For part 1, click here.
For part 2, click here.
For part 3, click here.
Surgery recovery is ugly: me and anesthesia don’t get along. But the news is: definitely PCO; definitely mild to moderate endometriosis (now burned out and out of the equation); no blockage of the fallopian tubes or scarring. Dr. Stegman prescribes glucophage, because PCO is an insulin-resistance condition. I resist the idea of starting long-term medicine—by now I have a screaming antipathy to pharmaceuticals for anything related to fertility. But he convinces me that the end, in this case, is worth the drug. And he’s right, because almost immediately my irregular cycles settle into a reasonable pattern of length.
My college roommate emails to announce her first pregnancy. It’s a big moment for me, because weeping is my second reaction; first, I feel joy on her behalf.
We are feeling hopeful for the first time since it all began. Christian uncovers some research which reveals that the water in our region is filled with alachlor, diazanon and atrazine, which adversely impact male fertility. We go to Lowe’s and pick up a PUR water filter, because we drink a lot of water.
Thanksgiving Day, the priest talks about the Gospel passage “Seek and you shall find.” In Greek, he says, it actually says keep seeking and you shall find; keep knocking, and it shall be opened to you. It seems particularly apt.
By Christmas of 2002, we’ve decided it’s time to start the adoption process. We tell our families. Mostly, there is support, both loud and quiet…but one family member can’t accept that there’s more to this than the fact that we’re stressing out about it. Christian blows up, and I get a rare glimpse of just how deeply this affects him emotionally, even though he doesn’t talk about it.
In January 2003, we begin collecting paperwork for our “dossier” to send to Russia. We don’t stop trying to conceive, and we consult via phone with Dr. Stegman, who prescribes various things to try to help improve the quality of my signs…but it’s time to move on. “I love my Russian adopted children already,” I write, “but I still ache for the fulfillment of womanhood.”
On Holy Saturday of 2003, I have a dream. In it, I’m sitting on the floor, holding my adopted children. I wake up feeling completely at peace for the first time in as long as I can remember.
Late spring, we finish the dossier and head to the Secretary of State’s office to have it “apostiled” (think notary on steroids), and mid-June 2003, the paperwork heads to Russia. We are officially expecting. And it’s a good thing, too, because a few weeks later, Dr. Stegman announces he’s moving, and his partner, Dr. Dixon, is too overbooked to take on new patients. I go on his waiting list. In July, we have our fingerprints taken by BCIS, and we receive travel visas. It feels real—even more so when my sister gets The Call in August, and starts making plans for travel to China. At last, my Journal begins to fill up with normal life again, without the pain and angst of unfulfilled dreams.
At first, we expect the wait to be about the length of a pregnancy. But specifics are hard to come by. We call the agency every so often to keep a finger on the pulse of our wait. By the time the 9-month mark comes along, the wait is still 9 months long. I fill the time by learning some rudimentary Russian.
In the meantime, I get a call in November 2003: Dr. Dixon’s practice has opened up enough to offer me a spot. I take it, promising that I won’t crunch their schedule with infertility appointments right now, as we’re expecting to adopt shortly; we’ll get back to infertility treatments after we bring our Russian kiddos home.
The “infertility moments,” as I come to call them, still pop up every so often, but mostly 2004 is a study in frustration as the process in Russia slows to a standstill…for months. In November of 03, we are #8 on the list; by February, we’ve crept to #7. Putin has fired the entire cabinet, and the entire Ministry of Education, which oversees adoptions, is in chaos. It’s been a whole year since we finished the paperwork, and we’re still waiting. And waiting. And waiting. But now, instead of yelling at God, I yell at the Russian government.
At Dr. Dixon’s suggestion, Christian gets re-tested and we discover that the water treatment has done its job. Hallelujah! The first of April, we move to #5. We’re actually getting close enough to taste it. For one cycle, we go back to using NFP to avoid pregnancy, and then we realize how ridiculous that is, after 2 ½ years. We actually give notice at my job, telling my pastor it’s time to find a new liturgy director.
