

Who are his/her/their REAL parents?
Do you wish you could have had your OWN?
So, they aren’t REALLY siblings then, right?
Well, at least you already have one!
Are you going to try to have your OWN children?
Why did their adoptive mother/family give them up?
Who is their adoptive family? Where do they live? ETC.
Who is the egg/sperm donor? Where do they live? ETC.
Maybe God doesn’t feel this is your time/or that you should have children. (Someone actually said this to me. She is an Atheist, by the way. I am still working on forgiving her that one, but very major, transgression.)
Maybe this isn’t the right time.
Try to focus on other things
How much did your baby cost?

Now, if you are in the process of researching alternative ways to build your family and you connect with others who have been down the same path, always start by asking, “Are you comfortable sharing your story…?” Speaking for myself, my goal is to provide you with as much information as possible so that you may find your parental path posthaste. If you ask me a question that falls outside of the parameters mentioned above, you will definitely be forgiven. As I said in the beginning of this post, I am SURE that I asked questions during our discovery phase that probably annoyed or even offended others. I was so curious and I wanted a baby so badly that my questions were often asked with little regard for those graciously trying to lend their support and guidance. Boy, I am having to apologize a lot in this entry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!

On the other hand, if you are on the receiving end of this blog from someone who is struggling with infertility, I hope this entry has provided you some insight. Clearly, you want to do whatever you can to support your friend or family member during this tumultuous time. I am sure your heart is breaking for him/her/them. My only advice is to be mindful of the words that you choose. Sometimes, words that are meant to be encouraging can actually cut and unknowingly damage the relationships that we hold so dear.

Lastly, remember that once a person or couple makes it over to the other side and becomes a parent, that child is theirs regardless of the how they were brought together as a family. Asking questions about how that child came to be can sometimes be very intrusive. For children who are adopted or have come by way of a donor, their birth story is theirs and it should be protected until he/she decides to share it. People ask me all the time about our eldest son’s birth family. My simple reply is, “If Brandon chooses to share the specific details about the amazing woman who gave birth to him, that is his choice and his alone.”

My intention in writing this entry was to enlighten all of us. Infertility is a subject that leaves many battle scars. Let’s try to support each other, as best we can, while we are waiting to celebrate the birth of your future children.

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Baby Hunting Resources...

8/14/2012

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Baby Hunting Resources...

Given that you are reading my blog, you have probably identified that something is amiss with your or your partner's fertility. Whether you have suffered devastating losses or you are struggling to get pregnant altogether, let’s start to uncover the resources that will enable you to become a parent.

When I was in your shoes, I had friends and supporters who fell into two buckets. There were those who were unfortunately facing their own infertility issues at precisely the same time as me. While we were able to swap stories and uncover bits of information, I realize now that alot of misinformation was shared between us. We just didn’t have the foresight to understand that there are numerous causes for infertility and our specific cases were all quite unique and some very complex. In the other bucket, I had a sister who was able to get pregnant by merely washing her underwear with her husband’s. Her deliveries also fell into the that’s-so-not-fair category. My niece was born a few hours after my sister’s water broke and my nephew is lucky that he wasn’t born in the car on the way to the hospital. The doctor told my sister that if she decided to have another, she should plan on wearing a net so that the next baby could make their entrance on her stroll to the hospital. She and her husband stopped at 2 though. As an aside, my sister weighed 120 lbs. at the very most when she gave birth to her children. It has always perplexed me how her deliveries were so darn easy--I thought the skinny girls always took the longest to deliver their babies. Anyway…

When my husband and I learned about my infertility, I was excited to figure out the adoption process and conquer that initiative. However, when it came to the egg donor process, I was not enthused about the idea whatsoever. My miscarriages were so devastating to me that I did not want to endure another pregnancy. I wanted to avoid all of the data surrounding that topic completely.

