Wagner Baby Fund #IVFStrong
Donation protected
After six years, we are beyond disappointed by the fact that our infertility journey has led us to this unusual step of appealing to others to donate towards our dream of having our first child.
As our friends and family know, Steve and I are always willing to help anyone in need with open arms, but this time the tables have turned. Infertility is an exhausting journey that is taxing for even for the strongest couples; at its worst it has broken both of us to pieces - a knife in our hearts, but we have told ourselves that this would not be the end to our story.
It has been a long road, and one that has and continues to have many tears. We are so grateful for our friends and family who are caring and sensitive people and who continue to offer their support, but ultimately, they have no idea what we are going through.
There are two sides to infertility. The side we show you…the smiles, the hopeful statements and the crossed fingers. Then there’s the side you don’t see, the struggle. Infertility is truly a special corner of hell. It is isolating and so alienating from the wider fertile community that it is extremely difficult to put into words for those who are fortunate to not have to endure what we have been through.
For six years now, we have had to face the fact that some of our first adventures as husband and wife were going to be stressful, emotional and life changing. Today, infertility is a battle we are fighting like hell to get through - it is something we live with daily and consumes us almost 24/7.
That said, this is not meant to portray us as a sad desperate couple. We want to share our story to show the world how eager and excited we are to grow our family and to beat the odds of infertility!
But, as much as we hate to have to ask for financial assistance, we are unfortunately not able to afford this on our own any longer. We have now exhausted the years of savings we had specifically set aside for this purpose; insurance covers nothing. Actually, insurance companies view couples seeking infertility treatment as people who are intentionally trying to get sick – who would do that?! With this logic they can, and in our experience, do, refuse to provide coverage.
To make matters worse, full payment for infertility treatment and each embryo transfer cycle is required up-front. The cost of all the medications are equally expensive. Depending on how well the body reacts to the medication(s), sometimes we are faced with less than 12 hours to figure out how to shuffle funds around in order to pay for everything before the ship sails, while other times, we have been forced to cancel “cycles” mid-way through due to unforeseen issues. (You don’t get your money back).
Here is what we have learned: infertility is extremely cruel, exhausting and on top of it all, unfairly expensive. However, we are on a quest to have a baby. We know that together we will make great parents and this perpetual limbo is just a (massive) hiccup in our plan.
We have held off as long as we possibly could, financially, before posting this because it is a challenge for us to ask for help, yet, this is where we find ourselves today.
So here it goes…
If you feel willing and are able to donate and / or to pray for us, please do so. Honestly, anything you are able to do is appreciated more than words can express. ❤
In case you are interested in reading more about our story, below is a detailed, frankly vulnerable, narrative of our journey to date.
As for the rest of you, thank you for reading this far, and for sharing, praying and generously donating if you are in a position to do so.
**The land of Infertility**
“I guess it just takes a long time to make the perfect baby” - Steve
Rewind 6 years ago when we were sitting on our parent’s couch discussing our future together as a newlywed couple. We told ourselves how our lives would unfold and did not leave room for the possibility that we would need this kind of assistance. We took for granted the control we had. We were not prepared to be diagnosed with “infertility” and it hit us like a ton of bricks.
We started our journey with Intrauterine Insemination (“IUI”). Each of these cycles failed without any explanation.
This led us to In Vitro Fertilization (“IVF”).
We spent over half a year getting all the usual testing and bloodwork done. Most of this was for Leah as the guy’s role in all of this is pretty basic. In fact, looking back, Steve’s biggest complaint was the discomfort and forced optimism the lady at the front desk had when he handed her his cooler that contained his contribution. That said, Steve was there every step of the way. Even when COVID restrictions barred him from attending appointments, he would wait for hours on end in the parking lot - just to be there.
Eventually, we figured out the regimen of hormone boosters to facilitate production, and Steve overcame his fear of needles, or more precisely, giving shots, and Leah quickly became non-needle phobic. Steve became skilled getting up at 4 a.m. to go to work and getting back home every single morning right at 8 a.m. just to have Leah crush the bones in his hand as he administered each shot. After all that romance he would make Leah breakfast, and monitor the TV in order to intercept commercials or anything that even remotely referenced babies. He was also very much on top of diverting family and friends’ causal questions about our plans for children and even the more invasive questions like, “why are you not pregnant yet?” Side note: never ask this question.
We had some luck come our way after our first IVF cycle, and managed to freeze 17 embryos for future use. “We created a football team, plus reserves!” – Steve
But now, our luck has come to a halt. We have encountered numerous failed frozen embryo cycles, a miscarriage and had to cancel our most recent cycle due to underlying issues related to the miscarriage.
