Our Adoption Story Part I: IVF

Every family has a story. This is ours.

Before Mr. Bright and I got married, we discussed having a family and what that might look like. We both agreed we’d love to have a boy and a girl, and if we could not have our own, adoption would be an option. Why did adoption even become part of the conversation? Because OLD EGGS.

There, I said it. I know it’s not really a joking matter, but this is how I roll. Let’s just get the facts out there and DEAL. I honestly was under no delusions of grandeur that it was going to be easy to have a family after 40. I know that’s shocking, because I look 25, right? HA! I kid, I kid. I’m an old toot, a late bloomer in life, and I’m not shy about it. Forty is the new 30, people! Just go with it.

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P.S. If you are reading something on my blog and thinking, “is she trying to be funny?” The answer is yes. Sometimes I fail, o.k.?

When we got married, I was already 41. We had been together for about two years, so it’s not like we were rushing, but it’s also not like we took too much time. We were definitely at the stage of dating where we knew we had to commit or bail because we both wanted a family, and we weren’t getting any younger, although Mr. Bright IS younger (you may have figured that out by looking at him)!

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One year into getting used to living with another human again marital bliss, we definitely had conversations about starting a family. We didn’t take ridiculous precautions not to, but we also didn’t focus our efforts, timing, and intentions. I knew my eggs were aging, but I didn’t feel compelled to force us down a path until we were both same page, and yet neither of us were really pressing the issue. Life was busy, jobs were busy, we had added a fur baby to the mix (Goose), we moved a few times, and just weren’t THERE yet.

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Until we were. Somehow I hit 43 and panicked a little. Like WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE?? I quickly moved us into phase 2 of family planning: We have to make this thing a thing right NOW. If you know me at all, once I get something in my craw, I am probably going to make it happen, if it’s in my control.

So I started the conversation with Mr. Bright, and we focused our efforts. I had already done a little research and decided that after 6 months of trying, if we didn’t have a positive outcome, we would need to see a fertility specialist. Mr. Bright agreed. This was probably before he understood what that entailed–ha!

Six months flew by, and nothing happened. I wasn’t worried, because I set my expectations accordingly and felt confident in Plan B (infertility treatment) and C (adoption). Mr. Bright was already disappointed. This is how we roll.

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Through a recommendation from friends, we went to ACRM, Atlanta Center for Reproductive Medicine. Our friends had been very successful with them, and we even partnered with the same doctor at that practice. We were fortunate to have excellent medical coverage at the time, which helped defray costs (which started to accumulate immediately, I might add).

The testing phase was quick, and we had the answers I knew we would get. There was nothing wrong with either one of us, but my egg quality was low, meaning, while there were plenty of eggs, there weren’t many that were likely to make a baby. Mr. Bright was relieved (male ego intact), and my expectations remained the same.

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Infertility treatment is NO JOKE. You’ve probably read blogs and articles from others that get into the nitty-gritty details, and honestly, I’m pretty good at not rehearsing those memories so as not to commit them. What I can say is that it involves a lot of money, needles, syringes, wands up the wahoo, and the husband carrying on as usual.

I’m not saying that Mr. Bright wasn’t supportive, but husbands kind of just hang out and wait for the wife’s body to be primed for pregnancy. The wife gets the poking, prodding, hormones, and out of body experiences. It’s pretty awful and amazing, all at the same time. Mostly awful.

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Meantime, there were some discoveries. I learned that I have Hashimotos, which is very common, but having this under control was really important to having a viable pregnancy. The more I read about Hashimotos, the more I realized there was a name for my suffering, which included difficulty losing weight, hair breaking off, eyebrows thinning, you know, all the fun stuff. My hopes were that this magical pill (synthroid), which so many women take, would also cure many of my symptoms. It did not, but it did get my hormones at levels which would support a healthy pregnancy.

Mr. Bright and I went through one round of IUI and two rounds of IVF. Yes, I skipped the details–this post is already a long one, and the details are summarized two paragraphs above (you know, the one with the wands).

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Our second round of IVF was a success, and we became pregnant in October of 2016! We were over the moon! We told only our family and a few close friends and were soon planning to tell the world. This is the part where anyone who has been pregnant (and happy about it) starts thinking all the happy thoughts–holidays, cute outfits, baby snuggles, and just finally being part of the parent club!

At 13 weeks, I had a routine ultrasound scheduled, and the doctor had said we could soon find out the the baby’s gender. We were SO EXCITED. As I lay on the table and the exam began, I knew something was wrong. I waited to hear the heartbeat as we had before, but there wasn’t one. My doctor quickly left to grab another doctor so she could also have a look. I was already on the phone with Mr. Bright, wailing into the phone, “there’s no heartbeat!” The second doctor also found no heartbeat.

Within 30 minutes, I was back in my car, sobbing. Why had God allowed this?? Hadn’t I been through enough in my life? Like I had seriously lost all perspective. It is very unlike me to go to a place like this…I’m not ashamed, because I know it’s human, but it was a bad place in the car that day.

It was a sadness, that was deep, dark, and endless. It felt like the thief of hope, the one I so vehemently refuse to acknowledge, had quietly crept in, unnoticed and unapologetic, and snatched the happiness and dreams from my heart.

