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The American Fertility Association’s Monthly Newsletter

June 30, 2008

OP ED

Kelly James-Enger

From Patient to Parent: Making the Transition
By Kelly James-Enger

Most of my 30s were spent in pursuit of parenthood. My husband and I got married when I was 31, and we started trying for a baby shortly thereafter. I remember thinking it might not happen right away, and planned to become a mom within a year, two tops.

Not quite. First we tried on our own. Then I went to my OB/GYN, who checked my uterus and fallopian tubes and put me on Clomid. I did have one brief pregnancy which ended at five weeks, and it became clear we needed help. Next up was the reproductive endocrinologist. I could feel my anxiety building. Was there something wrong with me? With Erik? It took some work to convince my husband to go. He was sure if we just kept trying, it would happen. Ultimately, I prevailed.

Our first appointment, my attention was drawn to the "wall of fame," the photos of newborn babies plastered on top of each other, just off the waiting room. I got up to examine them more closely, and I remember what I said when I sat back down next to Erik. "That's great, but where are the pictures of the people who do all this and don't get babies? Where are they?"

As a health writer, I knew that fertility treatment offered no guarantees, but I also knew that that was our best option for creating a child. We went through the initial rounds of tests, and I discovered I had a group of fibroids that might be interfering with our ability to conceive. I went on Lupron to shut off my body's supply of estrogen, thereby shrinking the fibroids so they could be removed more easily. After that surgery, we started fertility treatment in earnest. Like many couples, we started with the next step up from Clomid—intrauterine inseminations, or IUIs. My tubes weren't blocked, my hormone levels were good, Erik's sperm count, quality, and motility, were all excellent. But I didn't get pregnant.

Originally I had refused to do IVF. It seemed too drastic, too invasive, and I didn't want all those "butt shots." But when IUIs didn't work (with only a success rate of about 7% for my age group), why not go to IVF? With a success rate of around 25%, that was our best bet. Erik mastered the injectable shots, and I got used to the every-other-day doctor appointments. I quit running, I eliminated caffeine, and I tried to think positive thoughts. Sometimes I was certain that I was pregnant—and I was. But I lost three more pregnancies by the time we were done "trying."

I had been ready to adopt even before we started IVF. The fear that had dogged me throughout was that we could go through years of infertility treatment and still have no baby to show for it. And that's what happened. But by that point my husband was ready to adopt, too, and was excited about parenting a child who wasn't genetically related to him. It took him longer to get there, but he did get there.

The adoption process meant months of paperwork, interviews, background checks and too-personal questions, but once we received our license, we were matched with a potential birth mom, Jodi, almost immediately. I had a strange certainty about her baby even before we met in person—a certainty I'd never had before. I knew her baby was going to be mine.

Kelly with baby Ryan

When I held him when he was a few hours old, all I could feel was disbelief. Disbelief that he was so tiny, that he was safely here, that he was mine. Years of heartache had conditioned me to expect and prepare for the worst.

Two days later, when we signed papers to bring him home, I started to cry. It wasn't joy. It was relief. Two more days passed before Jodi signed the papers that would eventually make me the mother of her baby boy, which was finalized in court six months later.

The first few weeks of his life, I would stare at Ryan, watching him sleep. I barely put him down. I was exhausted, besotted, overwhelmed, grateful, blessed, terrified. If something were to happen to him… it's unimaginable. I spent years trying to hope, trying to stave off that awful fear of what if… what if this doesn't happen. But the fear of not ever being a parent pales next to the fear that something might take your child away from you.

Going through infertility, I was never completely sure that I would become a parent. Of course I had hope—otherwise, why continue trying? But the optimistic part of my nature took a pretty bad beating. It's taken some work to rediscover my inherent belief that things will work out the way they're supposed to, to embrace that I truly am a parent, not just fantasizing about, or hoping for it.

My son will be three next month. That seems impossible. Just yesterday, he was a mewling, slightly jaundiced newborn, his legs tucked up to his chest. Now he's a sturdy, exuberant, smart, loving, beautiful little boy. Some days I am still awed by the simple fact of him.

Making the transition from wanting to be a parent to actually becoming one nearly broke me, and some of those feelings can linger. Several months ago, I was surprised with a sudden jolt of pain when I saw my pregnant friend's ultrasound pictures proudly taped to her refrigerator. It made me realize that sadness may always be a part of me.

Because I'm still infertile, even if I'm a parent now, too, proving that those two things can and do exist together. I've accepted that, and I try to let it make me a better parent. I know I'm more patient, more engaged and far more grateful for Ryan than I would have been without experiencing infertility. And he is worth it.

Kelly James-Enger is the coauthor of The Belated Baby: A Guide to Parenting after Infertility, (Cumberland House, 2008, with Jill S. Browning), which examines the immediate and lasting impact infertility has on parents. Based on over 50 interviews with parents who endured infertility, it gives empathetic and humorous advice for those in the midst of transitioning from infertility patient to parent.

www.belatedbaby.com

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