Retrospective

Today, a year ago, I woke up in the depths of despair. The first self-pay cycle had failed and I just couldn't see us continuing to throw money down the drain for a shot at parenthood. I was lost, sad, angry, frustrated. I had spent months researching procedures, clinics and stats, reading forums and coming up with a plan, only for it to end in failure. Sure, my Endo surgery was successful and I had quality of life back, but still no baby.

I know one failed IVF/ICSI is nothing compared to what so many go through, yet I saw it as a sign that it would never work for us. I was thinking, "How do I pick up the pieces today only to be crushed by another failure a month or two from now?" What would be the point of torturing ourselves with failed cycle after failed cycle?

It all felt hopeless. I just couldn't see a way forward. My Dh wasn't keen on using donor sperm, even though he had relented. Adoption is too expensive, and our age would count against us. Yet I couldn't imagine my future without children in it.

I listened to a lot of Annie Lennox, specifically, "Songs of Mass Destruction" while my husband traveled internationally. The time alone was a blessing. I could lose myself in the despair without him witnessing the downward spiral. I could sob and feel sorry for myself without increasing his guilt. My days were spent trying to come to terms with our childless future while trying to keep it together at work.

The frozen lake near our house, the weeping willows surrounding it, and the stillness of late winter mirrored my state of mind. I was stuck in a perpetual winter.

Then my clinic offered to enroll us in a grant program. I couldn't believe we qualified to get a portion of the next IVF/ICSI cycle covered, but we did. The grant covered enough of the cycle to enable us to try one more time. Just one.more.time, with feeling. I was in a daze. Cycle #2 started just two days after the previous BFN. My husband was still out of the country. I just jumped in, blindly, as soon as my progestorone level normalized.

I was still numb when I went to buy the second cycle's meds. I didn't think it would work, but there was no other viable option on the road to parenthood. One foot in front of the other: inject Lupron and Gonal-F, ultrasound, repeat. I tried not to think too much, and just do.

And then I peed on a stick and was dumbstruck. I POAS again and again and again until there was no denying the second line. It was so early, I thought it was the trigger showing up, but then it got darker and darker instead of disappearing. Disbelief. Even after beta number one, two and three, I didn't dare hope that I could actually end up with a real, live, perfect baby of our own. The ultrasound showed three sacs, and later three heartbeats. Triplets.

It scared me. High risk. So many things could go wrong. The more I read about the risks, the more petrified I became.

Yet, here I am, with three real.live.healthy.babies. Despite the odds, despite my disbelief, despite the risks, despite preeclampsia and HELLP Syndrome, despite their prematurity. I know I played roulette and won.

I'm incredibly thankful they made it, I made it, we made it. I know how rare it is to have a happy ending (or in our case, this happy beginning), to have this abundance, this instant family. I cherish my children. Always.

Although I do not wish a high risk pregnancy on anyone - and know of too many tragic outcomes - I do wish for everyone struggling with infertility to have the family they dream of.