For the average, healthy couple trying to conceive, they have about a 25% chance every month. Those odds are actually pretty good considering most couples get pregnant within a year of trying. Yet somehow it seems like those in the absolute worst situations, who don’t want to be pregnant and don’t really even like children, have a 100 percent chance of getting pregnant. I don’t know, it’s a mystery, I guess.
When we first set foot in a Reproductive Endocrinologist’s office, we were never given a percentage or odds, but we left understanding why it was taking so long. I learned one of my ovarian tubes was blocked due to endometriosis, my odds of conceiving were immediately cut in half with that diagnosis alone. Endometriosis also affects egg quality, leaves scar tissue and turns your uterus into a hostile environment(My RE’s words, not mine). Basically, when dealing with infertility, the more things “wrong,” the exponentially hard it becomes, because so many things have to work together perfectly to create a new life. It may take me months or years for that perfect egg to come along, but if it was from my left ovary, well too bad, because ain’t nothing getting through. I saw it first hand during my hysterosalpingogram, that tube was Fort Knox.
So when my RE told me that IVF was the best option for us because it eliminated at least *some* of the hurdles I was facing in becoming pregnant, I jumped on board. People who play the lottery know their chances are extremely low, that the odds are not in their favor, but they still play for that smallest chance they will win. That was me that day, holding that figurative lottery ticket in hand. Sometimes against all odds, we still hope.
Most of you know the story, for us that cycle of IVF ended in miscarriage and heartbreak. That was the first time my Dr. uttered “surrogacy,” to me. She had worked there for 30 years and never had a failed procedure like mine. I don’t fault her for jumping to that conclusion. As a Dr. who made a living helping women create their miracles, she was telling me from her experience the best way I could get mine, which was for me not to carry mine myself. I believed her. I put my confidence in man, err woman and believed what she said to me.
I can’t help but think back to that moment now, having a much different perspective. At the time I saw lost hope. I saw the entire IVF process as a giant failure. I had no idea at the time the procedure actually helped push a perfect little egg closer to the surface, all while I was mourning the idea of never experiencing pregnancy and possibly motherhood. I saw a ZERO odds. God determined 100 percent. I saw failed dreams. God saw all of Nathan’s days planned, before there was even one of them.
It wasn’t until Nathan’s birthday two years ago, during my my c-section, that we better understood why I had a failed procedure that day with my RE. It turns out my uterus is a perfect heart shape. So now you know too much about my organs and I hope when you look at me, you aren’t picturing my heart shaped uterus. I know it might seem somewhat endearing that he spent eight months in a heart shaped “home,” but it’s actually not ideal, hence my extremely rough third trimester. It was another major reason for our infertility. Not only did things have to be timed perfectly and we had to wait around for the right egg, on the right side, but it had to find the perfect spot; in a hostile, scar tissued, abnormally shaped uterus.
My senior year of high school I took(and failed) probability/statistics, but you don’t have to be a mathematician to see that the odds of Nathan being here were not in our favor. But maybe someone can help me figure this out; what are the odds that out of all the little boys in the world, we got the very best one? And how is it possible you did too? And so did she, and her, over there. How is it possible, what are the odds, that we all got the very best one?
*Photos by JoAnn Maxey Photography, A.K.A. Aunt Jojo