Lindsey tells their story:
Each month, I readjusted my plans and thought of all the positive reasons why this month would be better than the rest! Thinking back on those long days makes me feel so much sympathy for that little (increasingly desperate) woman. I don’t know that desperate is the right word here. I wasn’t desperate so much as I was eager. The truth is, I had gotten a taste — several actually — of this baby that was increasingly on my heart. It’s difficult for me to describe that to you right now without sounding all out-there and mystical, so I’ll leave that for another time. But, suffice it to say, I had a strong sense that there was a baby out there waiting to join our family. I feel lucky that most people with whom I’ve shared those details have been supportive — believing and encouraging even. That feeling — that baby — is still strong as ever despite our continual discouragement.
The first month, that first cycle day one, was more sweet and comical when I think back on it. Again, I had my plans. It was nearly Christmas time, a season marked by pronounced, but passive grief for my family. Memories of my Dad and our traditions follow us around like ghosts, haunting and beautiful. I would tell the story of my brothers’ birth: How my dad picked me up from my best friend’s house in his company car which was a navy Ford LTD. I don’t remember being told why I was staying the night with Joanna, but I do remember the feeling that something special was happening. That is to say, I didn’t know that Bailey and Hunter were being born, but I did.
My dad arrived and in his console were the stickers. They were red and had a female stick figure with scraggly hair on them. Above her were the words I’m a Big Sis. I got two because I was becoming a big sister to twins. I will never forget the way his hands shook slightly as he bent down to get the stickers and peeled them away from their shiny white backing. He said something along the lines of: Well, Linds, your little brothers arrived this morning… as he put each sticker on my little shirt. It’s one of the most palpable memories I have of my early years, despite my difficulty describing the details.
I was prepared for those boys. I had asked for a little sister and was given the news that I was actually getting twin brothers. That’s another moment I will never forget: I was only five or six years old and took the call, again at Joanna’s, in her parents’ bedroom. When my mom told me, I sank down into their water bed. It had navy blue sheets and a very hard siding. After the shock wore off, I enthusiastically attended every class at the local hospital held for new big-siblings-to-be. Going to the hospital, seeing them, bringing them home and being their big sister is perhaps the next most-palpable experience I possess. I told everyone that they were my babies.
So that December of 2016, I googled every combination of Big Sis stickers I could think up. It strikes me now that those stickers would have been irrelevant for my plan, which was to tell the above story as a precursor to sharing the news that Jamie and I were having a baby. That I’d finally have my own, true baby, and that Hunter and Bailey could finally retire, bless their hearts. For months, this failed plan brought tears to my sore eyes.
The first month of actively hoping to get pregnant, I was in a spin class when the familiar feelings of an upcoming period settled in my lower belly. I got off my bike, mid-class, and went to the bathroom, drenched in panic.
A side-note: At this point, I was two days late for my period, a rarity and fact that lent me a naive conviction that all systems were a go. Bolstering my faith in the success of my plan even further was the fact that, somewhere between ovulation and the start of my period, I started feeling new, foreign symptoms that typically weren’t associated with any stage of my cycle: Intense heartburn, dizziness, indigestion. A google search (I know, I know) told me that these symptoms were very likely ones of pregnancy. (Again, I know.) On the first day of my missed period, I was so excited that I gushed to two of my spin instructors, probably saying something like, This could be it! I cringe and feel a little pitiful when I think back on that early confidence.
The night my period started, my Mom and Mimi were coming over for our now-annual night of Christmas decorating. I likely spent the day trying to determine whether the bleeding I was experiencing was in fact from the start of a new cycle or maybe, just maybe, from spotting due to implantation. If there is one thing that is not lacking in the area of fertility and conception, it is stories, and I had heard my fair share of ones involving women who thought they were starting their period when in fact an embryo was merely implanting in their uterus. Oh, bless it. It was a sad day and the start of a very dark season.
