Help Rachel and Steve Start Their Family

I am the mother of a daughter, Rachel, who, along with her husband Steve, are experiencing infertility. It is complicated, grief-filled, and at times a heartbreaking struggle to share with them. It has also been one of the hardest emotionally for me to deal with, being a grandparent in waiting. It is a daily check of myself; to be the parent they can lean on, trying to listen without judgment and support them in every way I can. As a parent, you want them not only to be happy but to achieve their hopes and dreams. Rachel and Steve have always dreamed of becoming parents, but they need help to make the dream a reality.

As a child, Rachel was the girl who played with dolls and took them everywhere with her, confident that one day she would be a mom. When she met and married Steve, her soulmate, the next step was to start a family.

In their careers, hers as a social worker, dedicating her life to helping children and families, and Steve's, as a high school civics teacher and coach, inspiring and supporting his students, they work with kids every day. Despite their commitment to their community and hard work, the reality of fertility treatments and the financial burden of those treatments has been overwhelming.

IVF is now Rachel and Steve's only hope of having a baby. The costs for medications and extra testing have far exceeded what they can manage on their salaries, and this includes the small insurance amount the school district covers.

I am truly praying that this round of IVF will be successful. We are reaching out to friends, family, and the community to help support them with any assistance, big or small, to give Rachel and Steve a chance of becoming parents.

Your kindness and generosity will mean the world to them.

Rachel's Story

No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true.” — Cinderella

I know that life is not a fairytale nor drizzled with magic, but what I do know is that from the time I started to watch fairytales and play pretend, a real desire came within me: that I would be a mother someday. From the time I was little, I ALWAYS had a baby doll (or several) in my arms, hugging them, pretending to feed them, swaddling them with blankets, and pushing them in strollers made just for them. Whenever I was on the playground with friends and we played “house,” I was always the mom. In high school I was labeled “the mother hen of my friend group, always taking care, listening to and supporting my loved ones. I always got told when I was little “you’ll be a great real Mama someday.” That “someday” allowed me to hold on hope through many storms in my young adulthood. After the loss of my father, I was so lost, dating the wrong sort of men whom I ended up “mothering.” I am a natural caregiver; I want to love and nurture all who come into my pathways, but the deep foundation of that part of myself is the longing to nurture my own child. Hold, squeeze, cuddle, care for, and love unconditionally something so pure, so innocent, and so beautiful.

Unfortunately, that “someday” when I found my Prince Charming had not come by thirty. Meeting Steve, my husband, at 32 has been the biggest blessing of my life. He has changed my life in many ways and has made many of my other dreams come true. I waited for my person and knew from our first date that he was not only the one, but he would also be a great Dad, because he reminded me so much of my own father. But sometimes, one's hopes and dreams get lost when the reality of science, age, and something so painfully unexplained gets in the way: infertility.

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that infertility would be a mountain I would have to climb, an obstacle I would have to face, and a burden to bear day in and day out. I thought the hardest thing I would ever have to go through by the age of thirty-six was losing my father in my early twenties, but that was sudden, shocking, and so final. The grief and trauma from infertility are something so much more complex. For me, it has been a daily tsunami of grief. Actively grieving that my “plan” did not happen, actively grieving that while all my best friends get to start or grow their families the most fun and natural ways, I do not. And most importantly, I am actively grieving what my husband and I have wanted our entire lives and not being able to obtain and conceive through an act of our deep and true love for each other.

Infertility in a relationship causes misunderstandings, financial stressors, emotional stressors, and just full-blown panic attacks under a canopy of depressive episodes. Since beginning our fertility journey in mid-2024, we have had three failed IUIs this past year, with one resulting in a chemical pregnancy lost at 5 weeks, and the other being completely unexplained. We feel we have already been through the trenches, but this is just the beginning. Knowing my age, Steve’s infertility, and our failed IUIs, we knew IVF was our only chance. The problem is, was and always has been, how are we going to afford it? Steve is a public-school teacher, and I am a social worker/ therapist. We are public servants who, while loving children and serving our communities, feel the financial burdens of our chosen professions in today’s economy.

