Getting Here

On journeys and destinations.

_{TW: mentions loss/grief}

I don’t want to bury the lede here: We’re having a baby.

Our family is, in a word, thrilled. Our girls are super excited to have another sibling, and my wife and I cannot wait for this opportunity to be a part of another child’s life. Especially considering how we got here.

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There’s a popular quote attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson: “It’s not the destination, but the journey that matters.” People will often refer to or rephrase this in an effort to shift their perspective to focus on their personal development, career growth - their life - as an experience in and of itself. The idea that the goal isn’t to reach the top of the mountain, that it “ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side / it’s the climb,” and yes I just dropped a Miley Cyrus lyric into a paragraph mentioning Ralph Waldo Emerson.

I understand this sentiment, and in some contexts, I agree with it. Now I don’t want to besmirch the legacies of Cyrus and Emerson (they both unquestionably put out some rhetorical bangers) but sometimes, the destination deserves more focus. Sometimes, the destination matters more. Sometimes, the journey sucks.

And sometimes, you arrive at a healthy pregnancy after an ectopic pregnancy, emergency surgery, a miscarriage, months of shots and supplements for in vitro fertilization (IVF) treatments, and another surgery, while one partner recovers from a seizure.

This is intended to be a happy post, and fully describing everything that we’ve experienced and felt would require far more space than I’m willing to give here, but because some of you may be new to this newsletter (welcome! Sorry there are no snacks.), context is necessary.

My wife, Aubrey, and I have two amazing daughters. Our oldest is nine years old, bright, thoughtful, graceful, and a sensitive soul. I’ve previously referred to her here as Rainbow Flower. Our next-born is four, and she has earned the pseudonym of Joker: she is smart, strong-willed, and her love of pushing buttons is only surpassed by her love of laughter.

We were a family of four, and we were happy.

Our family taking in the majestic view of Omaha, the city by the bay. jk, photo by Minkyung Kim on Unsplash

But Aubrey and I love being parents - and if I may add, as much as one can be good at it, we like to think we’re pretty damn good at it. So a couple of years ago, we decided to try for a third child.

Getting to the first two pregnancies did not happen immediately, in either case. In fact, prior to Joker’s arrival, we contacted a local fertility clinic and had some preliminary discussions about potential treatment plans, discussions that soon became moot.

Fast forward to 2024, and this time, we learned sooner than expected that we were expecting.

And within a few days, the good news vanished. During an ultrasound, we were told the pregnancy was ectopic, meaning not only was it not viable, it was also a threat to Aubrey’s health. So she received an injection that ideally would terminate the pregnancy before it became more dangerous.

To say we were devastated would be an understatement to an almost offensive degree. The devastation turned to fear less than a week later, when Aubrey experienced severe pain, leading to a trip to the emergency room, an emergency operation, and an overnight stay in the hospital. As you can imagine, the agony from this event was overwhelming, emotionally (for both of us) and physically (for Aubrey).

Luckily, though, the surgery went well, and after a few months, Aubrey was fully recovered. And because both of us are incredibly stubborn, we refused to let that event deter us from trying again. About seven months later, Aubrey was pregnant. Once again, we were excited. Initial labs were drawn, confirming the test, but two days later, subsequent labs indicated the pregnancy would not last. She would miscarry. Two lost pregnancies in less than 12 months.

We could have seen these traumatic experiences as signs from the universe that we should leave well enough alone, and remain a happy and healthy family of four. But as I said, we’re stubborn as hell. We wanted to scale that wall and we were ready to throw ourselves at it one more time. This time, though, we decided to bring a ladder.

In late summer last year, we reached out to the fertility clinic we had talked to a few years ago. We had those preliminary discussions once again, but this time we took the next steps. Aubrey had some labs and imaging done. We scheduled appointments.

Then I had the neurological equivalent of grabbing both terminals on a car battery.

Unwarranted Seizure

My seizure and its aftereffects complicated the logistics of life, including the IVF journey, but we had come so far, been through so much. We would figure it out.

