Every story has a beginning

Every now and then, we look upon our lives and ask... How did I get here? While our family plan did not go exactly as we had intended (and what plans ever do?), I have to say that we are happy to be adopting. But I feel that understanding how we arrived at this point in our life plays a big role in who we are, who we've become, and what kind of parents we will be.
It was 2000 and Craig and I had only been married for three months. We were newlyweds by definition, but felt that we had been married forever. After much discussion, we made the decision to have children. We were young and clueless and decided that we would try to time my pregnancy to avoid any significant interference in grad school (which would start in the fall of 2001). How foolish we were. One month turned to three and three months turned to six. With each passing month, we remained hopeful, but concerned. After six months, we were informed that there were problems.... but these problems were treatable. What followed were months of doctor's appointments, blood tests, humiliating exams and tests, and pills with horrible side effects. Yet through these months, we were told to be patient and optimistic. While we tried to remain positive, we started to worry that something was amiss.
Infertility plays havoc on your life. I could write a book on the emotions and thoughts of the experience. You question your life. Since we were young, we understood that children were the next natural step following marriage. You feel lost when you cannot achieve this and you start to wonder about the purpose of your relationship and your very being. You start to feel that your own body has betrayed you and you feel as if you have lost all control. Infertility is completely isolating. Sex, conception, and ovulation arent't exactly dinner party material and its embarrassing to discuss. You are filled with jealousy, rage, and sadness with every baby shower invite, but you really aspire to be happy. People do not know how to respond to you or what to say. Things that are meant to be soothing and encouraging come out patronizing or hurtful. So, rather than say the wrong thing, friends disappear and you're segregated and alone.
After over a year without success, we were informed that IVF with ICSI was our only hope. Again, foolishly, I was comforted by this finding until I spoke with my insurance company. Apparently, conception is deemed "unnecessary" and insurance would not cover the procedure. We felt like we took another step back and fought for coverage through Resolve, but to no avail.
2004 brought new promise. INCIID announced an IVF scholarship program and we were the very first to be selected. We were matched with an awesome reproductive endocrinologist in New York City and he wanted to ensure that we maximized our chances for success. Again, we were filled with cautious hope. But preliminary testing hit us with another blow. Not only were our chances of conceiving low, but the chance that I would actually carry to term was only 20%. I would require an additional procedure called IVIG to even have a chance (are you keeping track of the acronyms?... Its IVF with ICSI and IVIG). IVIG would cost an additional $10,000 and was not covered by the scholarship. After much discussion, we made the agonizing decision to return our scholarship. Our chances were next to nothing and we knew that another couple would have better luck.
This was a common theme with our infertility travels. There was hope followed by the inevitable disappointment and crushing depression.
From 2005 to 2009, we remained in a holding pattern. In December 2009, we decided to speak with an agency in Dallas about adoption and again were filled with hope. As we returned from Dallas, we learned that my mother was admitted to the hospital and a week later, we discovered that our preliminary application for adoption was rejected. Again... hope.. and disappointment. Days later, my mother was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer and our priorities changed. We were no longer focused on adding to our family, but preserving it. Sadly, after a nine month fight (and what a fighter she was), my mother lost her battle with cancer, passing away in an ICU hospital bed in Pittsburgh following the very surgery that was supposed to save her life. We were devastated and I felt selfish for thinking that our future daugher would never learn what a fantastic woman her grandmother was and my mother would never get to see how much she taught me about parenting. However, my mother's passing was bittersweet. I had lost my mother and a good friend, but the money my father had set aside to care for my mother would now help fund our adoption. I remember the day my father sent us a check for our home study. Her name remained on the check and for the first time, I realized that this money was from her. I broke down. I had mixed emotions. I missed her so much, but felt that familiar hope again. Only this time, the pattern had changed. This time, it was disappointment and sadness followed by hope. Its unfortunate that we needed to experience this loss to finally break the spell.
Our future daughter will never meet her grandmother and will not have a biological connection to her, but it is because of my mother that our daughter will come into our lives. Therefore, we have made the decision to never forget this by naming our daughter after the grandmother she lost but never knew. However, a child by the name of Sera Phouangmalay Repanshek would surely despise us. So, hopefully, by the end of 2011 or the beginning of 2012, we will be welcoming Sera Malay Repanshek.