I am 39 years old, and my journey has been a long one. As I approached my 36th birthday, I was still single and had not yet discovered a life companion. My aspiration has always been straightforward: to become a mother. I wasn’t prepared to abandon that dream simply because I hadn’t found a husband yet. In 2015, I discovered that my egg reserve was low, and my reproductive endocrinologist advised me, “If you desire kids, you must act fast.” Due to health concerns, I postponed getting pregnant until January 2017.
Throughout that period, I researched possible donors, selected one, and got ready for my path into motherhood. Nonetheless, my initial attempt resulted in a miscarriage at 6 weeks in February 2017. A few months later, I was excited to learn that I was having twins! Amazed, frightened, and thrilled, I pondered how I would handle two infants as a single parent. At 14 weeks, I got more thrilling news: I was having both a son and a daughter. “One of each type,” I mused—how ideal! However, at 16 weeks, contractions started, and accompanied by occasional bleeding, I hurried to the hospital. Luckily, my twins seemed completely healthy during the ultrasound.
My obstetrician checked me once more and said, “You’re dilated.” “You must have started to give birth.” I experienced severe pain, but it never occurred to me that I was actually in labor. I was astonished by what I was listening to; it seemed unreal. Would my children make it? I hardly had a moment to absorb everything before being swiftly taken to the labor and delivery unit. Shortly after, my son, Buchanan, arrived, and three hours later, my daughter, Leonor “Nori” Bowman, was delivered stillborn. Both were flawlessly shaped, having 10 fingers and toes, along with eyes, noses, and mouths.
I experienced unfathomable pain, suffering, and destruction. Even with the trauma, I still wasn’t prepared to abandon my aspiration of becoming a mother. That night, feeling hopeless, I inquired with my OB if we could attempt once more. I realized time was limited, and I had to continue progressing. Despite my determination, mourning the loss of my twins was among the most challenging experiences I’ve faced. Juggling the sorrow of their loss with the hope for a future pregnancy burdened me, and I dreaded that this could be my sole opportunity to become a parent.
About two weeks following the arrival of Buchanan and Leonor, I caught myself viewing *Tyler Henry’s Hollywood Medium* on television. I couldn’t dismiss the sense that I required a sign from my kids, something to comfort me that they were alright. The following day, I resolved to tattoo their footprints on me to convey my profound sorrow for how my body had failed them. My mom and I visited a tattoo parlor, and after waiting for 20 minutes with five people in front of me, they called my name. I passed the artist the hand and footprint cards, and he quickly saw their names on the reverse side.
The artist attentively scrutinized the small footprints, stating that he required additional time to make sure they were flawless. Approximately 20 minutes later, he came back, clearly shaking and in tears. He expressed regret for the delay, mentioning he had to sort things out and even contacted his wife. Perplexed, I inquired about the issue, and when he turned over the cards, he noticed that the names of my kids—Leonora and Buchanan—matched those of his grandmother. He conveyed that his grandmother’s name was Leonor Buchanan, leaving me utterly amazed. It was an unusual coincidence, and I found it hard to accept the link.
It was a message, a signal from above confirming that my children were secure and I was following the correct path. This moment provided a profound feeling of tranquility and comfort, affirming that I must continue to strive for them. When the pathology results returned, I discovered that an infection had caused my premature labor. Nonetheless, that rationale didn’t resonate with me. My instincts suggested that there was more involved, so I went back to my reproductive endocrinologist for additional clarity. He said to me, “That is certainly not the cause of your losses.”
Following various examinations, he found that I had a unicornuate uterus, a rare uterine condition impacting just 1% of women. This indicated that only part of my uterus grew in the womb, and I generally had one kidney, one ovary, and one fallopian tube. Although the diagnosis frightened me, my RE believed I could still carry a baby to term, so I moved ahead. During my journey, I encountered amazing support groups that rekindled my hope of becoming a mother. After four failed IUI attempts, my RE suggested looking into IVF. As my 39th birthday nears, I understood that I couldn’t delay any further.
It was a symbol, a message from above that my kids were secure and I was headed in the right direction. The experience filled me with profound tranquility, encouraging me to continue. When the pathology results arrived, they indicated that an infection had triggered my premature labor. Nonetheless, that reasoning didn’t resonate with me. My intuition suggested there was additional information, so I went back to my reproductive endocrinologist. He emphatically stated, “That is certainly not the cause of your losses.”
Following additional tests, he identified that I have a unicornuate uterus—a unique condition impacting only 1% of females. Only a portion of my uterus had formed, usually associated with one kidney, ovary, and fallopian tube. The diagnosis scared me, but my RE reassured me that I could still complete the pregnancy. The support groups I participated in during this period provided me with a refreshed sense of hope. After four unsuccessful IUIs, my reproductive endocrinologist suggested I consider IVF, and with my 39th birthday nearing, I realized I needed to act quickly.