For those unfamiliar with the IVF process, it can be an arduous and painful course of treatment, to put it lightly. At the beginning of this process, for more than a month, Aubrey was a dart board incarnate, receiving daily shots into her abdomen - often multiple times daily - administered by her own hand or mine. These included side effects, both physical and emotional, that Aubrey handled ridiculously well, because she is amazing.

One fun feature of this process was that, because it would be difficult to hide this daily routine from the girls, we told them what was happening, and what we hoped would happen. We even allowed them to participate in the procedure - more accurately, they would help sterilize the injection site with an alcohol wipe. To reiterate, we did not give syringes to the children.

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Eventually, we made it through the egg retrieval and fertilization steps, a few days after which we would learn if any of the fertilized eggs had a chance of being viable for transfer. For clarity, this didn’t determine if Aubrey was pregnant, it would only tell us that, if everything went well over the following several months, she might become pregnant. Ideally, this stage would produce multiple embryos meeting this criteria, giving us multiple chances at a successful pregnancy.

We had one.

Before the embryo could be transferred though, Aubrey underwent another operation, and she would need more daily injections before and after the transfer. I gave her these shots via larger needles than before, meaning Aubrey could justifiably be furious at me for inflicting pain every day. But she handled it with (almost) zero complaints.

I am not a doctor, but I did play one while Aubrey watched Grey’s Anatomy. Photo by Online Marketing on Unsplash

It is at this point that I could tell you that Aubrey is a superhero, dealing with all of this physical trauma in addition to the emotional struggle. Calling her a superhero, though, would imply she has attributes that allow her to overcome obstacles no mere human could, that she could draw on superhuman abilities to easily get through it. But Aubrey wasn’t endowed with super strength. She can’t fly or leap tall buildings in a single bound. She relied on her normal strength, her will, her determination, every single fiber of her human self, to clear these painful hurdles. Because Aubrey isn’t a superhero - she’s a certified badass.

We knew this single embryo was our last chance of having a third biological child, but for me, the day of the embryo transfer is when that really set in. I was allowed in the room for the procedure, but first I had to put on a white medical jumpsuit, like a Wonka Vision get-up without the hood (but with a collar for some reason?), plus a hair net and booties to cover my shoes. Needless to say, I looked downright dapper.

The nurses gave us a high-resolution photo of the embryo, shockingly clear for something so small. It was mostly round, save for a portion that jutted out on one side, with a collection of cells on the inner edge of the other side, like a snow globe with a narrow base, laid down.

This microscopic figure held within it the debris from past trauma, the jolts and quakes of the past 18 months. It held the potential to complete our family in the way we envisioned, and the potential for another crash into a wall that would then be unscaleable.

We had done all we could, and after the embryo was transferred, there was nothing we could do except wait for Aubrey’s labs to come back and tell us if the implantation was successful.

After we received the good news, I didn’t really use the word “pregnant,” afraid it would somehow cause history to repeat itself. But saying “the embryo transfer worked!” doesn’t hit the same way, so: Aubrey is pregnant. We are having a baby.

Every successive ultrasound and lab result confirmed things were progressing as they should, but early on it was difficult to allow our hopes to rise. Since then, each new day has brought a bit more comfort, removed a sliver of anxiety. Aubrey is well into the second trimester now, and the discussions around how our lives will adapt to a third kid are no longer theoretical.

The math has changed. Extracurricular activities will require a bit more planning. We’re doing deep dives on minivan reviews. (Feel free to drop any recommendations in the comments)

Because I’m sure many will ask: Aubrey didn’t have a super fun first couple of months, battling nausea and fatigue most of the time, but those bouts have been less frequent lately. The most recent OB appointment showed the baby is doing great, too.

For now, we’re going to appreciate that our past journey has ended. We’ll revel in our current destination, these last few months as a family of four. And we’ll look forward to enjoying the journey ahead.