“In the End”
The Bennett family and their little miracle, Isaac; Palm Desert, CA

I remember every detail of that first time my stomach turned, hearing the “wonderful” news of another woman expecting. To this day, I still feel guilty about my visceral response, and am certain my sister-in-law has no clue how her swollen belly tortured me. Of course, her belly had plenty of company. It seemed as though everyone around me had become pregnant; most of my friends, a few family members and, it seemed, just about every female I passed in the grocery store. Over time and with great effort, I learned how to smile at baby showers, sound genuine when congratulating a mother-to-be and, eventually, found a way to put aside my own despair and share in the joy of those around me. Still, I couldn’t help but have moments when the tears overwhelmed me and I wondered if it would ever be my turn.

My husband and I always knew in vitro-fertilization was our only hope of becoming parents. For years, doctors thought men with Cystic Fibrosis (CF) were sterile, but as more males with CF lived beyond their childhood years, studies found they did, indeed, have the ability to father children. The problem hid in the vas deferens. It was as if Mother Nature had performed her own vasectomy. Though the advanced reproductive technology was available to help Brett and I become parents, we never thought we would be able to afford it. We simply didn’t have the finances, and it was all such a gamble. Still, I would sit and dream about becoming a mother, and at times almost trick myself into believing it was possible. Then, I would bring myself back to reality. With my husband unable to work, we could not fathom ever being able to pull it off. Then we met Dr. Jane Frederick at Huntington Reproductive Center.

Dr. Frederick was the first miracle on our journey. She helped us emotionally and economically find our way down the path to parenthood. With her help, and the help of her staff, we slowly began to believe in the possibilities. They walked us through the medical and legal implications of the procedure, explained the several medications we’d be using, and shared the involved process that lie ahead. As the idea slowly became a reality, I saw only one obstacle – I’m terrified of needles. Yes, I know this should seem to be a small glitch, and as I share this secret of mine, I also realize a number of people claim a fear of needles themselves, but I can’t help but believe that when it comes to this particular phobia, I wear the crown. At the time, I could hardly stand to be in a room with a syringe. It was as if simply by being in its presence, the thing would suddenly uncap itself, float across the room and nestle into my backside. In other words, I had great anxiety about the injections. Who wouldn’t? Especially when they’re done at home - and by my husband! Needless to say, I was extra nice to Brett during those weeks. To tell the truth, the Bravelle and Menopur injections themselves didn’t hurt, it was simply the anticipation I couldn’t stomach. Amazingly, with my mind focused on the end results, I found a way to face the shots each evening.

The day of egg removal meant not only facing more needles, but also brought the worry of anesthesia. Once I found myself on the other side of the procedure, it had seemed a piece of cake. Of course, at the time, I had no idea that the anxiety I felt in the waiting room would pale in comparison to the dreaded two week wait. Having to wait two weeks before the pregnancy test was pure torture, relieved only by the news from the phone call – miracle number two. I don’t know why, perhaps for consistency’s sake, I immediately returned to anxiety and worry after the call, this time over whether the pregnancy would “stick.”

At five weeks I woke-up and saw blood. It took a while for me to register what I had seen, and I was terrified. I called Dr. Frederick, who informed me there was unfortunately nothing to do but wait. After two days of bleeding, I went to the local hospital, as Dr. Frederick’s office was two hours away. The ultrasound technician could not find a heartbeat and shared his condolences. After returning to the curtained nook of the emergency room, the ER doctor said my blood hormone levels were still high. They suspected I had lost the pregnancy, but advised I follow-up with my fertility specialist. At six weeks, I journeyed back to Dr. Frederick and witnessed miracle number three – a fetal heartbeat.

The bleeding continued through 6 months. They never could find a cause and I could never find peace of mind. I’d have short breaks between bleeding episodes, and as hard as I prayed otherwise, they kept coming back. I lived every day of my first two trimesters terrified I was going to loose the baby. But I didn’t. One day the bleeding did not come back, but the worry remained. I worried all the way to delivery day.

Finally, I thought, I had made it; I had gotten my little boy this far. I couldn’t believe that within 24 hours I’d be holding him in my arms. Labor was much more manageable than I anticipated. The contractions were difficult but tolerable. When the time was right, I accepted the epidural. I remember resting comfortably in the bed and thinking to myself that finally, something had gone as hoped. I relaxed into the experience and enjoyed the moment – until the nurse came to check on us. The doctor confirmed the monitor showed the baby was in distress. After much pushing and pulling and a great deal of moving around, we found a position my little boy liked. Though his heartbeat became stronger, I felt as though something was wrong. It wasn’t until we attempted the delivery that I understood what I was feeling – he was stuck.

After an emergency c-section at precisely 8:58 am on Thursday, May 13, my husband and I transformed from “couple” to “family.” I vividly remember when I first laid eyes on my son. I was astonished we had gotten through it all and couldn’t believe he was here – the fourth and most amazing miracle. We had found our way through the maze of IVF, I’d battled my terror of needles and had survived anxiety-ridden pregnancy. The doctor had to cut me open and pull him out, but he was here. Amazingly, from that moment on, nothing I had gone through mattered.

The topic of this year’s My Little Miracle essay is “If I Knew Then, What I Know Now,” and is meant to share advice with those beginning their journey to parenthood. The only, true piece of advice that merits passing-on is the idea that becoming a parent is worth whatever it is you have to go through to get there. I realize how this can sound trite when first expressed, but it has so many layers of meaning when you’re on the other side of it. No matter what disappointment and trials you went through leading you to IVF, no matter how many times you wanted to give-up, or what fears and challenges you face through the process and pregnancy, when it’s finally your turn to hold your own little miracle in your arms, the rest becomes insignificant. As I look back and write-down my experiences, I believe somehow I knew this to be true. Otherwise, I never could have found the strength and courage it took to get through it all. I feel so blessed to be writing a success story, and my heart goes out to those still fighting their way through. But with faith and perseverance, you’re bound to find a way. And in the end, the trials and tribulations that may have so completely filled your life simply vanish next to the new person you created.