McKinley & Me

February 14 2024, my gyno retired.  Now, that may not seem like a monumental thing; but, it was the start of the most beautiful and miraculous journey I’ve been on yet.  I had been with this doctor for 18 years.  I cried as he told me. And, as he always did, he lightly tapped my knee and smiled and told me it would be okay. You see, for 16 years I’ve had precancerous cells removed more than just a couple of times; I’ve had procedures that no woman should have to endure while awake. But. That’s medicine. 

So, as he asked me for the last time, “is there anything you need from me?” I responded, “Yes.  I need to know if I can be a mom.”  I was three months and one day from turning 40, and figured- now or never. Two days later I found myself in the hands of NCCRM (North Carolina Center for reproductive medicine), walking through an orientation and examining my reproductive probability, and talking through a timeline.

“So, if everything is on track and we do this journey- what if my timeline?”  “In 6 months or so, you could be pregnant.”

An expensive 6 months to be sure. I could insert the many details of the way God provided with company benefits I didn’t know about- from covering parts of the cycle, the donor, and even sending me books (not bad for a publishing company, right?!), but that would lengthen an already long story.

Fast forward to April 8th- my ovarian scan. One working follicle producing one egg at a time is not what you want to hear when the next step is egg retrieval. Obviously, the more eggs they retrieve and can fertilize, the more of an opportunity there is for a successful embryo.  “You can always use someone else’s eggs,” the doctor said with hope and trying to assure me that my journey was still a possibility. So- what could I do?  Told him no. I was leaving the next morning at 3am to go to Las Lomas, Dominican Republic and I would pray about what God wanted me to do.  Crying on the way out, calling my mom and friends, I felt defeated.  But God. 

3am at RDU I had no idea that my first witnessed miracle would be waiting for me. That week, I don’t know what was heavier- my heart, or the buckets of cement we poured as the foundation.  A day or two in, I asked Pam, our mission pastor, if we could have Pastor Ezekiel pray over me. And so, the day before we left- he, his wife, Pam, my roommate Elyssa, and our translator Victor, stepped aside from the crew.  Pastor Ezekiel prayed things over me, speaking to my God about things heavy on my heart that I had never verbally uttered. His wife, once barren and- at the time of my prayer-pregnant, laid her hand on my stomach.  In the middle of the prayer I felt another hand on my right shoulder.  Pam had video recorded the prayer for me so that I could hear it over and over again.  Upon my first, second, third, all the way through the 6th watch- I looked for the hand on my shoulder. What I can tell you is seeing is believing for some, but feeling the touch of the Almighty God the Father is believing for me.  To ensure I wasn’t missing anything, I of course asked Pam and Elyssa who touched me. To my expectation after watching the video and knowing it was Him, they told me no one else had entered the room.

When I returned from the Holy place, the grounds where I was was told I am worthy of a miracle, I decided that God had already done his moving and I was going to try for my own child. I didn’t want to use another’s eggs.  I called the office, ordered the first round of shots (and whooo- they don’t tell you how many needles you will need), and scheduled an ovarian rejuvenation procedure. Three weeks later there were 15 follicles producing eggs- a whole lot more than one. 

Time to pick a donor. There are a lot of reasons I did it the way I did- with others taking a look and helping me narrow down to the top three I would submit. But mostly, I didn’t care outside of a healthy history and longevity in his lineage. I want a healthy and happy baby.

12 eggs were retrieved and fertilized. 7 stayed the first night.  Then 5. Then 2. Then the call: “one has a genetic disorder.”  “So we are back down to one chance?” I asked. “Yes.  Would you like to know the gender?”  At first I didn’t want to know. But then- I realized that the more specific my prayer could be, the more at peace I would feel.

And then started round two of shots. Longer, bigger, scarier shots that went in the derrière instead of the shoulder this time.

November 11th was transfer day.  I held the little tube of the embryo in my hand, verifying my date of birth and name.  Is this mine?  Yes.  Proclaiming to the doctor that I understood the power of prayer as he completed the transfer, he looked at me and said, “Well, let’s hope he comes down and touches you.”   Immediately I got a chill and said with tears in my eyes, “he already has!”

Twenty minutes later, I was on my way home, certainly not feeling any different- but maybe a little more hopeful and fearful at the same time.   3 days of rest and then 25 days to wait for the hormone test.  Leading up to the doctor ordered test, I started taking at-home tests. The line was getting darker and darker and I was getting more and more positive myself. 

Monday morning, blood draw. 

Monday afternoon, a call to tell me that my number was less than 2– not a 5 like I needed it to be.   “You can stop your medications.” 

Through tears, I told them they were wrong.

Through tears, I begged for a retest.

Through tears, I adamantly proclaimed the miracle that I knew had been taking place.  

After explaining my at home tests, and probably exhausting the nurse with my adamant cries of, “I don’t believe you.  I believe you’re wrong,” she reordered the test for Tuesday morning.

Tuesday morning test.

Tuesday afternoon: “I don’t often get to say this…. But, you were right. I have good news. 984.  You’re pregnant”.  Immediate tears followed by a sobbing and joyful scream, “I knew it!”

A few days later, I called and asked for a refill on the estrogen.  Because of how the directions were written and the change of doses, I had been doubling/tripling the amount I needed to take. Instead of every Sunday and Wednesday- I was doing daily shots.  “How bad did I mess up?”  “Well. Just pray.  You come back in two weeks for a checkup. We will take a look then, but pray because that much can act like birth control.”

Oh. Man.  Another hiccup. Another scare.   But two weeks later, I saw a grain of rice with a heartbeat.  My own heartbeat strong and happy beating in syncopated rhythm.

Week 6 I had a scare and thought I was miscarrying through a sub chorionic hemorrhage.  I was shopping and felt the gush of blood.  Nothing at all was okay in my head and heart.  Every moment of the next 12 hours scared me until I saw her heartbeat again and was assured that she was fine.

March arrived and it was time for the full anatomy scan.  Everything was measuring on track.  She had great numbers for everything, albeit super long legs!  And then- a pause from the technician.  A very long pause followed by, “I’m going to go grab the doctor so that we can discuss this artery that I am seeing.”

What she failed to say was that they would be discussing with ME what they were saying when the doctor came in, but that they would continue to speak in code about what was being observed until they could get me fully dressed and back in the consultation room to discuss what next steps are.  “So, how serious is this Vasa Previa?” I asked- quite honestly not sure I wanted to understand the code. 

What it meant for us, was a hospitalization May 21 with a new scheduled C-section date of June 30. All of that was well and good until McKinley decided to make her a grand entrance June 10 with an emergency C-section that almost killed me.

A failed stress test and six hours of monitoring meant the bonus time I would get with my baby girl would be seven weeks! I still grieve the fact that I was short two months of the beautiful pregnancy I was having.

And, what I know, now that I didn’t know, then, was that I almost died. I ended up having two different placenta conditions. One we knew about and the other surprise when they removed McKinley. I’ll touch on those as we have our conversations in the margins of this.

God is so faithful through it all. I’m sitting here using voice to text to end this post while my little one is nursing. All I can say is faith is small as a mustard seed literally move mountains.

I’d love to hear your story!

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