This is a story about making the best choices you can, shown by trust and love. It’s about how difficult parts can shape appreciation, hope, and deeper love across generations.
My road to pregnancy was not easy. Doctors told me I had only a 1–3% chance of considering because my eggs were low value. My FSH levels, a measure of how hard my body was trying to get my pods to release eggs, were high. As a blunt friend put it, “That’s the sound of the last crusty egg rolling down the pipes.” Humor became my lifeline in the midst of despair.
I was lucky to have a supportive acupuncturist who encouraged me to try. With the help of fertility doctors, I went through IUI, or intrauterine insemination, a method that places concentrated sperm directly into the uterus when the ovary releases eggs. It involved Clomid, a drug that made me feel emotionally possessed, weak, and hurt. Childlessness is separating, killing, and painful. We also considered adoption, but I wasn’t ready.
After several failed attempts, following my acupuncturist’s advice, I added progesterone, and finally, I got pregnant. The first trimester went smoothly. At the end of it, the doctor confirmed a healthy heartbeat, and I felt cautiously optimistic.
Because of my age and family history, my younger brother was born with a birth defect. I requested a nuchal fold test. The results changed everything. My baby had a cystic hygroma, a rare condition causing a fluid-filled sac on the neck due to lymphatic blockage. Worst-case, it could lead to hydrops and early death. The doctor explained that the baby’s heart could eventually be overwhelmed by the pressure of fluid building up in the body. The prognosis was grim over 99% chance the pregnancy would not reach time, and if the baby survived birth, survival was not expected.
This forced me into the unimaginable: I had to decide whether to continue a pregnancy I had wanted for years, knowing it would likely lead to suffering for my child and might harm my future fertility. Thanks to a compassionate genetic counselor, I was referred to Planned Parenthood for a safe, humane termination. My mother had faced a similar state era earlier when abortion wasn’t legal; she lost my brother and had no choice. I was lucky. I had options, support, and understanding.
The procedure itself involved Laminaria, a natural method to gently dilate the cervix. The physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional weight of ending a pregnancy I had wished for. I cried for hours, supported by feeling staff who treated me with pride.
Five months later, I became pregnant again. This time, I chose to be fully present allowing myself to feel both joy and fear. The pregnancy went smoothly. My daughter was born healthy, eleven days past her due date, proving that despite past hard times, miracles can happen.
My mother waited anxiously for news across the country. Only after holding my child did, I understand the depth of what she had endured with my brother and the strength of her support during my decision. I carry a profound thankfulness and silent love for her.
If abortion hadn’t been legally available and supported, I would not have my daughter. She is the result of love, choice, and safe options across three generations of women. My success as a mother reflects the power of having control over one’s body and decisions. My daughter, born with all her eggs and the ability to choose, symbolizes the trust and independence passed down to her. She is trusted, and that trust should be thrilled.
This journey taught me that personal decisions, compassion, and support can guide us through the hardest choices. It showed me that grief, hope, and love can live. Most of all, it reminded me that women rate expert over their bodies and futures and that every choice made with love and care is lawful, brave, and commanding.
