Mother's Day
- Taylor Willis
- May 22, 2024
- 8 min read
About a month and a half ago when I began meds for our second embryo transfer,[1] I wrote to reflect on the either impending joy or doom of Mother’s Day. Now, after Mother’s Day, I wrote to reflect on what it was like. I want to share both the joy and the doom with you—I’ve had plenty of both in the last couple of weeks.
Mother’s Day is Coming
April 12, 2024
I looked at the date on the calendar. May 12th. It was going to either be the best or worst Mother’s Day of my life.
The thing about IVF is that there are no surprises about how far along you are or when you’re going to ovulate. If you’re doing a frozen transfer, like I am, you know the exact date that embryo snuggles in there (hopefully) and the exact date they’re going to let you know if you’re pregnant.
May 9th. That’s the day they tell me. Mother’s Day is three days later and per usual I’m already dreading it, especially with the possibility of it coming on the heels of terrible news. The last two Mother’s Days have been pretty brutal. In 2021, I had just come off of my birth control around Mother’s Day and was so optimistic about the future. In 2022, we had been trying for a while and I knew something was up. In 2023, I had already done 4 IUI’s and got my period right around that time. I’m not necessarily proud of this decision, but Mother’s Day 2023 was the first time I intentionally stayed home from church. I couldn’t handle the celebration. It hurt too much.
As I think about Mother’s Day 2024, I’m already a mess. Since trying to get pregnant, Mother’s Day has not been totally happy for me. I am so grateful for my mom, grandmothers, and mother-in-law. I’m overjoyed for my close friends who get to be honored. However, even while I’m smiling through happy and sad tears, there is always a little dark cloud hovering over me. That’s kind of what this feels like.
Did you ever watch Lizzie McGuire? (Sorry if you didn’t, but most of you probably did.) The little cartoon Lizzie was my absolute favorite. She was sassy, but honest. Anxious, but reasonable. When I try to describe what my day-to-day life is like walking through infertility, and especially on a day like Mother’s Day, I picture a little cartoon Taylor holding an umbrella to shield herself from the dark cloud and drizzle that constantly follows her. There’s not really any relief from it; it’s a state of being. My life circumstance is a cloud with a light drizzle. Sometimes I smile, belly laugh, and happy cry under that umbrella. But even when that happens, there’s an overcast feeling to my everyday life. Even amid joy, it’s constantly dreary around me.
Now, my dear Jesus-following friends might ask me, don’t you find joy in Christ? Absolutely. A lot of those happy moments under the umbrella come from my daily Bible Recap, teaching people about the Bible, conversations with friends about their faith, or reflecting on what God has done and how faithful He’s been to us. But if we’re being honest, living in this broken world is kind of like having a dark cloud follow you. There is no escaping the gloomy nature of a broken world. If you don’t recognize that, I would encourage you to look around. If you don’t see it, I’m sorry to bear the bad news, but you’re intentionally ignoring it. Occasionally, when I’m looking for it, I’ll see glimpses of the sun and know that all hope is not lost. I know that my present and future hope is because of the unfailing and all-consuming love of Christ. But that doesn’t mean that hope doesn’t take effort and joy doesn’t come during sorrow.
[1] A quick explainer on how IVF works: A woman is given medication to prepare as many eggs for release as possible, and then a fertility doctor performs an “egg retrieval” to get those eggs out of the woman’s body. Then, a man gives a sperm sample and the sperm and eggs are combined in a petri dish and studied. After several days, the doctors determine which fertilized eggs (we had five) have developed to the blastocyst embryo stage (we had three). The embryos that have a chance to form a healthy pregnancy are then deposited into the woman. The first embryo transfer is usually “live” (no freezing). The remaining embryos are cryogenically frozen and saved for when the woman is ready for them. The depositing process is called an “embryo transfer.” We had our first embryo transfer earlier this year, and it resulted in no pregnancy. Our second one is the star of this post. The third one is still in the freezer, waiting patiently for its moment.
Some Wonderful Days
May 21, 2024
The drizzle went away on Mother’s Day this year. On May 9th, 2024, we found out that we were finally pregnant for the first time after our second embryo transfer. We couldn’t believe it; it didn’t feel real. And honestly it was more of a relief than excitement because that meant it could all finally be over at least for a little while. We had spent almost three years trying to get pregnant with a baby and it finally happened. We could breathe.
Because so many people ask about us, check on us, and pray for us, we wanted to give some of those people a little lift. So many people celebrated with us and loved our baby already, so we felt that it was only fair to tell them pretty soon after we heard the news—even though many people wait until 10-12 weeks, when the risk of miscarriage is much lower.[2] Mother’s Day came three days later, and we got to share it with our parents. What a special Mother’s Day. Our inner circle at church couldn’t contain their excitement. We were so excited for our first ultrasound a few weeks later when we would get that ultrasound picture that all those expectant moms and dads hold up and show their families and friends. We were going to tell our grandparents that way after the appointment. The drizzle was gone, and, while the skies still looked threatening off in the distance, little cartoon Taylor didn’t need her umbrella anymore. Those were some wonderful days.