Yet, we watch our friends and relatives get pregnant. And we cannot go on Facebook anymore because everyone is posting about their beautiful babies and how fertile and happy they are. We try to hold it together while the rest of the world celebrates around us, and we get a little sadder. Kids are awesome and we can’t help the envy and the jealously. We cannot stop the feeling of resentment…it just creeps up on us. We feel a sense of failure.
We talk with our doctors about the next steps, while trying not to cry.
And we go in for more blood tests.
They tell us were pregnant – possibly with twins! And we get so excited we cry (again).
And we freak out a bit because we don’t know the first thing about being pregnant. So we buy all the baby books we can find. And then, 8 weeks later, we go in for an ultrasound with our USB in hand so excited to record the heartbeat!
And then there was no heartbeat…
In that moment, we were no longer pregnant.
Time stopped and the room spun. We could see the doctor talking but could not hear a thing.
It’s amazing how the rest of the world can just keep going when our lives have been changed so dramatically in only that moment.
Ok, we understand it was a fetus, not technically a “baby” yet, but in our head and hearts it was our baby and it had a future. Then – whoosh – it was gone.
Our miscarriage was a soul-searing catastrophe. We did not talk about it – but we understood we were experiencing this battle in the same way. We did not want to tell our friends and family or even our parents. We were ashamed and unbelievably sad. All we had was each other and we just wanted to curl up and hide and not think about any of it.
Miscarriage is cruel. And it is extremely hard to talk about.
A D&C (dilation and curettage) procedure under anesthesia was necessary so Leah would not need to continue the trauma and pain of passing the baby slowly. On the way to the hospital, Steve, as he usually does, tried to lighten the mood by pointing out a disabled car on the side of the road and saying to Leah, “at least we’re not having that kind of day…”
At the hospital, 50 minutes later, he broke down in tears.
Infertility is an emotional roller coaster. It is draining. One minute you are over the top excited, thrilled even, and the next you are shattered, and it’s just gone - ripped away from you without any explanation.
7 hours later, at the hospital, the doctor scraped out what was left of our miracle baby. We felt a second great loss, and again extreme sadness and anger overcame us both.
These memories sting but they are the reality we experience moments before picking ourselves up off the floor and heading to work and daily life events.
And we will not give up.
And we will wait.
And we will hope.
And we will remain optimistic.
We deserve this.
Thank you,
Leah and Steve Wagner
As our friends and family know, Steve and I are always willing to help anyone in need with open arms, but this time the tables have turned. Infertility is an exhausting journey that is taxing for even for the strongest couples; at its worst it has broken both of us to pieces - a knife in our hearts, but we have told ourselves that this would not be the end to our story.
It has been a long road, and one that has and continues to have many tears. We are so grateful for our friends and family who are caring and sensitive people and who continue to offer their support, but ultimately, they have no idea what we are going through.
There are two sides to infertility. The side we show you…the smiles, the hopeful statements and the crossed fingers. Then there’s the side you don’t see, the struggle. Infertility is truly a special corner of hell. It is isolating and so alienating from the wider fertile community that it is extremely difficult to put into words for those who are fortunate to not have to endure what we have been through.
For six years now, we have had to face the fact that some of our first adventures as husband and wife were going to be stressful, emotional and life changing. Today, infertility is a battle we are fighting like hell to get through - it is something we live with daily and consumes us almost 24/7.
That said, this is not meant to portray us as a sad desperate couple. We want to share our story to show the world how eager and excited we are to grow our family and to beat the odds of infertility!
But, as much as we hate to have to ask for financial assistance, we are unfortunately not able to afford this on our own any longer. We have now exhausted the years of savings we had specifically set aside for this purpose; insurance covers nothing. Actually, insurance companies view couples seeking infertility treatment as people who are intentionally trying to get sick – who would do that?! With this logic they can, and in our experience, do, refuse to provide coverage.
To make matters worse, full payment for infertility treatment and each embryo transfer cycle is required up-front. The cost of all the medications are equally expensive. Depending on how well the body reacts to the medication(s), sometimes we are faced with less than 12 hours to figure out how to shuffle funds around in order to pay for everything before the ship sails, while other times, we have been forced to cancel “cycles” mid-way through due to unforeseen issues. (You don’t get your money back).
Here is what we have learned: infertility is extremely cruel, exhausting and on top of it all, unfairly expensive. However, we are on a quest to have a baby. We know that together we will make great parents and this perpetual limbo is just a (massive) hiccup in our plan.
We have held off as long as we possibly could, financially, before posting this because it is a challenge for us to ask for help, yet, this is where we find ourselves today.
