Michelle,
Boy, have I got a story for you...I'll give the Reader's Digest version, I've been dominating enough space lately.
DW and I decided five years ago, when I was 35 and she was 33, that it was "time." We'd always wanted kids. But we were both "professional professionals," meaning we'd taking our careers more seriously than our lives for a long time. I was 28 when I met Amy, 30 when we got married. We waited until we were seriously ready. We had emotional and financial stability, we had want and love for a child, we had stable employment and good equity in our house, plus low debt-load. It was time.
After a year and a half of nothing, we went to Amy's OB. I won't go into the personal, gruesome details of what we went through. But in short, we've both had corrective surgeries; we've both had stretches of hormone treatment (mine included three shots in the butt at 6 AM each week for two months); I've personally had four "specialists" for going on four years now; Amy has more doctors than hairs on her head (and now she has more doctors than I have hairs on my head); we've missed more work, killed more savings dollars, and been handed more dixie cups than we'd like to remember.
This all culminated in three rounds of chlomid and IUI from September through November last year. OF course, when you're doing IUI, nature dictates where you go and when. After everything we'd been through and three degrading months of personal invasion, we discovered that the "right time" for December was going to be the 25th to 26th. Amy finally came to me in tears and said "I don't want to do this anymore." So we called the doctors.
On the drive to upstate NY for Xmas (which we always spend on Amy's parent's dairy farm, a great holiday!), we discussed our "final options." We decided we'd wait until February, go two more rounds of IUI (after which insurance dollars were going to dry up) and then consider adoption. We had a long talk with Amy's folks at Christmas about adoption and got their support, along with my parents.
Amy called me to a grocery store parking lot at lunch in late January, after I bugged her for a week to call the fertility specialist and get the info I needed for insurance (for two more "rounds."). She had a positive EPT to give me for lunch (not to worry, I didn't eat it). Although we have an inkling the chlomid had to still be somewhat in her system, this was "natural" conception. Go figure.
As I've chronicled on these boards liberally (and thanks for listening!), we've had more problems since then. At age 38+, Amy's chances for miscarriage (we'd already had one in the past) were close to fifty percent (due to age, presence of fertility drugs, acknowledged fibroids and history of miscarriage). We made it through. We had to live through an amnio knowing we were in virtually every high risk group there was. We made it through. Now we find the fibroids are enormous and are probably half the cause (on top of the other pile of garbage) for past conception failure and probably the miscarriage. They say now it's a miracle we got pregnant in the first place. But we made it through.
Now, we had the episode of two weeks ago today, when Amy was rushed to the hospital, life-flighted to a hospital with a neonatal care unit, plugged into machines like a Christmas tree, and doctor after doctor came strolling by to "prepare" us for what they thought could be physical problems too numerous to overcome. And today, my wife is sitting placidly (I hope) at her desk at work (because it's two miles from the hospital). Our little baby Kimberly is running a fetal heart rate of 160, Amy's running a BP of 110/58, and her doctor on Monday said "all's quiet on the Western Front" and feels at the moment if we obey Dr.'s orders, we can nurse her through to week 33 and beyond. Of course, the father's heart rate is also 160, and his blood pressure occasionally hits about 600/500. But I'm just a high-strung guy!
Having been all through this, it's tough to not say try to get yourself prepared for anything, then tell you it's easy. It's not. But if you ask can miracles occur? Bet my unborn daughter they happen every day! Keep trying, keep the faith. I asked God every day to help me with this. I figured I'd accept whatever he told me. I'll continue to do, and I'll ask him to help you find your way, too! Good luck, and please keep us up-to-date.
All my blessings,
Pat