Our approach to dividing and conquering was that my husband took ownership of the entire egg donor process and I managed the majority of the adoption details. My husband researched egg donor agencies, spent time on chat rooms and fertility blogs and interfaced with the doctors, nurses and our fertility clinic to set appointments. He even chose our egg donor agency. Of course, some participation was needed on my behalf; I showed up for the necessary doctors’ appointments, took all of the prescribed medications, and helped choose our egg donor. Looking back, I really didn’t think that I would be able to carry a pregnancy to term and deliver a live baby. Because of my mind-set, I really only wanted to focus on the area that I felt would produce a living, breathing child. My role as our adoption liaison entailed interviewing attorneys/adoption agencies and keeping us on track with the licensing process. Most importantly, I interfaced with the birth mothers who had chosen us as possible adoptive families. When we matched with Brandon’s birth mother, I fostered and nurtured that relationship. In the end, I think the time that I spent getting to know Brandon’s birth mother positively affected the outcome of our adoption.

The overall take-away here is that the process of growing your family should be a shared responsibility regardless of who bears the fertility issue, in my humble opinion. My expectation of my husband, while we were trying to become parents, was that he needed to provide assistance beyond just hiding out in the naughty room at our doctor’s office and delivering his man sample. I felt that given the physical trauma that I had endured during and after the previous miscarriages, I needed him to step up in a way that minimized my stress and anxiety. For me, his active participation was absolutely necessary so that I could emotionally move forward with the egg donor process, even though I had not bought into the fact that it would work for us.

I sincerely hope that you have a partner and/or network of supporters who will actively and enthusiastically participate in your path to becoming a parent. You have been through a lot (of course they have too but you win in this particular case). You should not feel guilty about leaning on them for pragmatic as well as emotional support.

Check out the following resources:

If you have specific questions about my path to becoming a mother, please feel free to email me directly!

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It’s Not My Party but I’ll Cry If I Want To

8/7/2012

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It’s Not My Party but I’ll Cry If I Want To

I never subscribed to the notion that sharing news of one’s pregnancy, in the early stages, was a bad idea for fear that the pregnancy may not last. Personally, I was elated when I found out that I was finally pregnant and wanted to shout it from the rooftops. On the flip side, when I learned that I would never have my own biological children, I needed to be able to lean on my closest friends and family for support. Whether they were ready or not, they were going to join me on the emotional roller-coaster ride that became my life before I became a mom.

Grief always had a way of sneaking up on me at the most inopportune times back then. When I would speak to my sister on the phone she would implore me to grieve. Her emphatic requests to “Just let it out!” always confused me. I wanted to say to her, “If you expect me to start crying with you here on the phone so that this will all be over and we can happily move on with our lives, it's just not going to happen.”

Extreme waves of depression would always hit me in the morning when I awoke and when I would go for my regularly scheduled facials. My beloved esthetician would endure my tears throughout my treatment. Without fail, he would always end by saying, “If you stop crying, I will throw in a chemical peel at no charge. You have to stop crying for it to work though!”

Shortly after I learned that I was completely infertile, our very close friends began going through a foster/adoption process. They received a call right after the Christmas Holiday that a baby girl had been born who needed to be fostered and likely adopted. They had not yet completed the licensing process and therefore were only able to babysit her until they completed all of the necessary training and paperwork. They finally started caring for their daughter full-time when she was 3 months old.

When she first came to them, I would go over and marvel at how beautiful she was and help in whatever way that I could. Looking back, I have to admit that in addition to feeling an enormous amount of joy for them, there was also a healthy dose of envy and jealously stirring inside of me.

That same summer, another close friend hosted a dinner party at his home. These same friends arrived with their adorable baby that evening. My girlfriend handed her over to me, as she always did when we were together. While I was holding her, I maneuvered myself over to the couch and then patted and rocked her until she fell asleep on me.

As I held this gorgeous, pudgy sleeping baby, who smelled like formula and Johnson’s baby lotion, I had a sense of sheer contentment. I was totally relaxed and happy. My glass of wine was just far enough away that I couldn’t reach it and it didn't matter because I had all that I needed in my arms. About a half-an-hour later I began to quietly weep. My tears flowed freely and uncontrollably. I vividly remember the expressions of bewilderment on our friends' faces as they helplessly stood and endured my emotional breakdown. Our friend, the host, nervously called out to my husband, “Brian, D’Lo is crying!” Brian came to my side, as did the baby’s parents. Interestingly, they did not seem the least bit panicked or worried. I’m thinking that I may have been if I were they. They patiently allowed me hold their daughter for as long as I needed so that I could work through the pain of not being able to hold the babies we had recently lost.