Mom and Mimi arrived and Mimi, the self-proclaimed empath that she is, immediately sensed something was wrong. Lindsey, what? What is it? The motherliness of her knowing and the concern on my Mom’s face opened the flood gates. I was babbling through big, heavy tears about starting my period and plans ruined and no stickers, and what about the Christmas Eve Pajama Tradition, during which my Mom would unwrap a onesie? Oh, dear. I forgot about that detail of the plan. It was such a good plan. As I was spattering on, Mimi told me to wrap my arms around her as she covered me with her now-tiny frame. But, honey! It’s only your first month! I remember the marked oddness of the dynamic: A hopeful woman wishing to be a mother, being held and soothed as a child by her own mother and grand-mother. We talked it through and had several light laughs while my mom looked up foods to promote fertility. We piled into the car, my mom, Mimi, Jamie and I, and headed to Braum’s for an extra-extra thick chocolate milkshake. That night, my new mantra was born: There’s always next month.
This Father’s Day, Dr. Miller, the urologist we’re seeing as part of our team of fertility doctors, called to confirm his original diagnosis of congenital bilateral absence of the vas deferens: Jamie was born with no tubes. According to blood work, the doctors are eighty to ninety percent certain that Jamie is producing healthy sperm. They simply can’t leave his body. (The funniest description of this condition I’ve seen so far — Thank God for humor here! — is that those with CBAVD are born with a vasectomy.) Thirty years ago, Jamie and I would not have been able to conceive a child that shared our DNA. Today, we're thanking our lucky stars that advanced reproductive technology can allow us to do just that. Our only option for becoming parents together is through in-vitro fertilization with intracytoplasmic sperm injection.
So welcome to our story. In some ways, this feels like the beginning. But in others, it feels like we’re at the end of the road.
For their full story, as well as updates please visit LindsConway.com
IF YOU'D LIKE TO GIVE AN OFFLINE DONATION TO AVOID THE 2.9% FEE THAT GOFUNDME TAKES FOR THE CREDIT CARD TRANSACTION, PLEASE ALSO FEEL FREE TO CONTACT ME BY CLICKING THE LITTLE ENVELOPE ICON NEXT TO MY NAME "TASHA ELKINS TINDALL". I will then add your donation to this page as an "offline donation" so it will still be visible and count towards our goal.
Each month, I readjusted my plans and thought of all the positive reasons why this month would be better than the rest! Thinking back on those long days makes me feel so much sympathy for that little (increasingly desperate) woman. I don’t know that desperate is the right word here. I wasn’t desperate so much as I was eager. The truth is, I had gotten a taste — several actually — of this baby that was increasingly on my heart. It’s difficult for me to describe that to you right now without sounding all out-there and mystical, so I’ll leave that for another time. But, suffice it to say, I had a strong sense that there was a baby out there waiting to join our family. I feel lucky that most people with whom I’ve shared those details have been supportive — believing and encouraging even. That feeling — that baby — is still strong as ever despite our continual discouragement.
The first month, that first cycle day one, was more sweet and comical when I think back on it. Again, I had my plans. It was nearly Christmas time, a season marked by pronounced, but passive grief for my family. Memories of my Dad and our traditions follow us around like ghosts, haunting and beautiful. I would tell the story of my brothers’ birth: How my dad picked me up from my best friend’s house in his company car which was a navy Ford LTD. I don’t remember being told why I was staying the night with Joanna, but I do remember the feeling that something special was happening. That is to say, I didn’t know that Bailey and Hunter were being born, but I did.
My dad arrived and in his console were the stickers. They were red and had a female stick figure with scraggly hair on them. Above her were the words I’m a Big Sis. I got two because I was becoming a big sister to twins. I will never forget the way his hands shook slightly as he bent down to get the stickers and peeled them away from their shiny white backing. He said something along the lines of: Well, Linds, your little brothers arrived this morning… as he put each sticker on my little shirt. It’s one of the most palpable memories I have of my early years, despite my difficulty describing the details.
I was prepared for those boys. I had asked for a little sister and was given the news that I was actually getting twin brothers. That’s another moment I will never forget: I was only five or six years old and took the call, again at Joanna’s, in her parents’ bedroom. When my mom told me, I sank down into their water bed. It had navy blue sheets and a very hard siding. After the shock wore off, I enthusiastically attended every class at the local hospital held for new big-siblings-to-be. Going to the hospital, seeing them, bringing them home and being their big sister is perhaps the next most-palpable experience I possess. I told everyone that they were my babies.