I’ve always given blood regularly, but this summer I keep getting deferred for iron. Every time, it’s lower, even though I’m taking supplements. It’s driving me nuts. The first of August, I’m officially unemployed, waiting to be a stay-at-home-mom to two little ones born around the world. I prepare for two weeks of traveling: one weekend to my cousin’s wedding in Michigan, the next to a composers’ retreat in Minnesota. And in the week between the two trips, something happened that has never happened in the three long years we’ve been trying to conceive: My temperatures stay up for 16 days. And 17. And 18.
On the Feast of the Assumption, I go to church, where I hear Mary giving praise for the life within her womb. I tremble at the edge of incredulity. After all this time, is it possible? The next morning, I wake impossibly early. Heart pounding, I take a pregnancy test. The results are supposed to show up within two minutes, but it only takes about fifteen seconds for a little stick to rock my world.
Well, there are some loose ends to tie up. What about our Russian babies? Apparently it’s feast or famine time for parenthood; just as we find out I’m pregnant, we find ourselves at the top of the wait list. At first we think we’ll keep the pregnancy under wraps and go ahead and bring home the kids as planned. Then we start thinking about the sheer insanity of going from zero to three kids in less than a year—and not babies, either, mind you; we would have had a 3 year old and an 18 month old from Russia, plus a newborn. We decide that’s not fair to the adopted kids, who are going to have a big enough transition as it is, so we opt to get pulled laterally off the list, meaning when we’re ready to adopt they’ll stick us back in at the top. Of course, as pregnancies #2 and 3 come along, the paperwork expires, and we realize that we have to let go of that dream.
What was it that caused my infertility? Stress? Certainly, I was in a stressful job. But as my friend Alison noted on her blog yesterday, stress is a short-term factor, not a long-term one. Water had something to do with it; PCO had something to do with it. But I’m afraid nothing quite accounts for our infertility. Nothing was severe enough to justify it, and thus we just have to thank God that it finally ended.
Which brings up the question why? For a long time, I thought I was going to have to accept that I’d never know the answer to that one. But then Julianna came along, and I realized that all our suffering had prepared us for her arrival.
Well, there you have it. My thanks to all who stuck with us through this long, extremely personal, often “TMI” story. I share it because I think it’s important that we stop treating this subject as taboo, as “too personal.” Infertility is an isolating experience, and the more off-limits the subject is, the more isolating the experience becomes.
I woke up this morning hoping you’d posted the next segment. Thank you for sharing your story; I can’t imagine your pain in trying to conceive.
So thankful you now have three beautiful children
What an amazing story, Kate. Thanks for sharing it with us.
i knew how it ended but its such a good story still! (And you’re was definitely one that I was referring too the coincidence being uncanny!) And about having those dreams…wow I can totally relate these days! I think I just tried not to let myself think about it for a looong time, maybe out of fear of a jinx or something. I do believe I was just trying not to deal with it…But the thoughts come even when you ‘try not to think about it’! My dreams have become much more vivid as of late but whenever I wake up from holding these children (mine? my siblings? it doesn’t matter) I always have the deepest peace about me, its undeniable that that peace would come with adopted children as well. Or with fostering too, which is what we’re leaning towards right now. And I’m reminded what I’m looking for is an inherent good, it isn’t just this selfish desire pushing me forward! Anyways, thanks for sharing again. Maybe we would all just feel less stress if there was less of a stigma….who knows.
Thanks for sharing your story, Kate! I agree that we need to stop treating this topic as taboo or too personal. There are many couples nowadays who are going through this difficult journey.
There *are* a lot of people going through it, and I’m pretty sure every one of them would agree that if there’s something systemic that is leading to this increase, we ought to be talking about it. I’ve gotten to be pretty vehement on environmental topics, including unecessary self-drugging (as in most use of b.c.) b/c I just don’t see how we can discount those environmental factors in the explosion of infertility–not to mention other things that keep popping up in higher #s like autism. The amount of pharmaceuticals, chemicals & pollutants we imbibe through the water and the air and our food can’t go through our systems without causing SOME effect. Screw with Mother Nature at your peril. And why isn’t anybody studying this????? Then, if I’m off my rocker, I could shut up about it. But I just don’t think I am.
I agree, Kate, that someone ought to be studying this. And I don’t think you’re off your rocker!
What a powerful witness you have provided. Thank you for sharing your story.