In those moments, I didn’t give one wit that the majority of our friends were feeling pity for me/us. I didn’t care that there was a real probability that one, if not all, of our friends were wondering, “Shouldn't we call a professional about this situation?” and/or “Doesn't someone have a Xanax in their purse for God’s sake?”

During my predicament, life went on for those around me. I finally figured out that I was going to have to come up with a work-around solution if I really wanted to be a mom. Staying in bed with the covers pulled up over me and summoning my husband to bring me Diet Cokes just wasn’t going to get me the outcome that I truly wanted.

While I was trying to figure out how I was going to become a mom, I also spend a lot of time doing the following…

Getting facials, manis and pedis
Dropping by our jeweler on a very regular basis and I am embarrassed to say that my list grew exponentially during this time
Adding to my collection of shoes and purses
Enjoying a lot of expensive dinners while drinking a lot of margaritas and vodka sodas
Traveling for business and pleasure
Meeting with my therapist

Looking back, I clearly squandered away a whole lot of money. Pinterest hadn't been invented yet, People! If it had, I could have saved some serious do-re-mi. If you are looking for ways to refocus your energies, may I suggest yoga and meditation? It would certainly be a lot less expensive and way more beneficial for you. Far be it for me to judge though! If you would like to invite me to join you for a margarita and discuss your path to becoming a parent, I am happy to do so.

I am thinking positive thoughts for you!

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Nature versus Nurture – I Love Mine Just the Same

8/1/2012

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Nature versus Nurture – I Love Mine Just the Same

Card sent to our dentist's brother!

A question you may have for me or my husband might be, “Was it difficult for you to decide to adopt and/or go through the egg donor process?” You may also be secretly asking yourself, “Are their feelings any different (or is their love any less) for their children since they are not 100% biological?” I would answer the first by saying that there are several answers to that question. The second one is super easy though—I can’t imagine loving my children any more than I already do. I mean that from the very bottom of my heart. My husband would say the same and then he would get tears in his eyes. His love is so deep that he wells up on a daily basis from the mere joy and affection he has for our sons, AKA the BLT Bros.

I wanted to be a mother no matter how my children arrived. I knew that my love would be the same regardless of their genetic make-up. I had experienced pregnancy and loss and was beyond desperate to become a mom. There were days when my longing was so great that if a baby would have been parked in their stroller just beyond his/her parent’s reach, I would have taken the opportunity to snatch it and run. I realize that is straight up crazy talk but I ached for a baby and probably would have brokered a deal with the devil if I would have been assured a child.

Now back to the first question, the time that it took us to finally decide upon which road was best for us was long and winding. Truthfully, our marriage was thoroughly tested at this juncture because I felt strongly about adoption and my husband felt just as strongly about moving forward with an egg donor. That struggle began while we were still visiting with the doctor who determined the reasons for my infertility. We worked with therapists to try to help us decide how to move forward. I will focus on the decision making process in a future blog entry.

If you are anything like me, my guess is that your emotions are all over the map right now; you may be relieved to know that I behaved in ways that were affected by my emotional state. I felt that I was in a constant state of Purgatory while I was impatiently waiting to become a mom. Control was and is the center stone of my existence but I secretly knew that I had none at that time in my life. I did my very best to exert it when I could though. My career in sales has been built on the art of persuasion. Those were the skills onto which I leaned because I desperately wanted to influence my own destiny. I thought that I could manage those holding the keys to my parental future in a way that would produce a baby AND QUICKLY. In my mind, I felt that I was supposed to be a mom back in 2006 so tick-tock, time’s a wasting people!! The obvious targets were our social worker, our adoption marketing firm, and our attorneys but I didn’t limit myself to those individuals. OH, NO, NO.

I verbalized my deep desire to be a mom to almost anyone who was willing to listen. For example, I found out that my dentist’s brother was an obstetrician and that he had connected an adoptive family with one of his patients. Once I learned that little tidbit, I asked my dentist for his brother’s information and he actually GAVE it to me. OH LORD!! I began calling his brother, the obstetrician, on a weekly basis. I did not feel the least bit awkward about doing so either. Looking back, I really appreciate his compassion and sensitivity; he always took my calls and he gave me a reason to keep pursuing my dream of being a mom. Of course he gets a Holiday card from me every year! Don’t you wonder what the heck he thinks when he gets that card? Those are the cringe-worthy moments that I referenced in my first blog entry.

