Throughout the years of struggling to conceive, I have encountered numerous moments akin to the concept of “Sliding Doors” coined in the Gwenyth Paltrow film of the same name. These moments, where seemingly inconsequential decisions can drastically alter our futures, have made me reflect on the crucial things I would have done differently in hindsight when it comes to family planning.
Many individuals my age reminisce about the wonders of their 30s, a time when they were building their families and careers. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same. Infertility took a toll on various aspects of my life, including my career, marriage, family relationships, finances, and friendships.
At the age of 32, I made the decision to embark on the journey to have a baby. Although I wasn’t entirely prepared to let go of the possibility of a childless life, I was well aware of the ticking biological clock. However, the thought of experiencing difficulty conceiving never crossed my mind. My family doctor provided the typical advice for women my age: try for a year, and if there are no results, come back for further evaluation.
Initially, I joked with friends about the abundance of intimacy my husband and I were engaging in. As time went on, I started questioning if my husband was somehow at fault. Eighteen months later, I found myself in a fertility clinic, listening to a specialist informing me that my hormone levels were approaching menopausal levels, and my ovarian reserve was depleting rapidly.
It came as a shock to learn that the average woman’s fertility peaks in her late 20s. By the time I had started trying to conceive, 15% of women my age were already facing infertility issues, making it difficult or even impossible for them to become pregnant. This newfound knowledge baffled me. How was it that this vital, life-altering information was not routinely provided during medical care for individuals in their late 20s who may one day desire to have children?
Without wasting any time, I immediately began fertility treatments. However, after three years of futile attempts, all I had to show for it was an extensive medical record. That’s when my husband and I contemplated surrogacy. Although a less common option at the time, I managed to connect with someone who had experience with surrogacy. She graciously agreed to be our surrogate, and within months, she became pregnant. It felt like a regular pregnancy, as we prepared our home and our lives for the arrival of our baby. I dutifully attended my surrogate’s medical appointments in a nearby city. The day before the due date, I listened to the strong, rhythmic heartbeat of the baby. An induction date was scheduled three days later if labor didn’t commence naturally. I felt serene and content. Within the next 72 hours, I was going to experience the joy of motherhood.
The following afternoon, my surrogate called me at work to inform me that labor had begun, and she was heading to the hospital. My husband and I rushed to meet her. As we were directed to a waiting room down an empty hallway, we assumed that we wouldn’t be allowed in the delivery room due to the advanced stage of the labor. Sitting there, time seemed to stretch on indefinitely. Absentmindedly observing the room, I noticed its eerie emptiness. It was pristine and sterile, devoid of any discernible scent. I requested my husband to make inquiries about the delay, but as he stepped outside, a group of people emerged from the hallway. My heart raced with anticipation as they approached. They entered the room, and a doctor broke the devastating news – our surrogate had experienced a traumatic delivery. Our baby had no heartbeat. Despite their efforts, the baby did not survive. As they prepared the baby for us to see before being taken to the morgue, I went to check on our surrogate. We sat on the edge of her bed in the recovery room, shedding tears together.
Later, my husband and I embarked on the silent drive home. I cannot speak for his thoughts, but I attempted to comprehend the drastic change that occurred within that short span of time. We arrived at the hospital without a child, and we departed without one. So why did it feel like my heart had been ripped from my chest? When I shared this question with a friend the following day, she replied, “Because you became parents last night.”
In the midst of grieving the loss of our daughter, I contemplated the multitude of losses we had endured in the preceding years. Month after month, I picked myself up after receiving bad news and experiencing failed attempts. Often, I wondered if I had reached rock bottom. That night, I was certain I had hit the lowest point. My husband and I descended into a dark, isolated place as we mourned the loss of our child.
Miraculously, two years after that tragic night, not one, but two new surrogates became pregnant simultaneously. Unfortunately, the first surrogate experienced a miscarriage. However, our second surrogate successfully gave birth to our daughter, Georgia. Despite her early arrival and spending her first ten weeks in an incubator, Georgia thrived. Around the same time, we received news that the first surrogate had miscarried one of the twins, but the other baby was still viable. Just three months after Georgia’s birth, our daughter Sadie joined our family. And then, another extraordinary event occurred – I discovered I was pregnant with my son, Lucas. On Christmas Day, I gave birth to my son, whose head size rivaled that of a basketball. After seven arduous years of trying to conceive, we suddenly found ourselves with three babies born within 15 months. Sharing my story, I do not intend to scare or pressure others into making hasty decisions about having children before they are ready. The choice to become a parent is profoundly personal and sacred. Unfortunately, access to essential reproductive health care options has been lost by many individuals across the United States. Without knowledge about our fertility and the risks of infertility, countless people will have their control over the decision to have a child weakened. An ultrasound technician once tried to convince me that the waiting room in my fertility clinic was filled with women like me – lawyers, doctors, engineers, businesswomen – because we prioritized our careers and delayed having children. I informed her that the composition of the waiting room reflected individuals who possessed financial means and the privilege to afford assistance.
Infertility treatment is now a $20 billion global industry, projected to reach nearly $38 billion by 2027. Unfortunately, unless one is wealthy or employed by a company with generous fertility treatment benefits (which are few and far between), access to treatment is often unattainable. The divide between those who achieve parenthood and those who do not is largely determined by financial resources. However, the desire to become a parent transcends socioeconomic status, as well as other factors that hinder marginalized groups’ access to treatment. When individuals struggling with infertility seek advice from me, I offer the following guidance: educate yourself with the facts and base your decisions upon them. Undergo a fertility work-up, which includes a simple blood test and ovarian ultrasound for women. Ensure that your doctor explains the results thoroughly, allowing you to comprehend their implications. Additionally, I stress the importance of not delaying seeking information or assistance, regardless of the chosen path to parenthood. Had I been better informed about my own fertility, I may have been able to avoid the painful and fruitless 18 months spent trying to conceive.
My children undeniably represent the most profound gift arising from my experiences. Because of them, I have embarked on a journey that has transformed my life in unimaginable ways. However, by sharing my story, it is not my intention to instill fear or pressure others. Becoming a parent is a deeply personal decision, one that should be made with careful consideration and awareness of the available options. Unfortunately, various barriers impede individuals from accessing reproductive health care choices. My hope is that by spreading awareness and knowledge about fertility, we can empower individuals to make informed decisions about their own reproductive journeys, regardless of their socioeconomic backgrounds.
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