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My Daughter Is in China
Adopting After Infertility
By Michele St. Martin
Happily, Jonathan, my husband-to-be, agreed. We talked about names and what our child would be like. I remember that soon after we decided to get married, I was standing at his mother's kitchen sink, telling her that we planned to have a baby. Ah, the innocence of those pre-infertility treatment days!
Fast forward a year. We had been married six months, and now we were "trying" with the help of modern medical science. Everything looked good. All the test results were promising. But because I was 40 years old, it was appropriate to have medical help.
Fast forward another 18 months. Three new doctors. Many more tests. Surgery. Ovarian cysts. Four cycles of Clomid. Five cycles of injectible fertility medications coupled with inseminations. Sex when we didn't feel like it because it was the "right time." Our first RE's initial optimism ("I think we will have an early success!") turning into his certainty that I was "too old" to have a biological child. Switching to another RE who was successful with "older" women. Cysts and shots and surgery; ovulation predictor kits and early morning doctor's appointments and swollen ovaries. Each cycle ending in disappointment. And then, the big enchilada, the one we swore we'd never try, our last-stab, $10,000 in-vitro fertilization.
And the death of our dream of giving birth to a child. No miracle pregnancy, but instead a gift that we never expected – and one that was even more of a miracle. As we started to give up the dream of parenting a child who was biologically "ours," we discovered how much we really want to be parents. We began to give up all of the preconceived notions of the traits our child would inherit. I gave up the hope of seeing my late father in our child's face or personality or talents. Jonathan gave up his dream of us sharing pregnancy and childbirth.
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