Another day that I remember quite well was one that came just a few weeks before we signed the contract to move forward with our anonymous egg donor and connecting with Brandon’s birth mother. I received a news report that came out about a baby who had been found in a garbage bag in Chicago and rushed to a nearby firehouse to be rescued. This report came to me by way of Google alerts. Back then, I had set up a search to forward me stories on abandoned babies. As soon as I read the article I thought to myself, “This is our baby!” We had gone through the licensing process to adopt within the US. My belief was that we would be eligible to adopt any baby that had been abandoned. For the record, that was definitely a faulty assumption on my behalf.

Right after I read the story, I called the nearby firehouse and asked to speak to the chief. I was transferred to a gentleman and began to explain our situation. In summary, I told him that I was licensed to adopt in the State of Illinois and that we were working through an agency and social worker who could help us adopt the boy who was abandoned. I then asked him to share the whereabouts of the baby that had been found the night before. There was a very LOOOOOOOOONG and drawn out pause. He then replied, “How did you get my information and who are you again?” I repeated my full name, the name of our social worker and told him that I needed to know where the baby was taken.

OK, at this point, you know where the conversation was going…”Ma’am I am not allowed to share that information….” Of course, I thought that I could state my situation in a couple of different ways and also include facts that were not limited to my husband being a very important City Employee and that I ran a Board for the largest Children’s Hospital in the Midwest. I mean wouldn’t you think those details should have assured him that breaking the rules, in this particular case, was completely permissible? Serious cringing happening right now! He respectfully held his position, however.

I was not deterred by being shut out by the chief, however. Nope. I called the aforementioned hospital and reached out to anyone and everyone that I knew to try to find out if the baby had been admitted. The HIPAA laws prohibited them from sharing that information, of course.

THINKING, THINKING, THINKING, I was. How am I going to get my baby by the end of this evening? DUH, I just needed to call DCFS and speak to a person who could put through the proper documentation and connect with our social worker. I Googled the head of the department, called and got voice mail, 0’d out and then just started calling any/all numbers that were associated with the department. The pace was becoming just a wee-bit feverish at this point because there was a baby out there who needed his mom. I did manage to connect with a few folks. They were quite kind in trying to figure out how to politely redirect me/decide if they should report me to the authorities.

In the end, the inquiries ended about mid-day. I had pleaded my case to no less than 12-or-so people and figured I would get a call later that evening letting me know where my son was and how to move forward with our adoption. Surprisingly, nobody ever called me back that day. I still wonder about that little baby. If he survived, he would be just over 4 years old today; exactly 3 months older than my Brandon.

As I recall those stories, I remember how frantic and utterly helpless I felt back then. I had no children and my first thought of every day was always, “What if I never get to be a mom?” That was always my last thought of the day too.

Though my stories conjure up the possibility that I may have grown a teensy-weensy crazy during my struggle, busying myself with outreach made me feel sane. I NEEDED to keep myself focused on those tasks so that I felt a sense of control over my situation. I was just trying to stay in the I don’t want to lose my ever-loving mind zone. Maybe you're familiar with that zone? It seemed to work for me most of the time. I also was meeting with a therapist on a weekly basis which provided me immense support.

Keep the faith, future moms. When you wake up in the morning and right before you go to sleep, say to yourself, “WHEN I am a mom…”

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From wanting & wishing to loving my 3 sons

7/31/2012

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From wanting & wishing to loving my 3 sons

My desire is to spread hope and encouragement to those of you who are facing infertility. I was in your shoes back in 2006 but have crossed over to the other side of wanting and wishing to loving my 3 sons.

On May 1, 20007 my endocrinologist confirmed that I would never bear my own biological children; it was exactly 12 days before Mothers' Day. When my mind wanders back to his office (where there was no tissue, BTW) that big lump comes right back up in my throat and the tears well up in my eyes as though I just received the blow for which I was so unbelievably unprepared. The memory is so clear that I can vividly see my doctor’s sympathy-ridden eyes that should only be shown to someone who is mourning the very recent loss of a beloved family member.

