News from Jules | 07.18.2022 | Do What It Takes

“The day you were born, a light came into the world,” my older sister reminds each of her three children every year on their birthday. A light that traveled lightyears to get here, now. Against all the odds. Through long months of gestation and many trying hours of labor. Into the world.

Truly, the miracle of life.

I too am a miracle. We all are.

Something I’ve always felt but haven’t fully, deeply appreciated until trying unsuccessfully to conceive a child for the past year and a half.

Many times I’ve wondered: Having already experienced one miracle in this lifetime, is it fair to desire—nonetheless expect—another miracle? To channel another soul’s light into the world?

Of course, it’s not a question of fairness. Or desire. It’s not a question at all. And there are no answers. It’s inexplicable. That’s why it’s a miracle.

On my next birthday at the end of August, I turn 40. Chronologically, it feels like a countdown, though it may not be biologically. Given minimal PMS, a regular cycle, my Mom and my Sister’s fertile history, and overall health, my doctors have been optimistic and realistic.

I could have ample fertility for many years to come. Who knows?

I decided to stop waiting for a partner and start trying to get pregnant a couple of years ago.

After a break last fall I started trying again this January, discovered issues in February, got my hopes up in March, and tried again in April. But I still wasn’t pregnant.

All of my doctors agreed that I should definitely try again before heading east, so I delayed my cross-country road trip a few days, did my fifth intrauterine insemination (IUI), and departed Oregon the next day.

Who knows, maybe I’d be pregnant by the time I got to New York?

It felt like a last-ditch effort. Between medication, supplements, appointments, X-rays, ultrasounds, hysteroscopy, acupuncture, massage, nonetheless the donor sperm, shipping, and IUIs, I hit my $10,000 budget after the five attempts. That’s what I had saved and allotted for conception, pregnancy and labor.

And the odds did not seem in my favor: previously open and flowing in February, my left fallopian tube was inflamed. The cysts on each ovary persisted. And I was still using frozen sperm with a success rate of up to 22%.

But, a sliver of hope kept shining through the clouds. Due to my incredibly high progesterone levels from the lab test in Pueblo, Colo., my doctors thought it was still possible I was pregnant even after my negative pregnancy test in St. Louis, Mo.

I got my period the weekend before I arrived at Omega.

As I followed the stars and cairns weaving my way randomly across the country from Oregon to New York I listened to several equally random audiobooks—Greenlights, Love is Not Enough, We Should All Be Feminists, Little Fires Everywhere. Just like each place I stopped and each person I met, each book held a gift. Something I needed to hear.

“Do what it takes.”

This is what the photography mentor dying of cancer said in the last conversation with her protégé, a young artist and solo mother in Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng. It was equally applicable as a mantra for bringing her art to life as it was to being a mother.

Do what it takes.

After confirming the sad news with my doctors, we discussed options. While I felt defeated and ready to give up, my doctors suggested getting an hormonal intrauterine device (IUD) with progestin which might shrink the cysts over the next three to six months instead of doing an expensive surgery to remove them.

Do what it takes.

Of course, this seemed backward: Stopping my ability to get pregnant in order to increase fertility. Especially since I discontinued birth control medication when I was 29 years old and had cervical cancer. The oncologist highly recommended a hysterectomy, but I chose to keep my uterus because, of course, I would have kids someday.

Do what it takes.

Due to COVID quarantine #2, my early June appointment was rescheduled for the day after our family vacation. After my delayed return flight and overnight layover, I caught the first train north and brought my luggage along to Planned Parenthood in Poughkeepsie, N.Y. The implant went smoothly, but the past week and a half has been confusing for my body, mind and spirit.

Will this work? Who knows?

I am reminded of my own words: It is such a miracle to create life. It is so hard to stay present to ever-changing reality. It is even harder to accept constant loss.  

I too am a miracle. We all are. Not just because I was born, but because I’m alive.

Do I believe in miracles?

Yes.

May you do what it takes this week.

Love,

Jules