one percent.

Three years ago today, a fertility doctor who specializes in getting cancer survivors pregnant, told me that I had less than one percent chance of ever having my own baby. Happy Holidays. The loss of the one dream I ever had threw me into a state of mourning that lasted about a year. When I’m working through something, I tend to get introspective and quiet rather than talking and asking for help. This was hard on Rob, and we both went through some tough times – there were days I wondered if we would recover. Not only was I mourning the loss of being a mother, I was also feeling incredible guilt for taking away Rob’s dream of becoming a father. I tried some of the same lines I told him when I first found out that I had breast cancer soon after we engaged, all with the same basic message of ‘you didn’t sign on for this’. They had about the same result they had when I tried them the first time (nothing). Rob stood strong, and told me the same thing he always had since the very first tears I cried upon learning that chemo would probably leave me unable to have a child: “When we are meant to have a family, we will have a family.”

This is all fine and good in hindsight. When you are firmly planted in the place you know you are meant to be, happier than you have ever been in your life, it’s easy to look back and realize that the painful twists and turns of your path had meaning. To realize that each moment was necessary and important because it brought you to this exact moment. But you don’t have the benefit of hindsight when you are in the middle of the swamp. We have some friends who are hoping to adopt a baby. They have been on ‘the list’ for over a year, and are starting to wonder why they haven’t been chosen. I can tell them why. The reason they haven’t been chosen is that their baby hasn’t been born yet. I truly believe this. I KNOW this. We weren’t waiting for any baby, we were waiting for Brendan. And I know that some day they will look at me with knowing eyes because they can finally understand exactly why they had to wait as long as they did – because they will be holding THEIR baby. But until then, my words will hold about as much meaning as Rob’s words did 6 years ago. They will feel like a nice gesture, words of love spoken to a broken heart. But it’s so hard to have faith in those words – you can’t really know it as truth until you can experience it for yourself. But I know. And I will protect and keep the faith for them, just like my husband did for us.

Last year at this time I had hope. We were on ‘the list’. Our paperwork had been finished since Labor day, and while we hadn’t heard from anyone yet, I somehow knew this was the right path. I had a feeling of purpose and certainty that I never felt when going through fertility treatments. On Christmas Eve as I prayed for the woman who might be carrying our child, I had no idea that Meredith became pregnant just weeks after we became eligible for adoption. I didn’t know that she had already spent two months wondering about the right thing to do, looking through a box of 500 letters from hopeful people like myself.

And today, my son is 6 months old. I beat the odds. Because no matter what that doctor told me, I have my son. The only little man who could hold that title. He couldn’t be any more ‘mine’ if I had carried him in my own belly. And in fact, it almost feels more meant-to-be since so many significant and insignificant things had to happen to bring him into our lives. There were plenty of dark times where I couldn’t imagine a brighter day. But looking back, I would do it all over again to feel the completeness and laughter and love that fills our home.

I can’t believe it’s been six months.
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Now we have to go get ready for our Grandma and Grandpa Christmas Tour ’12! First stop, Cupertino…

p.s.
That’s not me in the picture, that’s Brendan’s teacher, Miss Gracie, saying a sad goodbye since she won’t see him again for almost two weeks. And I didn’t take the photo either, that was Uncle Joel with his fancy camera.