But it wasn’t long until the drizzle came back, and my little cartoon friend had to pick the umbrella right back up. On May 15th, I started spotting, but it was so light that we thought nothing of it. My hcg levels (the pregnancy hormone) were continuing to rise above our expectations—a telltale sign that the baby was progressing nicely. Despite that, I was a little anxious, so I asked my doctor for repeat blood work. I went back in on May 17th, two days later, and received amazing news: my levels had more than doubled since the 15th and everything was looking great! Miscarriages are often predicted by hcg levels, so the fact that mine were comfortably in the normal range after 5 ½ weeks meant that there was no cause for concern.
But, later that same day, the bleeding came in full force along with cramps. Titus and I reverted right back to doom. We both were convinced it was over. On Friday evening, we lamented and grieved as though it was—trying to figure out how were going to tell all those happy people that our first pregnancy had been wiped out. However, I called my fertility clinic’s nurse on call, and she gave me some information that made us think there might be some hope. I was not experiencing much pain and the bleeding resolved in about 6 hours.
Over the weekend there was no more bleeding and cramping and I kept feeling nauseous and exhausted, which are supposed to be good signs. We felt hope creeping back in. When I left for a check-up on Monday morning to make sure that everything was okay, we weren’t even thinking that the worst could happen.
The worst did happen. My doctor saw nothing on the ultrasound except a little spot where she suspected the baby had once been. I got bloodwork and it confirmed what she saw. We lost the baby.
Think back to the worst day of your life. What time on that day did you realize it was the worst day of your life? I knew at about 10:00 am, staring at that empty ultrasound screen—seeing only blank space where my child had once been. It’s only been a little over 48 hours since this was confirmed, and we still feel in a haze. How can any of this be real? We have been through so much to get here. Almost three years of trying to conceive, NINE failed IUI’s, an egg retrieval, and two embryo transfers. We finally took a sigh of relief and then not even two weeks later it was all back. The grief, the sadness, and the darkest cloud.
[2] Some women going through fertility treatments are at heightened risk of miscarriage, either because of age or some documented issue with supporting fetal life after implantation. I am not one of those women. 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage, and that was about the risk I was dealing with. We made sure to remind people who were excited that it was early, and this could all go south again out of the blue.
Baby Moe
May 22, 2024
My husband is silly, so he named our three embryos after the three stooges. Larry, Moe, and Curly. We transferred Larry back in February and got a negative result. This was our second transfer, so this embryo was referred to as Moe. Once we found out we were pregnant, it was Baby Moe until we found out the gender and gave it a name. That child was already dearly loved by so many. It was so special to us.
In most cases, a wife is the one who has dreamt of being a mom since she was a little girl. Girls are given baby dolls and little kitchens as kids. For me, it wasn’t the baby dolls and the kitchens that put the seed in my heart, it was having a little brother who was significantly younger than me. I got to have a real-life baby doll and help my parents with so many things. I felt so at home.
In our home now, it was not only me. Titus felt the desire to be a father from a very young age, seeing the impact that a dad can have on their kids. He says that a person’s children are almost always their greatest legacy. He sees the purpose in pouring into someone for life to better the world. And if you know Titus, you know he is so good with them. He is truly intrigued by watching their little minds explore the world and helping shape them as they do. He meets them on their level. We both have been ready to be parents for a very long time, even since childhood. So much so, that my brother constantly had to remind me as he got older that, “Taylor, you are not my mom.”
For a short time, we finally were parents. And even though Baby Moe was the size of a poppy seed and then a peppercorn when we had them, we already felt so much pride and joy about our little one. We couldn’t wait to see who they would be, see their little eyes, ears, hands, and feet start to explore the world, and help guide their little mind as they grew. We were already praying that our child would grow up to know and love Jesus and exceed every gift and accomplishment that we ever have. And then, in an instant, days before we knew it happened—it was all gone.
We are grateful for the time we finally got to have all those feelings. It was a gift. It was a gift that Mother’s Day could be wonderful. It was a gift to see people who had labored alongside us in prayer and petition celebrate this life.[3] It was a gift to finally be someone’s mom and dad. But when a gift that great is taken, the grief is great, too. My little cartoon Taylor is back under her umbrella, the rain is coming down in full force, but she is not without hope. We’ll go to the follow-up doctor’s appointment. We’ll transfer the next embryo. She sees the sun peeking through the dark clouds and knows that one day it will be bright and beautiful again.
[3] Titus said, “Has anyone with a life so short ever brought so much joy into the world?”
Praying for you as you continue along this journey. Do not let the sadness of today dim the light of tomorrow.