“A Letter of Hope”
The Bedinghaus family and their little miracles, Ross and Ivey; St. Petersburg, FL

Dear Mom-To-Be,

I sat down to start writing this essay. Excited by the opportunity, I began thinking about the tough road my husband and I went down. What we were feeling when we were in your shoes wondering if our dreams would come true. Overwhelmed with emotion I also began thinking about all the joy our new twin miracles have brought to our world. Their happy faces, the way they change every minute, every day. Suddenly, I catch a whiff of a dirty diaper's unmistakable scent. My CSI-like exploration (sniffing two little bottoms) reveals our daughter Ivey is the culprit. I pick her up, leaving her twin brother Ross to play with his toys. Once Ivey and I get to her changing table, Ross begins to cry. I'm at the point of no return because I can't leave her – she's half naked with a mess. So I pick up the pace of changing her diaper. All of the sudden Rocky, our miniature dachshund (and "first born") begins mimicking the cries of his brother. Now Rocky and Ross are alternating cries, getting louder each time. Finally the diaper is changed. Pick Ivey up, throw the dirty diaper away and rush into the room with crying baby and dog. I walk in and... a smile. My melting heart is just one of many daily examples of our family's triumph over infertility.

I say this not to rub it in, or be yet another example of the happy family that you can't seem to attain. I say this because I was you.

I married the love of my life, Elliott, and we were almost immediately ready for a baby. We were both so excited to have children and start our perfect little family. A year went by and nothing happened. I mean, this was supposed to be the easy part – especially because we were in our mid 20"s. So we started to get worried and went to see the specialists at Florida Fertility Institute. We would need fertility help, but we remained positive and hopeful. We started our first cycle of IUI, then our second, third, fourth... You get the picture and you likely know it all to well. Our lives were filled with this difficult cycle that starts with immense hope, is physically painful throughout the process, then became crushing when we got negative results. Our house was filled with our cries as we questioned why and searched for understanding. With each cycle, the injections seemed like they got more painful because it felt like we were drifting further from our dream of having a family. It was difficult for both of us, but we knew we had to continue. After weeks of disappointment, we would start building a developing hope for the next cycle. More disappointment.

By this point, you might be thinking I'm telling your story. I sincerely hope you're thinking that. It's important for you to feel that way – to know you aren't alone in this. One of the hardest things was dealing with people who just didn't get it. Even those closest to us, who tried so hard to be sensitive to our emotions, could not truly understand what we were going through. I hope you know that there are other people who are going through the same thing. While the nuances of the stories might vary, the struggle is shared between us. And there is always hope.

After 6 IUIs, the doctors were baffled, but not ready to give up. We moved onto IVF. Now the stakes are getting even higher and the pressure is building even more. Wonder and confusion are beginning to shift to anger. But, there's also a new hope. The knight-in-shining armor has arrived and this could be our chance. Nope. Our first round of IVF didn't work.

We decided to take a break and reset.

We needed something positive in our lives and wanted to get away, so we took a vacation. You know what else needs something positive? This essay. So I'll break from the story and tell you about Ivey's hair and Ross's smile. Have you ever felt a tennis ball? A mink coat? And seen what happens to hair through static electricity? Well, that's Ivey's hair. It's the cutest thing. It's so soft, adorable and stands straight up at all times. When I hug her it tickles my nose. I love it so much. Now Ross. His smile has the unique ability to make me feel like I belong on the cover of some celebrity tabloid. He seems so enamored that I must be something special. It warms up any moment. I love it so much. It's funny, the little things were what kept us going and why I share them with you. When we went on vacation, we found ourselves thinking about little bathing suits, setting up little umbrellas. Our intent was to take our minds off of babies, but it only reaffirmed how badly we wanted to make it happen.

So back to our second round of IVF with Bravelle and Menopur.

It worked! After 3-1/2 years of non-stop attempts, WE. WERE. PREGNANT. Then fast forward about a month and IT'S TWINS. It felt so surreal. We were so proud and now we had to tell everyone. I distinctly remember telling my mom and recognizing something as she reacted. The shear force of her tears was incomprehensible. She was so excited, so relieved, but there was this element of disbelief. I think there was a part of her (and many others) who felt like it just wasn't going to happen and were preparing themselves. But because we never let ourselves go there and held onto any shred of hope, we beat the odds and fulfilled our dream.

Now every minute gives us a new affirmation of why it was all worth it. Any residual pain from the fertility process vanished the minute we met Ross and Ivey. Our cries in the house are replaced by theirs. And to me, they are the sound of success. What's even better is the sound of their coos to wake us up in the morning. I could go on and on. That one piece of hope that we held on to and kept us going has multiplied infinitely. A dream has turned to reality. One minute with our little miracles is worth every dollar, shot, sob it took to get there. If I knew then what I know now, I would tell myself it is all worth it. Believe!