So here it goes…
If you feel willing and are able to donate and / or to pray for us, please do so. Honestly, anything you are able to do is appreciated more than words can express. ❤
In case you are interested in reading more about our story, below is a detailed, frankly vulnerable, narrative of our journey to date.
As for the rest of you, thank you for reading this far, and for sharing, praying and generously donating if you are in a position to do so.
**The land of Infertility**
“I guess it just takes a long time to make the perfect baby” - Steve
Rewind 6 years ago when we were sitting on our parent’s couch discussing our future together as a newlywed couple. We told ourselves how our lives would unfold and did not leave room for the possibility that we would need this kind of assistance. We took for granted the control we had. We were not prepared to be diagnosed with “infertility” and it hit us like a ton of bricks.
We started our journey with Intrauterine Insemination (“IUI”). Each of these cycles failed without any explanation.
This led us to In Vitro Fertilization (“IVF”).
We spent over half a year getting all the usual testing and bloodwork done. Most of this was for Leah as the guy’s role in all of this is pretty basic. In fact, looking back, Steve’s biggest complaint was the discomfort and forced optimism the lady at the front desk had when he handed her his cooler that contained his contribution. That said, Steve was there every step of the way. Even when COVID restrictions barred him from attending appointments, he would wait for hours on end in the parking lot - just to be there.
Eventually, we figured out the regimen of hormone boosters to facilitate production, and Steve overcame his fear of needles, or more precisely, giving shots, and Leah quickly became non-needle phobic. Steve became skilled getting up at 4 a.m. to go to work and getting back home every single morning right at 8 a.m. just to have Leah crush the bones in his hand as he administered each shot. After all that romance he would make Leah breakfast, and monitor the TV in order to intercept commercials or anything that even remotely referenced babies. He was also very much on top of diverting family and friends’ causal questions about our plans for children and even the more invasive questions like, “why are you not pregnant yet?” Side note: never ask this question.
We had some luck come our way after our first IVF cycle, and managed to freeze 17 embryos for future use. “We created a football team, plus reserves!” – Steve
But now, our luck has come to a halt. We have encountered numerous failed frozen embryo cycles, a miscarriage and had to cancel our most recent cycle due to underlying issues related to the miscarriage.
Yet, we watch our friends and relatives get pregnant. And we cannot go on Facebook anymore because everyone is posting about their beautiful babies and how fertile and happy they are. We try to hold it together while the rest of the world celebrates around us, and we get a little sadder. Kids are awesome and we can’t help the envy and the jealously. We cannot stop the feeling of resentment…it just creeps up on us. We feel a sense of failure.
We talk with our doctors about the next steps, while trying not to cry.
And we go in for more blood tests.
They tell us were pregnant – possibly with twins! And we get so excited we cry (again).
And we freak out a bit because we don’t know the first thing about being pregnant. So we buy all the baby books we can find. And then, 8 weeks later, we go in for an ultrasound with our USB in hand so excited to record the heartbeat!
And then there was no heartbeat…
In that moment, we were no longer pregnant.
Time stopped and the room spun. We could see the doctor talking but could not hear a thing.
It’s amazing how the rest of the world can just keep going when our lives have been changed so dramatically in only that moment.
Ok, we understand it was a fetus, not technically a “baby” yet, but in our head and hearts it was our baby and it had a future. Then – whoosh – it was gone.
Our miscarriage was a soul-searing catastrophe. We did not talk about it – but we understood we were experiencing this battle in the same way. We did not want to tell our friends and family or even our parents. We were ashamed and unbelievably sad. All we had was each other and we just wanted to curl up and hide and not think about any of it.
Miscarriage is cruel. And it is extremely hard to talk about.
A D&C (dilation and curettage) procedure under anesthesia was necessary so Leah would not need to continue the trauma and pain of passing the baby slowly. On the way to the hospital, Steve, as he usually does, tried to lighten the mood by pointing out a disabled car on the side of the road and saying to Leah, “at least we’re not having that kind of day…”
At the hospital, 50 minutes later, he broke down in tears.
Infertility is an emotional roller coaster. It is draining. One minute you are over the top excited, thrilled even, and the next you are shattered, and it’s just gone - ripped away from you without any explanation.
7 hours later, at the hospital, the doctor scraped out what was left of our miracle baby. We felt a second great loss, and again extreme sadness and anger overcame us both.
These memories sting but they are the reality we experience moments before picking ourselves up off the floor and heading to work and daily life events.
And we will not give up.
And we will wait.
And we will hope.
And we will remain optimistic.
We deserve this.
Thank you,
Leah and Steve Wagner
Organizer
Leah Wagner
Organizer
Columbus, WI