Now where are the tissues in my office, damn it? Please hold…

OK, I’m back.

The reason I chose to write this blog is because I am on the other side of wondering if I will ever be a mom. And believe me, I had thousands of panic-stricken moments in which I feared that I would never be. But today, I have 3 boys all under the age of 4 years.

My offering to you is one of hope and support. I know your heart has been broken so many times—either through struggling to become pregnant, losing pregnancies or for the mourning of children who could have been or even were.

Personally, I learned after I lost my first pregnancy in the 2nd trimester that our child was Triploidy. Shortly thereafter, I suffered a second miscarriage after 14 weeks. I felt an enormous amount of anger because I couldn’t figure out why these sick jokes kept being played on me.

Once I learned that I was infertile, my husband and I decided to pursue private domestic adoption and an anonymous egg donor cycle to increase our odds of having children. We struck gold on both fronts.

On October 9, 2008, our eldest son was born. We began the adoption process in December of 2007, met our birth mother in June of 2008 and Brandon was born that October. We were present for his birth and I even cut his umbilical cord. It was the happiest day of my life!

Fast forward to October 5, 2009 when our identical twin sons, Logan and Trevor were born at 33 weeks gestational. Their birth was completely different than Brandon’s, however. I will share more details in future posts but that day I crossed over and was brought back to life by a group of amazing doctors. I had 7 blood transfusions and a full emergency hysterectomy but survived to raise my 3 gorgeous sons. (The gorgeous part is fact and not opinion, just so we are clear on that point.) Thankfully, Logan and Trevor were pretty darn healthy. They weighed 4 lbs.7 oz. and 5 lbs. 1 oz. and only stayed in the NICU for 3 weeks to learn how to suck/swallow/breath.

So yes, if you are doing the math, I had 3 children in less than a year. I now have Irish triplets! Another fact is that exhausted 100% of the time but happily so!

In my future posts I plan to:

Touch upon some of the very personal, sensitive, and difficult topics surrounding infertility.
Share my personal experiences on my path to becoming a mom.
Encourage you to continually say to yourself, "WHEN I am a mom/dad..." This will not be a place of IFs but only WHENs.
Stress the importance of advocating for yourself and encouraging you to choose the path that feels best for you.

You should know that I was an extremely intense and goal-driven person during my infertility struggle/journey. In the end, I think that intensity and drive served our family well. For the record, I'm still extremely intense and goal-driven. Looking back, when I didn’t get the answers that I wanted, I had a tendency to take out my desperation on those who were doing their best to try to help me. While I will definitely cringe at the retelling of some of those outbursts, I am sure you will be able to relate to my anxiety filled episodes. I hope you will gather the important take-aways from these tales and navigate in a more gracious fashion than did I. Honestly, I can only really come up of a couple individuals who deserved the wrath upon which I cast. For those of you who did not, I sincerely apologize.

Even though more is being learned about infertility, there are still a lot of unknowns. During my quest to become a mom, I felt that the majority of my family, friends and sometimes even my husband lacked the ability to show and express their support in a way that was helpful and constructive. Frankly, my peeps made me insanely angry and let me down at times. On the other hand, most of those closest to me had never faced anything like infertility and were doing their very best to offer love while walking on eggshells (no pun intended of course).

When you visit my blog, please know that I have felt your deep and relentless pain. I REALLY want you to be a mother or a father and am rooting for you 100%. My prayer for you is that your road to becoming a parent is relatively short and your yet-to-be-born children will be extremely healthy and happy.

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Our Private Domestic Adoption Success Story

Our Private Domestic Adoption Success Story

Egg Donor Cycle—Originally Deemed a Failure

Egg Donor Cycle—Originally Deemed a Failure Results in Twins

Dealing with Insensitive and Hurtful Comments During Infertility

Dealing with Insensitive and Hurtful Comments during Infertility

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Nature versus Nurture – I Love Mine Just the Same

Nature versus Nurture – I Love Mine Just the Same

From wanting & wishing to loving my 3 sons

From wanting & wishing to loving my 3 sons

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