This story was so encouraging to me. My husband was diagnosed with infertility prior to our meeting even, due to a lacrosse injury. I was diagnosed with infertility in my teens when I had less than a period a year. The doctors blamed mine on a heart condition I’d had through puberty – saying that perhaps I just never fully developed because of the lack of oxygen I experienced and prioritization of blood flow to other organs.
We started adoption paperwork prior to our wedding, but got pregnant, much to our shock, on our honeymoon. We then proceeded to get pregnant 6 times in 4 years, having 4 children 4 and under. I was totally overwhelmed by this, transitioned roughly to stay-at-home mom, and bucked God all the way for the “gifts” He sent my way! I wondered why He chose to do it like that – after our 1st unexpected pregnancy (I was on hormonal birth control at the time, for regulation of my cycles), we used birth control each and every time (different methods) but God trumped every single one.
Then I was diagnosed with cancer. and I suddenly understood perfectly why He sent them so fast, one on top of the other. I wouldn’t have them otherwise. I got a tubal to avoid pregnancy, which had sped up my cancer growth. And I still got pregnant, one more time, just so God could prove that He COULD defeat every method (we were receiving criticism in our church for choosing permanent sterilization – to which we had argued that birth control didn’t seem to stop God before and wouldn’t now).
I am still waiting, at 31 and still fighting cancer, to see how God ends this story for us. I fully expect another baby sometime, when His timing is right.
Your story just proves how amazing and unique each of our experiences are. Wow!
And I knew you all this time! Wow! You have encouraged me more than you know. I know that God will use your story in many ways to encourage many people. Thank you for staying faithful to him and giving the glory to him. You definitely have so many blessings from him now (and always have). Blessings on you and your precious family!
I’ve really enjoyed reading your story Kate, thank you for putting it out there! We always need reminding that medicine is a blessing but God is the giver of the healing. Love you cuz.
Thanks, Cass, and many, many hugs & blessings to you.
My husband and I just went through a similar experience but thankfully clomid worked for me. Please email if you want to chat.
I am so glad you wrote this all out (and posted it publicly!) Really an incredibly emotional story. And, if I can be as… callous? as to say so, it almost feels as if God was like “oh, you thought infertility was hard? Try this!” But somehow you’ve lived through the past ten years to be holy and happy, if stressed. And that is a beautiful miracle, along with each of your children.
🙂 Frankly, I think infertility was harder. But then, maybe that’s because we were prepared. After all, Julianna is REALLY cute. 🙂
Great ending. I love how you said you went from yelling at God to the Russian Government. Isn’t that the thing, there is always something else controling our ability to have children in infertility. Which means, conviently, there is also always something or someone else to blame. Thanks for sharing your story.
Thanks Kate! I do wish people were more open about infertility; that and miscarriages. (Though I probably would wait the prescribed 3 months before announcing too.) Honestly, if I had spoken with you earlier Na Pro would have been my choice. Maybe we will still end up there. Fortunately, my experience with Dr. Brown was quite pleasant. After reading your story I’m more concerned about thoroughness than anything else.
I will say, I’ve had extreme moods since college- so long before fertility drugs. I blame it mostly on genes; we come from a hot family. 🙂 But then again, you know what you get put on if you have face scarring acne. . .
In the meantime, any cousins want to start a support group?
It was good to hear your story. I had no idea that your fertility doctor (1st one) was such an ass. That would definitely make everything you were going through even more stressful.
Thanks for sharing!
Thank you for sharing your story. It truly touched my heart.
Thanks for sharing. Our former bishop told a NFP doctor who wanted to move into our diocese not to do it. He said the doc would not be welcome here – a Catholic doctor who would have helped so many people.
Maybe it’s because I’m 65, but if a doctor is a Johnny One Note he’s going to hurt a lot more people than he helps. I think many, many health problems are systemic and it’s so good that going to distilled water was a factor in changing your life.
I’m also glad that you discovered God was getting you ready for Julianna. For all that you suffered, you are truly blessed.
It boggles the mind.
I was right. 🙂 Thank you for sharing this story, Kathleen, and for helping me remember that even with faith, some of the most intimate and precious journeys we make can be great struggles but ultimately the source of great joy.