The Stork Missed My House: An Infertility Journey

by Christine Stewart

It’s early one crisp spring morning and they are proudly riding their tricycles around the court, their cheeks rosy from the chill in the air. The sunlight dances across the roof tops and a large robin proudly sings as she roosts on the peak of a nearby home. Seeing this, I smile to myself as I remember not feeling the simple joy found in early spring and as those seasons passed into years my moments of joy seeming to be less and less frequent. You may ask why, and I will simply reply, the stork missed my house. My name is Christine Stewart and this is my story.

We were married early summer 2000 and one year later decided that it was time to expand our family to include a child with ten tiny toes, instead of the one we already had with four paws.  We planned on two children, three years apart, at the time this seemed like a logical plan. Looking back I wonder if this was simply my naivety or ignorance.  Taking for granted my fertility which was never something I gave not one thought towards.  Issues with my monthly cycle were something I soon found medication for; I really thought it was normal.

After six months of trying to conceive, we started to worry but were told that we were not considered to have fertility issues until after one year had passed. We knew that as we crept towards our second wedding anniversary that our quest to have a family may be a far greater challenge than we ever expected.

We were finally referred to a nearby fertility doctor who asked questions my husband quite proudly answered while I was obviously mortified. This questioning became routine as we went for the first round of countless tests, fertility monitoring and basil body temperature monitoring.  Weekly doctor appointments and higher doses of drugs each month became a part of our regular routine.

The side effects of the medication put me in a menopausal state: weight gain, hot flashes, panic attacks, sudden thirst, teenager-style acne breakouts and the mood swings.  These not-so-little mood swings had become a part of my life I choose to completely deny.   Even now I still deny the fact that I often threw shoes at my husband, locked him out of the house in a snowstorm and refused to accompany him to pre-arranged engagements on a regular basis.

I didn’t want to see pregnant women; I didn’t want to pretend I was happy for them when in fact I would choke back the tears as I congratulated the beaming couple, wishing it was us.  I didn’t want to cringe when the conversation moved to who was expecting and when would we finally decide to have a family.

As the years passed and with hope clearly diminishing, the strain on our marriage and my body started to become evident. I had exploratory surgery for the purposes of diagnosis.  With an IV in my hand and wearing a less than flattering gown, my husband kissed me wished me luck and whispered “keep your eye on the prize”, a phrase we often used to get us though some of our more challenging days. I had four different procedures during that one surgery; I was terrified as up to this point I had never been in a hospital for more than stitches.

Waking up, still not making much sense to anyone but myself, I asked if anyone knew when I was going to be a Mom. I never got the answer I wanted.  Just more drugs that I knew I was not able to handle, by this time my size eight body had ballooned to a size twelve and I was tired and no longer able to focus on the “prize”. As part of my job I was now running workshops at a local agency for pregnant teens and teen mothers. I was starting to think that this life was a little unfair and a whole lot cruel.

We contacted another clinic and after waiting for eighteen months, we took our very large file to our first meeting with Dr “V”. His office was unbelievably intimidating, a massive gleaming dark wood desk and pictures of golf legends hung on every available inch of the walls and I did neglect to mention the fact that he was more than a little bit handsome, and he had to examine me. Normally this would have freaked me out beyond belief, but at this point so many people had seen my girlie parts that I had to be careful not to undress in the dentist office!  Dr. V ran only a few more tests, a DNA fragmentation on my husband and a follicle count and a hysterosalpingogram (HSG); a procedure where dye goes through the ovaries into the uterus to determine blockages, it was painful but we had our eyes planted firmly on the prize.

A week later back in Dr. V’s office, he informed us that he would skip IUI (intra uterine insemination) and go directly to IVF (in-vitro fertilization).  He closed our file told us “fasten your seatbelt guys, I’m in the driver’s seat now”;  we had one week to make our decision and begin treatment. Stunned, we made it to the parking lot before I burst into tears. This was the last option and for us, the only option, not to mention a very costly one. We decided to think about it, by the time I had my seatbelt on and the car barely started I knew that all roads lead us to this very day.

We met with our nurse, learned how to give me the daily luperon and puregon injections. We picked up the needles, viles, progesterone, the sharps disposal container and the schedule for daily blood tests and ultrasounds.  The next month was a complete blur, scheduling life around medication times and my complete fear of giving myself needles. I had 13 healthy eggs retrieved, six were IVF (single egg placed in a petri dish with several “washed” sperm) and seven were ICSI (needle goes into the egg and one sperm is injected directly into the egg). We were sent home with more injectables and progesterone and received updates from our nurse on the progress of our out of body conception. All of our ICSI failed to make it to blastocyst stage, but three of our IVF made it and I was inseminated with two embryos on Labour Day 2004.  Labour day, it must have been a good omen. Ten full days of hell we waited for the results of one blood test, years of tears and heartache depending on one phone call.

In the early spring of 2005 we welcomed our sweet little girl (a month ahead of schedule, catching us all by surprise). Fifteen months later we conceived naturally; after taking three pregnancy tests and waiting a week before contacting the clinic the shock slowly began to wear off, I was broken after all!  Who would have ever imagined after all of the treatments and tears that we would be parents twice in 23 months.

We are back in the house, they are covered with blankets snuggled up on the couch munching on a mid-morning snack, blissfully unaware of the miracle they both are.  I am too aware of t e piles of laundry that await me but decide it can wait, the stork may have lost his way but ever since we found him lots of things wait because my life is so lovingly consumed by the prize.

Christine Stewart is Director of Operations for York North Family Resource Programmes, The Family Place, a support group counsellor for the Infertility Association Of Canada, and a proud Mom to Meghan and Lucas.