Home School Curriculum Experts

My girls were baptized tonight. You may remember that the girls are triplets, eight years old. What I have not yet had the chance to share are the circumstances surrounding their birth and my pregnancy with them. You see, my husband and I are infertile. When I tell people this and they look around at my five children, they then look to me for the punch line. But there is not one. My husband and I began “trying” to get pregnant when we had been married just a year and a half. My genecologist had told me that, due to some symptoms I was having, she suspected I might have a hard time getting pregnant. No one ever thinks that getting pregnant will be difficult for them, so it was disturbing news to say the least, and the first “troubled waters” we had been confronted with in our marriage. So, we began the “trying.” A year later, we were still not pregnant. At that point, we were advised to visit a fertility clinic, which we did. We went through a battery of tests, and finally a surgery for me, then treatment with medication and more tests. We then received the devastating news…we would never be able to get pregnant on our own. Our only chance to have a baby would be through the process of in vitro fertilization. After much prayer and several months of preparation – physical, financial, emotional, and spiritual – we decided to move forward.
I won’t go into all the details and medical jargon, but when we were well into the cycle, the doctors discovered that my body had over-reacted to the fertility medication and I was in what was called “hyper-stimulation”; in short, my ovaries were holding 38 eggs, ready to be harvested. Many grave meetings with the doctors ensued. They would be harvesting all the eggs, and they wanted to know how many we wanted to try and fertilize. Throughout the process, we had never felt a comfort level with cryopreserving, or freezing, embryos. This freezing is basically done to “save” embryos (eggs which have already been fertilized) to try and use them to get pregnant in a later cycle, either because you did not get pregnant in the first cycle, or because you want to have more children. We did not necessarily feel that cryopreserving embryos was wrong, it was just difficult to wrap our arms around the idea of “suspending” life, and so we did not feel comfortable with it. And so, when we were told that I was producing so many eggs, the doctors were astounded when we decided that we only wanted to try and fertilize enough for one cycle. One doctor in particular was even angry with us, and insisted that we must not really want to get pregnant, or that somehow we misunderstood. It was our decision, however, and so on the day of the surgery they only tried to fertilize 11 eggs (based on their calculations and testing they had done on us, they felt that only a small percentage of these would actually fertilize and be able to be placed back in my womb.) But God had alternate plans (he usually does!) Nine of eleven of our eggs fertilized, far too many to be placed back in my womb (octuplet mom notwithstanding :) So, we went to plan B – they would put three back and we would “freeze” the others. And that is how it went. Three went into mommy, three did not continue developing (something that is common with a newly fertilized embryo even when you get pregnant “the normal way”) and three were placed into cryopreservation (more about them later.).
Of the three which were put back in mommy, two actually “attached” and started growing, and out of those two only one made it past the sixth week. That one is now my twelve-year-old son.
From the moment our other embryos were placed into cryopreservation, we prayed for them. We agonized over them. We thought of them every day. These were our babies, and they were beyond our reach, sitting waiting in some holding tank. Looking back, I now know that God had his big hand holding them the entire time…I wish I had rested in that – it would have saved me a lot of worrying.
When my son was 13 months old and I was getting ready to wean him, we called the fertility clinic to inquire about beginning the cycle with our frozen embryos – they were weighing on us so heavily and we could not wait any longer. They instructed us to call when I began my next cycle. Trouble was, that cycle would not begin. I was always very regular, so when I was four days late I knew something was wrong. Must be menopause, I told myself. Just great…I’m starting early menopause and now how in the world are we going to try and get pregnant with our embryos? I called my doctor to make an appointment, and then, on a whim, I called the fertility clinic. “Could you look back at our records and tell me again what the chances are of us getting pregnant on our own?” She comes back to the phone, “About a million to one.” “That’s what I thought,” I said, “just checking.” So I waited. My appointment with the doctor was the next day. “Just stop and get me a pregnancy test,” I told my husband, “they’re going to make me take one tomorrow anyway.” So he changed our son’s diaper as I took the test. A blue line – what does that mean? I read the instructions again. It can’t be. PREGNANT????? Without drugs and needles and doctors’ visits and .surgeries? WOW!!! Is this how it is for normal people?? The doctor’s test the next day confirmed it. And eight months later our second son was born.
And we still had our embryos. By this time, the burden of our waiting was growing heavy. I had to wait until I weaned my son to begin the drug protocol, so when he was seventeen months old we visited the fertility clinic again. We received some startling news. “We’re sorry. It has been four years and four months since your embryos were created. Not only are the chances very slim for a successful pregnancy after the first five months (we had never been told this) but in the last four years we have discovered something. Back then we waited six and even seven days after conception to freeze embryos, thinking that gave them a better chance of survival. But since then we have discovered that is too long. You have one six-day and two seven-day embryos. We have never had a successful pregnancy in this clinic with embryos which were frozen that late. We suggest that you spend your fertility dollars elsewhere.”
