Where Our Story Starts: My Infertility Journey

Where Our Story Starts: My Infertility Journey

Infertility is a quiet kind of heartbreak. It lives in the negative tests you throw away before anyone sees them, the baby announcements you smile through, and the questions from well-meaning people that land like a punch. It's grief for something you've never held, and hope that refuses to go away no matter how many times it gets knocked down.

If you're in that season right now, I see you. I've been there for years of it. This is where our story starts.

I learned I carried the BRCA2 gene mutation in my twenties. Along with everything else that came with that news, I understood something very clearly: if I wanted children, I didn't have unlimited time. I would eventually need surgeries to protect my body, and I needed to have my kids first.

So when Michael and I stopped preventing pregnancy at 29, a year before we got married, we were hopeful. We assumed it would happen quickly.

It didn't.

The years of "not yet"

Around 31, we went to my OB-GYN for help. I had surgery to remove endometriosis and a cyst on my left ovary, and I was told I'd likely be pregnant within six months.

I wasn't.

We did months of Clomid. We did three IUIs. We charted my cycles, took my basal body temperature every morning, ate clean, and stayed active and healthy. We did everything right. And we got one negative pregnancy test after another.

Our official diagnosis was "unexplained infertility." Meanwhile, it felt like everyone around us was getting pregnant, some of them by accident. That season was deeply depressing, and I don't say that lightly.

Going all in on IVF

After the failed IUIs, we moved our care to Emory Fertility Clinic in Atlanta and decided to go all in on IVF. It cost thousands of dollars, but it made more sense than continuing to repeat what wasn't working.

We did all the meds and all the shots. At one point, I did 56 injections in a single week. If you've never been through IVF, it's hard to describe the hormonal roller coaster. It's unlike anything else.

Our transfer was on April Fools' Day, which also happened to be Easter weekend. I'll never forget it. We had to go all the way up to Atlanta for it, but it was worth it. They transferred two fresh embryos.

On the morning of my blood test, Michael and I took a pregnancy test together at home. I wanted that moment you see everyone else get, where you look at the stick and feel the butterflies inside. You get the big hug and start imagining what your life is about to look like! Then... negative. We were crushed. It felt like it just wasn't going to happen for us.

I went to work that day with a heavy heart. Later, I was sitting alone in my tiny office when my nurse, Lois, called. She had a voice like she'd smoked a pack of Camels a day.

"Congratulations, you're pregnant."

"Lois, you're lying. I took a test this morning."

"No, you really are. Your hCG is rising. You're pregnant."

I could have fallen over right there.

Only one of the two embryos stuck, and she's our Kin.

Round two

We had four embryos left, and I wasn't getting any younger. After we moved to Florida, we decided to do a second round of IVF so we could keep those four in reserve.

That's when I heard a new phrase: low ovarian reserve. I'd need the highest dose of medication, which also meant the most expensive. Even so, 20 follicles developed, and we had 13 embryos to send for genetic testing.

The losses and the miracles

What doesn't show up in a family photo is that I've had nine miscarriages, including one from a transfer that took and was lost early.

And alongside those losses came our miracles. After years of being told it wasn't happening, Kel was conceived naturally. Kerr came from our second round of IVF. And then Kai surprised us, conceived naturally too.

I had a preventive double mastectomy at 36 and a complete hysterectomy at 39. Our family was complete.

What this did to us

Infertility tests every part of your marriage and your life. It was really, really hard. Michael had to be my rock, and that's a heavy role to carry when you're hurting too. And the whole time, the costs kept adding up.

Our faith carried us through the waiting, the losses, and the unanswered questions. Even on the days we didn't understand God's plan, we trusted He had one.

What I want you to know

Fertility is complicated. Don't take it for granted. Don't assume you can have kids, and don't assume you can't.

Fertility can be easy for some people and incredibly painful for others. So when conversations turn to pregnancy, babies, or "when are you having kids?", pause and consider who's in the room. You never know what someone is carrying.

And family looks different for everyone. Anyone you call family is a blessing.

That belief is why I'm telling the next part of our story: what we decided to do with the embryos we had left.