So that December of 2016, I googled every combination of Big Sis stickers I could think up. It strikes me now that those stickers would have been irrelevant for my plan, which was to tell the above story as a precursor to sharing the news that Jamie and I were having a baby. That I’d finally have my own, true baby, and that Hunter and Bailey could finally retire, bless their hearts. For months, this failed plan brought tears to my sore eyes.
The first month of actively hoping to get pregnant, I was in a spin class when the familiar feelings of an upcoming period settled in my lower belly. I got off my bike, mid-class, and went to the bathroom, drenched in panic.
A side-note: At this point, I was two days late for my period, a rarity and fact that lent me a naive conviction that all systems were a go. Bolstering my faith in the success of my plan even further was the fact that, somewhere between ovulation and the start of my period, I started feeling new, foreign symptoms that typically weren’t associated with any stage of my cycle: Intense heartburn, dizziness, indigestion. A google search (I know, I know) told me that these symptoms were very likely ones of pregnancy. (Again, I know.) On the first day of my missed period, I was so excited that I gushed to two of my spin instructors, probably saying something like, This could be it! I cringe and feel a little pitiful when I think back on that early confidence.
The night my period started, my Mom and Mimi were coming over for our now-annual night of Christmas decorating. I likely spent the day trying to determine whether the bleeding I was experiencing was in fact from the start of a new cycle or maybe, just maybe, from spotting due to implantation. If there is one thing that is not lacking in the area of fertility and conception, it is stories, and I had heard my fair share of ones involving women who thought they were starting their period when in fact an embryo was merely implanting in their uterus. Oh, bless it. It was a sad day and the start of a very dark season.
Mom and Mimi arrived and Mimi, the self-proclaimed empath that she is, immediately sensed something was wrong. Lindsey, what? What is it? The motherliness of her knowing and the concern on my Mom’s face opened the flood gates. I was babbling through big, heavy tears about starting my period and plans ruined and no stickers, and what about the Christmas Eve Pajama Tradition, during which my Mom would unwrap a onesie? Oh, dear. I forgot about that detail of the plan. It was such a good plan. As I was spattering on, Mimi told me to wrap my arms around her as she covered me with her now-tiny frame. But, honey! It’s only your first month! I remember the marked oddness of the dynamic: A hopeful woman wishing to be a mother, being held and soothed as a child by her own mother and grand-mother. We talked it through and had several light laughs while my mom looked up foods to promote fertility. We piled into the car, my mom, Mimi, Jamie and I, and headed to Braum’s for an extra-extra thick chocolate milkshake. That night, my new mantra was born: There’s always next month.
This Father’s Day, Dr. Miller, the urologist we’re seeing as part of our team of fertility doctors, called to confirm his original diagnosis of congenital bilateral absence of the vas deferens: Jamie was born with no tubes. According to blood work, the doctors are eighty to ninety percent certain that Jamie is producing healthy sperm. They simply can’t leave his body. (The funniest description of this condition I’ve seen so far — Thank God for humor here! — is that those with CBAVD are born with a vasectomy.) Thirty years ago, Jamie and I would not have been able to conceive a child that shared our DNA. Today, we're thanking our lucky stars that advanced reproductive technology can allow us to do just that. Our only option for becoming parents together is through in-vitro fertilization with intracytoplasmic sperm injection.
So welcome to our story. In some ways, this feels like the beginning. But in others, it feels like we’re at the end of the road.
For their full story, as well as updates please visit LindsConway.com
IF YOU'D LIKE TO GIVE AN OFFLINE DONATION TO AVOID THE 2.9% FEE THAT GOFUNDME TAKES FOR THE CREDIT CARD TRANSACTION, PLEASE ALSO FEEL FREE TO CONTACT ME BY CLICKING THE LITTLE ENVELOPE ICON NEXT TO MY NAME "TASHA ELKINS TINDALL". I will then add your donation to this page as an "offline donation" so it will still be visible and count towards our goal.