Rainbows

"The docs said I could carry a child if we could create the genetic composition of one. This decision involved surrendering to science and setting aside my hope to conceive naturally."

by Tara O.

Part I

I debated whether I should bother sharing this, but there’s a tale to tell, and it may continue as I somehow, deep down, believe that I will mother a child one day.

I have always wanted kids, and I assumed I would. But at the ripe age of 38 (about to be 39 in one month), I am honestly not sure it will happen. But I hold onto hope.

Am I infertile? I’m not sure. Is my partner? We don’t know. Do I even want kids, or am I simply stuck in a past mindset?

But, woah, let me back up.

I got married when I was 22 to my college sweetheart, Nate, who I met while working at a Smoothie King in Waco, Texas. We said we’d have a family one day. I’ve always gravitated toward children and taught elementary school for eight years. The motherly instinct was strong.

Nate was amazing with our cats and nephews, but he was still uncertain about having kids. It took his brother and all of his best friends creating families for him to warm up to the idea. As the years ticked by and our lives became busy bordering insanity, having kids seemed forced. Looking back, I felt most of the responsibility of having a child would fall on my shoulders. I was on the pill while we built a life and business together. When we turned 27, we decided to remove the goalie.

But then, at 27, my husband was diagnosed with Stage 3 Melanoma. He underwent a biochemotherapy treatment that put him in a coma for a week and nearly killed him. The doctors said he had six years to live. Before the treatment, we banked some of his sperm, the radiation killing off the rest. The banked sperm had “low motility,” that is, the ability for the sperm to move efficiently. If we wanted to use them, we would need invitro, which would be a financial (and, for me, hormonal) commitment.

I spent the next five years racing bikes. If I ever wanted to conceive, I would have to gain some body fat and slow down the pace of life to balance out my hormones. I was just starting to do this when Nate was re-diagnosed with the disease. He died a year later.

Two years after Nate passed away, I learned I could love BIG again. Enter Ryan, who lost his brother to cancer. Ryan gets it. He’s 40.5, a whole year and a half wiser than me, and he hopes for a family. We’ve been dating for a year. I’m apprehensive about a major commitment like marriage. But there’s no need to rush things—except my clock is ticking.

We recently got a puppy together—a Rhodesian Ridgeback named Shanti, the little sister to his nine-year-old Ridgeback, Sloan. Caring for a creature has rocked my world, which makes me wary of my abilities and patience as a mother.

So, we’re putting the idea of having kids in the hands of God and the universe for now. We have lots of unprotected sex, yet our moments together are inconsistent between work travel schedules and splitting time between our homes in Denver and Eagle. We say we are okay with whatever comes of the “trying,” and it’s okay if our family only consists of fur babies. I think I believe this and hope Ryan does, too.

But I also hope life will come from the death we both experienced.

We talk about turning the casual approach into a more concerted effort to see what may come our way. If it turns out that a year from now, we still have not conceived, I’m not sure what will happen. Ryan is open to science, but my gut instinct tells me that naturally conceiving will happen once we are more healed and consistent with my health routines. If not, I am not so sure I am open to science because I don’t want to pump fake hormones into my body and deal with the swing of emotions of trying to get pregnant only to maybe get pregnant.

Along with this is the fear of getting pregnant and then actually having the baby. I have heard so many stories of miscarriages, stillbirths, and other traumatic deliveries that I realize that getting pregnant is only the first step. Ryan acknowledges all of these fears. For now, we will try some things unconventionally and see what happens.
The thought of a family with Ryan appears beautiful in our minds, and I know he would be a supportive father and, maybe, one day, a husband. Interestingly, I felt so ready to have children when I was 28, yet a decade later, I feel more capable and far less ready. I truly believe that part of the healing is having faith and going with the flow of life.

Without trying to control things further, I am lifting it all to the heavens above and enjoying having a loving partner with all the puppy craziness. As for the rest, time will tell.

PART II

In Colorado, autumn is a short, radiant season that symbolizes the slowing down from summer to the deep stillness of winter. This year, autumn marks the most transformative transition of my life: the lead-up to labor and delivery and the birth of our miracle baby girl.

We went on a fall foliage hike in late September while I was 37 weeks pregnant. The intention was to enjoy the expansive scenic view of mountain peaks and valleys lined with glowing aspens. Instead, I looked down at the leaf-lined singletrack, trying not to stumble.

