“You didn’t consider IVF?” That was the surprised reaction I received when I shared with someone that my daughter was adopted from Ethiopia. My reply was simple: “Nope, I didn’t.” I hadn’t pursued anything after experiencing three traumatic miscarriages—what more could I attempt?
My doctor—a rather unpleasant character—had referred me to a Women’s Reproductive Clinic for extensive testing and potential options. Sitting there with his hands folded in his lap, he shook his head and muttered, “I don’t doubt you will get pregnant; you just might need a little assistance.”
“I don’t doubt you will get pregnant…”
At 27, my partner and I were ready to embark on parenthood. I had approached that same doctor and declared, “I want to get pregnant. What’s the next step?” His answer was blunt: “Have a lot of sex.” It sounded straightforward; after all, I had seen so many people successfully conceive. But then, I found myself facing the heartbreak of three miscarriages. After months filled with ovulation tests, waiting in labs, two D&C procedures, and countless tears, I was left with that same phrase echoing in my mind: “I don’t doubt you will get pregnant.”
Perhaps I no longer wanted to pursue pregnancy.
I contacted the clinic for my referral, and a few days later, I received an overwhelming packet filled with medical history forms, test options, and more. It sat untouched on our coffee table for months, adorned with images of joyful mothers cradling their babies. It made me feel terrible. I often turned to my partner, Alex, and asked, “Should we complete this?”
“Not now…maybe later,” he would reply while engrossed in the Wall Street Journal.
“Okay, I don’t feel like it either.”
Then one day, I asked, “Are we going to go through with this? Are we really going to start this process?”
That sparked a long-overdue conversation. We both felt we had endured enough. We were hesitant to move forward, recognizing that it could lead to a baby but also to immense stress and the unsettling possibility that one of us might be facing infertility. By choosing to walk away, we avoided labeling anyone as the issue and lifted the heavy cloud that had loomed over us. I tossed the packet into the trash and felt a wave of relief wash over me. Alex seemed rejuvenated.
“So, shall we explore adoption instead?” I proposed.
“That sounds good,” he replied. A man of few words, his response was essentially a resounding endorsement of our new plan.
We had always talked about adoption, and it felt like a calling we both shared. I still remember asking him when we were just 18 and had just started dating, “What do you think about adopting? I’d like to adopt.”
“Sounds good.” Even back then, I sensed we were on the same wavelength, and I was fortunate to have found the right person to share that dream.
When the adoption agency’s packet arrived, we eagerly filled it out. We signed up for information sessions, reviewed various countries, and ordered books. We approached this journey—mostly with my enthusiasm and Alex’s support—with excitement rather than anxiety. I knew we were making the right choice. This was the path we were meant to take.
The wait felt endless, and my impatience grew, yet I never truly stressed. When we finally laid eyes on baby Ava’s picture, everything changed. All the heartache from trying to conceive faded away. In that moment, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for our past struggles; without them, we wouldn’t have been staring at the image of our adorable daughter.
While we both recognized that having a biological child was still a possibility, and it might not even require IVF, as my new OBGYN pointed out, we found ourselves discussing our family plans a year after Ava came home. I felt a tinge of guilt for not wanting to try for a biological child, but Alex declared, “One and done!” Now, that phrase has become our family motto.
I hold immense respect for women who undergo fertility treatments; it demands remarkable strength and resilience. I know I wouldn’t have been able to endure it. What’s crucial to remember is that each woman’s journey to motherhood is unique. We don’t all tread the same path; some of us take different routes. Not necessarily better ones, just different. And for that, I am grateful every single day that my journey took a turn.
Previously published on July 26, 2010.
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Summary:
The author shares her personal journey to motherhood, detailing her struggles with miscarriage and the eventual decision to pursue adoption instead. After facing the heavy emotional toll of trying to conceive, she and her partner choose a path that leads them to their daughter, Ava. The narrative emphasizes that every woman’s experience with motherhood is different, and it’s important to find the right path for oneself.
Keyphrase: journey to motherhood
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