Help Jennifer and Ben Overcome Grief with Hope
Hello, my name is Jennifer. My husband Ben and I wanted to share our journey with infertility, joy, loss, and perhaps renewed hope.
Our Son Before Loss and the Shots That Got Us There
TW: Pregnancy Loss
When Ben and I first got together, and I mean like before date three, I asked him if he wanted to get married and have children one day. Not that he was “The One” (though I had a feeling already), but just that if not, I needed to know. He replied that he would be open to a future marriage and children, but there was one roadblock: in his previous marriage, he had a vasectomy. He had no desire to marry or have more children, but meeting me changed that for him. With me, he would want to start a family.
Fast forward to us being engaged and the clock ticking on efficacy for vasectomy reversal. He had the procedure, which was not without complication: it took 5 hours and cost $8k out of pocket. Getting five-hour surgery on his balls is definitely a commitment of true love. I had to marry him now!
Our next hurdle was my PCOS (one symptom of which is you rarely ovulate on your own, if at all). Because of it, I was told at 19 that I would never have children, and if I even wanted to attempt, I needed to do so before age 25. Hah! Thank goodness medicine has advanced since then, but even at the time…as a 19-year-old who had barely kissed a boy…I was devastated. I have always wanted to be a mom, and I saw my chances dwindle to nearly nothing.
So when the time came to make our family, we needed intervention. We first tried the less invasive IUI, three rounds, at $1.5k each. Three rounds of intense medication that made me dizzy and numerous migraines later, we were no closer to having a baby of our dreams. The vasectomy had been classified as a success, but it was not enough for successful IUI.
We were crushed. We were just starting our lives together; I had started a new business, and we faced the next hurdle of financing IVF. We knew we had to try. So for several years, we cut expenses, sacrificed, and saved as much as we could to try for a round of IVF.
But our particular journey with IVF was quite long and brutal. I had multiple complications, including OHSS, a condition where fluid fills your abdomen (15 pounds!) and can go into your lungs (which is did). I’ve never been in so much pain and had to return to the hospital several times.
In the end, we got seven, healthy embryos after attrition and chromosomal testing. 4 boys, 3 girls, our potential future family. Next came our embryo transfer. The progesterone shots that went into my lower back/butt muscles left me without feeling in a huge swath of my back, butt, and thighs (through to today). By the last weeks, I would scream every day during those shots. I still have no feeling on the skin, and intense pain when even brushed up against in that area.
But it all was worth it when our first little embryo took! I can’t even begin to describe the shock and joy I felt when I saw that second line appear on my pregnancy test. I didn’t even believe it for three full days, and 5 tests. It was really happening.
Pure Joy On My Face at Sixteen Weeks
And then almost 20 weeks passed of happiness, celebrations, and plans. We even gave our growing baby boy a nickname—Little Otter. We cherished him and so did our families. I had some pregnancy symptoms along the way, but honestly pregnancy was nothing compared to IVF, and I loved every minute of it.
Tiny Foot and Hand!
Then, at our 20-week anatomy scan, we received the most devastating news imaginable. I knew something was wrong right away because the tech kept telling me what felt like weird lies. She went from sharing how cute he was, how much he weighed, what a wiggle-worm he was, to silence. Then they brought in a doctor and so began the first lie, saying she “just needed some practice. They then left me alone for a long time. After that, another lie, that they needed the room for other patients and to wait in a consult room. And finally, they moved me into a room with an ominous plaque outside: High Risk Neonatal Consult.
I was alone because of COVID rules when they told me our son was sick, so much so, in fact, and in so many ways, that he was unlikely to survive. His brain, organs, spine were all affected. And if he did survive, he would need to go right into many surgeries the day he was born and for all of his life, and our Little Otter would suffer immensely.
I felt faint after hearing all this and had to lay down (miserable at being a movie-cliché) while they called my husband on the phone. He asked great questions. Tried to find out best and worst case. All seemed worst case. With in-utero surgery, which was an option at specialized programs around the country, our Little Otter likely would not have much of an improve outcome. Yet even that choice was taken from us due to my BMI, which felt like yet another cruel blow.
In the end, and after second and third opinions, we came to the heartbreaking conclusion that there was nothing we could do for our son. We would have to end the pregnancy, and soon. That procedure is scheduled for Monday. I am shattered and don’t know if I’ll ever be able to put the pieces back together. The night we found out (Tuesday), he was the most active he’s ever been. So much wiggling and kicking. Literal gut punches. I’m going to miss him so much I can hardly breathe.
I don’t feel like I can bear it. Our son is so wanted and loved. I never imagined this was a possibility. This small but mighty baby, the love of my life that I have been waiting for all these years, will soon be gone. To lose him at this stage is so infinitesimally rare. I feel like the unluckiest person in the world.
And yet, I have to bear it. No matter how brutal and cruel it feels. How impossible. We’ll have to get through, somehow. In these last days, we are talking to him a lot. Singing Disney songs. Dancing together. He will only have known love and warmth in his life, and I suppose, that is something. I am forever changed by being his mom.
Our Last Photo of Our Son, Waving </3
Beyond today, this week, this month, the way I cope with life is to have a plan. People say to take things “one step at a time,” but I don’t know how to do that. My brain doesn’t work that way. For me, I need to know we can try again, even though I’m terrified this could happen again. It’s unlikely, a 2-3% chance given that it happened once, but when something with a .1% chance happens to you then odds start to lose all meaning. A new baby won’t replace the one we are losing. It won’t make me stop wailing (I didn’t know I could wail), or being angry, or feeling empty: Little Otter will always occupy a space in my heart. But it’s the small hope I cling to, a hope that keeps me off the edge.
And so, we’re asking for help in getting there. In trying another round. It will take several months for my body to heal, but one of the most comforting emails I received through this was from my fertility doctor, laying out a plan. Only, we’ve already spent over $40k on this journey between the vasectomy reversal, IUI, and IVF. While we are not in dire straits (as so many are right now) in our day-to-day, spending another $10k (most of which is due up front at our next appointment) feels insurmountable with the debt we’ve already accrued from IVF.
Even though I hate to ask (pride runs deep in my family and culture), I’m reaching out for help from those who can donate to our family to cover the cost of another transfer round. All donations will go toward the medication and procedure. Anything left over will be put into savings for another round as our original hope was for two children.
I’ve never done anything like this before, and I don’t expect much, but even a little can help. Whether it is a small donation or a boost on social media, anything and everything is greatly appreciated. If you would prefer to donate outside of Go Fund Me, you can send a donation to my Venmo handle, @Jennifer-Baxter-37.
Thank you so much for reading through our story and helping in any way that you can. 
Our Engagement. Happier Times.