The costs of science to help bring a baby into this world are astronomical. I had always heard it was expensive, but you don’t realize how much until you’re looking at statements every day, getting quotes from several different providers and pharmacies, and having to make last-minute decisions and payments all based on menstrual calendars, doctors’ schedules, and your ability to pay.

It's scary; I have spent my entire life hoping, dreaming, and longing for my own family unit and a partner and children to care for until my last days on earth. Unfortunately, to do that, I find myself here, afraid that this dream may already be shattered. I am maintaining hope because of my beautiful husband, my friends, my family, and my amazing Mother. I am trying to see the pathway as possible.

Asking for help is hard, but sometimes it does take a village, and I am asking for help. I know any amount donated is a blessing beyond what words can truly express because it is a step closer to Steve and my greatest wish and dream in this lifetime to have a baby, to become parents to a child or two to care for, nurture, raise, and most importantly, shower with LOVE. I am grateful for you taking the time to read this, and please know that you will forever have a place in my heart and my future.

With all the love I have,

Rachel

Steve's Journey

As I sit here, searching for the right words, I realize this isn’t just about explaining, it’s about sharing a piece of my heart. Ever since I was old enough to understand what fatherhood meant, I’ve dreamed of being a dad. It’s not just a wish; it’s a calling. I’ve always believed that the love I carry: the kindness, the big heart, the endless capacity to care, was meant to be poured into a child’s life.

My journey began years ago in my first marriage. We fought hard for that dream—two rounds of IVF, one of IUI, but nothing worked. PCOS was the diagnosis, and I thought that was the reason. I never imagined the issue could be me. That season of heartbreak weighed heavy on us, and eventually, it broke us apart.

Then, in the summer of 2022, Rachel came into my life; a light in the darkness, the missing piece I didn’t know I was searching for. From the moment I met her, I knew she was the one. We talked endlessly about our future, and one thing was clear: we both wanted children. We hoped, we tried, and for over a year, nothing happened.

After countless doctor visits and thousands of dollars in tests, I heard the words that shook me to my core: I’m infertile. Less than 100,000 sperm, most of them unable to swim. It felt like the ground disappeared beneath me. Still, we kept trying, clinging to hope even as our hearts broke. We knew science had to step in if we were going to make this dream real. But for me, that realization came with anxiety and memories of past disappointments. I never wanted to walk this road again. Therapy helped me face the pain, and eventually, we opened our hearts to new possibilities, even the idea of a sperm donor, though it challenged everything I thought about masculinity.

After many hard conversations and moments of acceptance, Rachel and I chose the IUI route. We partnered with New Direction Fertility, determined to make our dream come true. If you’ve never been through fertility treatments, let me tell you—it’s overwhelming. Information comes fast, decisions come faster, and time feels like an enemy. At our age, we can’t afford to wait. We tried three rounds of IUI. They all failed.

Now, we stand at a crossroads: give up, or take on IVF. IVF is daunting—emotionally, physically, financially. No one is ever truly ready for it. But deep down, I know this: I want to be a dad. Rachel wants to be a mom. That dream is worth every ounce of strength we have left. After more tests, we learned something incredible: my sperm can be used for IVF. They can take the best of me and the best of Rachel to create an embryo. For the first time in a long time, I felt hope. Real hope.

But then came the hardest part: the cost. Even with insurance covering some procedures, the medications alone average $12,000…upfront. That number feels impossible after the rounds of IUI’s, deductibles, necessary supplements and procedures not covered. Life has thrown us haymakers, and we’ve already taken out

loans just to stay afloat. Waiting isn’t an option; every month matters. And so, here I am, someone who has always been too proud to ask for help—laying down my pride because this dream is bigger than my fear. I’m terrified of the debt, of the weight this could bring. But I’m willing to take the chance. I’m willing to fight for this. Because scared money doesn’t win, and this is the biggest gamble of my life.

I’m putting everything into this one shot, the shot to hold my child, to hear them call me Dad, to give them the love I’ve carried all these years. If you can help, even a little, you’re not just helping us, you’re helping create a miracle. You’re helping turn heartbreak into hope.