And then it hit me. This is grief. This is death. And that is why it feels so heavy and suffocating. Death is always. Losing someone is forever. And there is nothing you can do and no action you can take to change this. And so I sobbed some more. The emotions were crushing…debilitating. Paralyzing.

I remember sending the text “no heartbeat” five or so times to the people who knew I had the ultrasound appointment and had reached out to check on me. You may have been one of those people. That really sucked, huh? Talk about worst day ever. I’m sorry, but also thank you for being one of my people.

Mr. Bright and I were devastated, and our house went quiet. It’s what we do when something terrible happens. We just hunker down and get into survival mode. Neither of us want to talk, because we both need time to process. It was a lonely, sad, and hopeless time.

People say that miscarriage should be talked about more, we shouldn’t be ashamed, and we should just put it all out there. And I get that. I wasn’t hiding anything, but I just did not want to talk about it. I like to keep personal things to myself (as I write our most private journey for the world to see–ha!), until I am emotionally ready to discuss things. And what I mean by that is, until I am ready to deal with people’s reactions. People are funny, and they can say the stupidest funniest things at the worst times, can’t they? I needed time to prepare for those people.

But if I am being honest, I also needed time to prepare to be the person people expect me to be….and that person is strong. It’s not that I don’t have friends who will be there for me if I melt into a puddle of tears, so don’t blame them. It’s me. Just me, being who I am comfortable being out in the world…. that is strong.

Not perfect, not someone who doesn’t fail–I’m comfortable with all of that (good thing because I screw up a lot). But weak, I do not like. Hopeless, I cannot be. Without a plan B, I am lost. Sometimes I just need time to get through a difficult period and rebuild my strength before I can let my misfortune out into the world. Mr. Bright is less complicated. He is a man and doesn’t care to discuss it with anyone but me. And sometimes not even me. The end.

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I’m not saying that’s the right way to be, by the way. In fact, it’s probably not, especially for someone who considers herself fairly authentic and with a reasonable amount of emotional intelligence. I’m just being honest. I am aware that it may be unhealthy, but I have plenty of other things to fix about myself, so I am not accepting any advice on this part of me at this time, so thank you in advance for not offering any–ha!

The holidays that year weren’t awesome, and I finished my master’s degree that December, even though I wanted to quit. I slowly built up my strength and regained the perspective I am comfortable with in life. Here is the summary of that process:

Me talking to me: “The fact that you are still here to take another breath and can freely walk and think on your own, as well as make decisions for yourself is a gift in and of itself. Anything more is icing. What you have and what you are is enough. Negativity and sadness is a waste of what could be your very last day. GET IT TOGETHER, MARY!”

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Again, refer to the paragraph above if you feel the need to fix me right now–it’s called coping, and none of us are perfect, o.k.?

I spent 2017 hardcore working from home and decorating. I poured myself into creative projects, and Mr. Bright poured himself into work.

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We hadn’t made any decisions, but we both felt like another round of IVF may not be in the cards. We were out of benefits, and it was just so hard on us. Our doctor told us we were ready to move forward with anything–IVF or adoption, when we were ready to handle another failure. Those were sobering and helpful words.

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By the summer of 2017, Mr. Bright was at an impasse. His commute was killing him, he didn’t love our house, which was AMAZING, by the way, and he needed a change. Did I mention that when I get something in my craw, I kind of make it happen?

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We put our house on the market in August, sold it in nine days, and moved across town in September, to our new money pit beautiful Savannah replica home. We had healed. Our wounds were there, but they were bearable, and we had hope again.

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We talked about adoption. A lot. We each did our own research. The most difficult part seemed to be where to start. Clearly we needed money. Isn’t that always the case!? And we had some of that but probably needed a lot more. Adoption info on the web is….conflicting. Sparse in comparison to less important topics. Confusing. And not confidence-inducing.

In November, I started to get antsy. I reached out to someone I had found on the web that had several decent reviews. She is an adoption professional, not really part of an agency, but more of a referral agency, and she gave me the action item I needed to get the ball rolling. She told me to create our adoption profile.

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I had already done some research on adoption profiles, and I got to work. You can spend hundreds or thousands having one created for you, but that felt inauthentic to me. The lady I spoke to said many of her families just create them in a Word document.

I told Mr. Bright I wasn’t coming to bed and that I was going to get our adoption journey out of the starting gate! He seemed o.k. with it, so I stayed up all night that night and created our profile, which is mostly pictures and a few blurbs that birth parents use to make decisions about who will parent their child. No biggie, just one of the most important documents I would ever create in my entire life.

The next morning I had our profile completed, and I sent it off to the adoption referral agency. I wouldn’t recommend this person to others, by the way, which I’ll get into in part II of this blog post. But we were ON OUR WAY. Adoption was starting to feel real! Now we just needed to keep saving money…. and wait to see if a family would choose us. It was an exciting and scary phase.

Just TWO WEEKS later, we were MATCHED with a birth mother, but I’ll tell you more about that in Part II! I’ll also fill you in on the details of that profile and what an adoption referral agency is.

I’d love to hear your feedback so far, so please leave me a comment below. If you haven’t subscribed, you can do that here. If you’re ready for Part II, you can start reading HERE.

xoxo Mary