"Waiting for the Pink Line"
The Sanchez family and their little miracle, Hannah; Oakland, California

I had assumed I would have a hard time getting pregnant. I was 37. I knew the statistics. But I could not have anticipated the incredible pain, anger, frustration, and fear that accompany infertility. There is so much loss to cope with: the physical losses of miscarriage; the monthly losses of hope; the loss of faith in your own body. I was healthy, had taken good care of myself my entire life only to find out that my body could not do what came so easily to countless others. There were no symptoms that could have foreshadowed our interminable wait to have a child; no way we could have ever really prepared ourselves. I had expected several months of trying to get pregnant the “natural” way, but mixing vials and learning to use syringes seemed incomprehensible. The months passed, and our assurance that we would someday hold a newborn in our arms dwindled. Once the reality of infertility took hold, the thought of daily injections paled in comparison to our mounting desperation.

After our second miscarriage, we went straight to a fertility clinic and started in on all the recommended tests for “habitual aborters” like myself. I had the standard exams and ultrasounds. I had the HSG. I had more blood tests than most people have in their entire lives. My physician said I was the perfect candidate for injectable gonadotropins, but each month brought another reason to delay our cycle: a cyst from the Clomid Challenge Test, conference schedules, holiday breaks. An eternal 4 more months passed. By the time we were ready to start, getting the prescription for Repronex felt like winning the lottery.

There are some surprising benefits to taking Repronex, aside from the obvious increase in follicles. First, after months and months of feeling utterly hopeless, we were finally doing something significant—something that we believed could actually make a difference. For the first time in a long while, we looked forward to doctor appointments and ultrasounds, watching our little potential futures growing. It is impossible to overestimate the importance of this break from the grim hopelessness we had grown accustomed to. And second, we became a team; my husband prepared and gave the injections and I played guinea pig. After suffering the feelings of isolation that grew with each miscarriage and unsuccessful months of trying, we were partners again.

I responded very well to the injections, producing 6 fat follicles. On the morning before the insemination, New Year’s Day, I called my physician in a panic, convinced we had missed my ovulation. She assured me everything was fine and we had an easy insemination the next day. When I took the pregnancy test 2 weeks later, I had to keep checking and rechecking, certain that it couldn’t actually be positive. “It was simply too easy,” I remember thinking. After almost a year and a half of heart-wrenching failures, I could not believe that the tremendous weight we had been carrying could be lifted with a mere 9 days of injections. For millions and millions of women, a positive pregnancy test is a wonderful thing. For those of us in the infertility club, it is a true, unadulterated miracle that takes your breath away. As difficult as that time was for us, in return we were given the gift of utter amazement.

Our daughter will be 4 in a few weeks. I am in constant wonder that she is here with us, instead of lingering just out of reach. She is beautiful, loving, and joyful. Words cannot describe her. I would need fireworks, and rainbows, and a soundtrack. We had hoped to have a sibling for her the easy way, but now, after 3 years of countless gonadotropin and IVF cycles, we’re heading in another direction. With luck, we will soon be on our way to completing the family we have dreamed of. While I do envy those people fortunate enough to glide through conception and pregnancy, I know that I have gained an appreciation that only comes with a good, hard, uphill climb. There are some things that should never be taken for granted, like a magical pink line and the simple, blinking beauty of a precious heartbeat.