Shocking news – yes. Cold and clinical way of describing it – certainly. But we weren’t here for a “success rate.” We were here because we had a responsibility to the lives God had given to us, small though they were. The idea that we would abandon that life because the doctors didn’t give us much hope was unthinkable. Thank you, but we will spend our fertility dollars taking care of our babies.
They had warned us that our embryos might not make it even through the thawing procedure, but that we would not know this until we arrived at the hospital the day of the embryo transfer. That morning, as I was getting ready, my mind was tossing this way and that. Would I come home that day with our embryos alive and placed in my womb, or in grief over their loss? As I was casting about fretfully in my mind, I heard God speak to me, almost audibly, “BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD.” I stopped in my tracks. Having rarely heard God actually speak, I had no doubt that it was Him. But if I had known how far-reaching, far beyond that day, those words were intended for, I would not have been able to fathom it.
We got to the hospital, where they told us that two of our embryos had made it through the thawing process. It was a strange mix of grief and joy, losing one yet having two that were still alive. The transfer was fairly simple, and I came home to a few days of bedrest. Ten days later I went in for a blood test – the count was 66, I was told, a “good, solid single pregnancy.” Two days later the number should have doubled, at least – it was in the three hundreds. “Could it be twins?” I asked. “No, the first number would have been higher. Just a good strong pregnancy.” Two days later – in the nine hundreds. “Are you sure?” I asked. Only one nurse confided that it *might* be twins. So at six weeks I went in for an ultrasound. My husband and oldest son, who was three at the time, were with me, along with my father-in-law. When the ultrasound screen came up, I immediately saw two sacs. My legs started shaking – I was thrilled that both of the embryos had survived, but now the reality hit me. Already severely sick with nausea , I was pregnant with twins and had a one-year-old and a three-year-old. As I lay trying to absorb this (with my husband and father-in-law slapping each other on the back) , the ultrasound tech leaned in closer to the screen. “What?” I asked, concerned. She asked, “Did anyone ever mention to you the possibility of an embryo splitting and becoming identical twins?” “No,” I answered, squinting at the screen, “is that what happened? How can you tell?” “Well,” she said, “I am seeing two heartbeats in this sac on the right…” “Whaaaa….what do you mean ‘the sac on the right?” A long pause. “It looking like I’m going to have to re-label these babies A, B, and C.” Oh. My. Goodness.
Following a consultation with the doctor (who predictably suggested “selective reduction.” which we not-so-politely declined) we went home in shock. Fast forward through the first few weeks, which were spent alternately throwing up and sitting in disbelief (both me and my husband :). After being told at eight weeks that the identical twins were NOT conjoined (DID WE THINK THEY WERE??? DEAR GOD!), our regular OB had suggested a consultation with a high-risk specialist. At this twelve-week consultation, she gave us some frightening news. Because our identical embryos had split so late, they were not only in the same sac, but there was no membrane between them. Because of this, their umbilical cords could twist together and knot off, cutting the blood supply to one or both twins. In addition, they were at a high risk for twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome, which can happen when babies are sharing the same placenta. One twin can get too much blood and die of heart failure; the other gets too little and it retards growth and causes death. The combined risk of these two things put the risk to our girls so high that they had only about a 30% chance of surviving the pregnancy. We were devastated. How would we live with this knowledge? But I heard the voice again “BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD.” I felt no reassurance that those words necessarily meant that our babies would survive, just the simple command to be still and let God be God.
As my pregnancy went into its 24th week, my doctor put me on bed rest as a precaution. A believer, he had prayed with us many times during the pregnancy, and carried the weight of his concern with him always. The high-risk specialist showed guarded optimism, but as the pregnancy progressed she began to be encouraged. By this time we had found out that they were all girls, and though she had said from the beginning that she would be happy to get them to 32 weeks, she began optimistically to think about 34 weeks, or even 36. The twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome had not materialized yet, and as the babies got bigger they were not able to move around as much, and therefore were at a lower risk of their cords knotting. My extreme nausea was finally gone and, except for being on bed-rest, things were looking good. At 32 weeks I went in for my bi-weekly ultrasound, and while the babies were being observed, one of the girl’s heartrate dropped and the doctor could not get it back up. I was immediately admitted to the hospital, where they planned to deliver the babies 48 hours later, after giving me steroid shots. My doctor, who had been praying for wisdom for many months, decided that he did not feel comfortable waiting that long, so the delivery was set for the next day.
The day had arrived. With nineteen people in the delivery room, including a team of doctors and nurses for each baby, our girls were brought into the world. As the two identical girls were delivered, a hush fell on the room. The doctor stopped, then asked for a camera. He then called the entire room of people over to look at the babies’ umbilical cords, which were knotted NINE TIMES. “Divine intervention,” was all he could say.
Our babies were safely here. After three weeks in the hospital, they came home, and today are three happy, healthy little girls who bring us immeasurable joy.
And so tonight they were baptized, making public their commitment to follow this God who has held them in His hands for so long. And I am still…and knowing…that He is God.