Eight years ago, I sat stunned as a doctor told me I may never have children. That I would almost certainly never manage it without intervention. I was aghast. I always knew I wanted children, and to be told that my body probably wouldn't cooperate was a huge blow. I was in my early twenties, and had figured I had plenty of time to find Mr. Right and get down to the business of a family. Then the doctors told me I was wrong. I grieved. Then I started planning. If I'm being told that the longer I wait the less likely it is, then I guess I better get down to it, huh? I researched Artificial Insemination, I started house hunting, credit repair, and made sure I had good solid health insurance.
Then I met him. And he swept me off my feet. Six weeks later we were living together. A year after that he proposed. And then we were married. We both adamantly wanted children. We knew that we were meant to be parents. We were meant to bring joy into the lives of children, to make up somehow for the joy we never had as children. I was honest up front with him that I may never be able to provide that for us. We agreed that if we got to that bridge, we'd explore adoption, but that we would have children one way or another. But, the first few years of our life together were rough, we had both been laid off, and the job market was tough. We knew there was no money for children, and no insurance for fertility treatments. So we waited. Until the time was right. Until he had a fairly secure job that he enjoys (most days), one that paid enough that I could leave the industry I hated and devote my energies to being a mom.
It took me months to get in to see a fertility specialist. We discussed drugs, diet, testing, all those things that the average person never has to think about in relation to getting pregnant. It took us 9 months, and some pretty heavy-duty drugs, but we finally did it. We found out right before Christmas that we had finally succeeded. We were both on Cloud 9, even though I was sick as a dog. I had to spend the first trimester on drugs to maintain the pregnancy, and they made my life hell. I couldn't keep food down, there were mornings where I couldn't even keep water down. The slightest smell of food could trigger vomiting. I was miserable. But I knew it had a purpose, I knew that at the end of all of this, I wouldn't care about 12 weeks of vomiting or the lethargy or the depression that went with the drugs. In the end it would all be worth it.