We had driven an hour through windy mountain roads to get lost in nature, and I was straight-up missing out on seeing the glittery, golden leaves twinkling in the trees and crackling in the breeze. Looking up required trust and faith to float over the path, while looking down was a futile effort of control. Flow and floating were the path of least resistance. Safely waddling along the yellow brick road took a gentle balance.

Looking down can be compared to looking back: it’s rarely advantageous but sometimes necessary. When I first wrote about my fertility journey, I was navigating intense grief and loss. My words were a rambling attempt to process the emotions surrounding the death of my first husband.

I also struggled with whether I would ever become a mother. Wrangling words onto paper has proven cathartic for me time and again, with creativity igniting a spark in the dark like a fire glowing within.

These days, writing has been a tool to help work through pregnancy-related uncertainties. It’s also a wonderful way to communicate with the life that grows within me: letters to Lil’ Rainbow. Since writing Part I, I moved to Denver from a small mountain town where I had lived for 17 years. I also married Ryan, amazed I found another soulmate so soon.

Although I doubted whether we could conceive or if I even wanted children, we held onto hope. Over the past two years, many shed tears, combined with intentional effort, led to creating life after loss. Now, through the grace of God and modern medicine, I am pregnant and nearing labor at 42 years old.

Perhaps it was slowing down during the pandemic that prompted us to ponder our potential path to pregnancy. We decided we would at least go through testing to gather more information. The stats revealed that I had a small supply of eggs due to my geriatric fertility age (41 at the time); most likely, they weren’t healthy. I was labeled D.O.R. = Diminished Ovarian Reserve, which meant we would need some exceptional sciencey help that I was resistant to receiving.

What happened to having “plenty of time?”

Theoretically, it makes sense since people are living longer, and for some women, perhaps time is on their side. This is a common myth in our culture because egg quality begins to decline at 35. For many women, eggs can be flat-out extinct or pretty poor quality once they’re in their 40s. I wish I had learned this sooner.

So, yes, we can conceive later in life because of modern medicine and science, AND it is an expensive, stressful, and risky business to pursue. The docs gave us two options.
The first option was the egg retrieval route, which entailed pumping hormones and meds through my body to surgically remove some eggs and fertilize them with my partner’s sperm in a petri dish. The stats weren’t great: the docs said that if we tried three of these cycles, we would have a 50/50 chance of one healthy embryo in return. From that point, the embryo still needed to survive the transfer and pregnancy to become a “live birth.” This option didn’t sound very hopeful, especially to the tune of over $80,000. Not to mention that the possibility of more grief and loss was more than I could bare.

Option two involved perusing countless files of egg donors to select a special member of our family: a genetic mother. Thankfully, the docs said I could carry a child if we could create the genetic composition of one. This decision involved surrendering to science and setting aside my hope to conceive naturally. Egg donation is an unconventional path with pros and cons to consider, like letting go of my genetics to help shape this child. The decision felt right for us and was the path to a positive pregnancy.

So, we purchased 11 healthy eggs with a chronological age of 30. We then fertilized the eggs with Ryan’s sperm on the fifth anniversary of my first husband passing from cancer: November 22, 2021. This choice may sound morbid to some, but since Ryan also lost his brother to cancer, we view our losses as what led us to love each other. These same losses inspired our desire to create life.

These 11 angel eggs turned into five well-graded, genetically tested embryos—definitely better than the original odds of using my eggs. We are grateful we had the desire, drive, and dollars to do so. We’re excited to share our experience openly throughout our child’s (and possibly children’s) life.

So it turned out that Team O’Donoghue took three parents to make one baby. Experiencing pregnancy and this gradual creation of life within opened a new world of mystical, magical, and medical marvels. The process of pregnancy has helped me prioritize what is most important. We see the purpose behind the struggles and are grateful to become parents at this stage.

​Now, at 39 weeks pregnant, we eagerly await the arrival of our baby girl, Marley Joy. She is a special soul who chose us to be her parents. Her presence is well worth the wait. It’s hard to believe that the mystery and miracle of birth into parenthood will be revealed in less than a week. Once again, I am finding the balance between wanting to control and allowing life to flow; this time, it’s how and when Marley Joy’s birth will unfold. It’s time to surrender, stay present, and trust this transition and the changing seasons. So far, I’m enjoying the view.