May of 2012 is where our adoption story begins.  We’d been officially “trying” for a year, and I was enthusiastic that a simple trip to my doctor would quickly cure me of my inability to conceive.  I wasn’t using the term infertility  just yet.  I mean, I had an almost 4-year-old as proof that it was possible.

My doctor decided to run a simple HSG test, confident that everything would be just fine.  In fact, as he injected dye into my fallopian tubes, he even stated so.  It didn’t take long for him to realize that there were some blockages, and he quickly recanted his prior statement by trying to infuse some gynecological comedy into the situation: You’re playing with a deck half-stacked, he quipped.  I blinked back tears that ended up running down the side of my face anyway.

Honestly, I was happy for an answer and even happier for a plan that I didn’t really care that there were “issues.”  I like a good plan, as all Type A-ers do.  So, I left his office with a script for Comid and went on my merry way, just certain that it would work.  Three months later I had nothing but nightly hot flashes to show for our efforts.   Clomid is good for that, apparently.

I revisited my doc and he referred me to the Baby-Making Guru of the tri-state area.  If you talk to anyone about infertility where I live, his name is bound to come up and you’re just bound to get pregnant when he throws some infertility magic your way.

The new doc ran a few more tests, discovered some other small problems, and decided to set us up with an IUI (intra-uterine insemination) and more drugs.  Really un-fun drugs that made me want to yell at my husband for no reason.  {Not just the normal yell-at-your-husband-for-no-good-reason rants, but awful crying spells that I would equate to the temper tantrums thrown by your average three-year-old.  It wasn’t pretty.}

Two IUIs later and I. WAS. DONE. in the most bold and italics kinda way that anyone could state the need to be finished with something.   Our doctor offered one more before he moved onto the next thing, and I declined.

The drugs were terrible, I wasn’t pregnant, and meanwhile everyone else and their dang sister was.  No, really, EVERYONE.  Just ask anyone who is experiencing infertility and they will attest: EVERYONE IS PREGNANT.  But you.  Never you.

It had a been a year and a half at this point.  It was November.  I was turning 30 in December and my Ultimate Plan for Abby’s Perfect Life was falling by the wayside.  Two kids by 30 clearly wasn’t happening.

It was the week of our second failed IUI, following an early surprise 30th birthday party, that we began considering adoption.  Maybe – just maybe – we weren’t meant to get pregnant.  Maybe we were supposed to adopt.  We prayed and decided to contact an agency.  It wasn’t a lengthy decision, honestly.  Just like a let’s do this kind of thing.

To be continued…

Stay tuned for the rest of our adoption story!