How often do any of us stop to think about where life has led us compared with what we envisioned? I think about it a lot lately, as my husband Tom and I approach our seventh year of trying to conceive. I’m 32, about to turn 33, and childless-a fact that I never in a million years could have imagined for myself. As early as I can recall, I was destined to be a mother. I loved holding babies, playing house, imagining what motherhood would be like-I knew it was my destiny.
Tom and I grew up in the same small town outside Detroit, Michigan. We went to the same schools, then played on the same little league teams. We went on a date in the summer of 2010, and the rest was history. We moved in together in 2011, got engaged that fall, and married shortly after. Tom was my calm, my anchor. I knew he was the one.
After marriage, we started trying, but I had PCOS and irregular cycles in those days; it was frustrating and mostly sad to track ovulation. A year later, we felt that we might need medical intervention. Around the same time, we relocated back to Michigan, and I started working at the University of Michigan’s emergency department-a job that eventually gave us an opportunity to pursue IVF.
We found that Tom’s sperm count was very low. We were forthright with each other that our only hope may be IVF. His surgery did not improve the count, and our initial few cycles of IVF were heartbreaking. Three rounds, hundreds of tests, and heart-wrenching failures later, we were defeated, alone, and mentally exhausted. We hit the pause button: quit our jobs, sold the house, and spent a year traveling, healing, and rediscovering joy.
But the desire for a family never faded. New testing and procedures brought more challenges when we were ready to try again, as our eggs and Tom’s sperm often just didn’t produce viable embryos. We were stretched thin emotionally and financially, failure after failure. And then, through social media, a miracle happened: a couple who had gone through IVF themselves offered to donate two of their frozen embryos to us. I really can’t describe how that phone call made us feel-they were our angels, giving us hope when we had almost given up. Now, with the embryos ready for transfer, I am grateful to our donors, to Tom, and for the journey in itself. I may not have a child in my arms, but I do feel like a mother. Every failure was part of the journey; every heartache was a testimony to how hard we tried. And to anyone who walks this or a similar path, let me remind you you are never alone. Reach out, find support, and, most importantly, keep hope alive, as sometimes the miracles of life come through very unexpected ways.
