Evan and I were married on November 18th, 2016—just three days shy of our six-year anniversary. It was, without a doubt, one of the happiest days of our lives. Standing there, hand in hand, we felt an overwhelming sense of excitement and hope for the future. We were ready to begin the next chapter of our lives together, filled with dreams, adventures, and plans for a family.
From the very start, we wanted to explore the world together. We planned a beautiful honeymoon in St. Lucia, a magical trip to Disney World, a visit to Harry Potter World (something we both had been dying to do at least once child-free), and a breathtaking cruise through the Norwegian Fjords. That last trip was a little unconventional for our age—we were easily the youngest couple on the ship—but it turned out to be the most adventurous, exhilarating experience of our lives. And it was during that Norwegian adventure that we decided it was the perfect time to start trying to conceive. We thought, “How amazing would it be to start our family on such an incredible journey?”
While in Norway, we made small lifestyle adjustments to optimize our chances. We avoided alcohol, cut back on caffeine, and maintained a healthy diet—a natural choice for us given our passion for wellness. Apart from a few minor past health issues I had faced, we were both healthy, strong, and hopeful. Little did we know, the journey ahead would test us in ways we couldn’t imagine.
Trying to Conceive
After returning from Europe, we couldn’t wait to see if we had conceived. We understood that conception can take time, but hope made the two-week wait feel unbearable. When the day finally arrived, I took my first pregnancy test—and it was negative. I remember feeling an instant, overwhelming sense of dread. I knew in my heart that something might be wrong. Tears flowed freely, not just for the negative result, but for the quiet, sinking realization that our path might be far more difficult than we had imagined.
Months passed, and with them came countless pregnancy tests. Yes, I absolutely had POAS syndrome (pee on a stick). We tried everything to increase our chances: ovulation tests every day, tracking cycles across multiple apps, using the SMEP method, taking fertility supplements, drinking pomegranate juice daily, and praying relentlessly. Yet, month after month, nothing worked.
Typically, fertility specialists see couples after a year of trying. But my doctor, aware of my prior health issues and surgeries, referred us to South Jersey Fertility Center after just six months. Evan and I underwent a series of tests—bloodwork, exams, and a semen analysis. The waiting period for results felt endless. When my results finally returned, the news was a mix of relief and frustration: I was completely healthy. That meant the problem wasn’t with me—but what then? Could it really be unexplained infertility, or was it something else entirely?
A few days later, we received the call: the issue was with Evan. The diagnosis hit us like a ton of bricks. Male infertility, rare and complex. Our doctor said she had never seen anything like it. We felt blindsided, shocked, and suddenly isolated. More testing followed, months of examinations, each step bringing new anxiety. Mental breakdowns became frequent, and my focus on health waned. Yet, in the midst of the struggle, Evan and I found small escapes through travel, creating moments of joy even when our hearts were heavy.
Facing Surgery and Heartbreak
After extensive testing, doctors informed us that the only potential solution was an invasive surgery to give us a chance at IVF. The waiting for a surgery date was agonizing. When the day finally came, the outcome devastated us. I remember waking Evan from anesthesia to tell him the surgery was unsuccessful. We were crushed. We faced an unfixable issue—something our reproductive endocrinologist had said was rare. That day marked the lowest point of our lives.
Grieving became our reality. I threw myself into research, desperate for answers and hope. Evan and I clung to each other, asking the only question that mattered: “How are we going to do this?” He held onto me and said, “We will find our way. We will bring our baby home.”
We considered adoption, which is costly and slow, and using donor cells, which didn’t feel fully right. Deep down, we wanted a pregnancy of our own. We made a plan: begin adoption but revisit donor options if we weren’t matched by age 29. It wasn’t ideal, but at least it was a path forward.
Discovering Embryo Adoption
Then, one day, inspiration struck. Driving to work, it hit me: if donor eggs and sperm exist, why not donor embryos? I called Evan with excitement: “Embryo adoption!” He checked immediately, and just like that, hope returned. We discovered that South Jersey Fertility Center had an embryo donation program. It felt meant to be. Within two months, we chose our donors, adopted two embryos, and prepared for the transfer.
Our journey was bittersweet. One embryo didn’t survive, but we were blessed with our miracle daughter, Maerynne Rose. The joy and grief intertwined, and we loved both babies deeply, even the one we never held.
Expanding Our Family
We longed to give Maerynne a sibling. We adopted two more embryos, but Covid-19 disrupted our plans. Transfers were delayed, leaving us anxious and heartbroken. Finally, by June 2020, we transferred the embryos. Both survived, but only one remained. Our miracle son, Lennox Evan, joined our family, completing our hearts.
Our path to parenthood was unconventional, filled with heartbreak and setbacks, but our children are miracles—proof that hope, love, and perseverance can prevail.
Advice for Others
To anyone walking this painful path, know this: you are stronger than you think, and it’s okay to not be okay. Grieve, cry, scream—but never lose sight of hope. Lean on each other, keep communication open, and remember that your journey, though hard, can lead to unimaginable joy. Infertility is cruel, but our children are living proof that beautiful things can emerge from suffering.
Maerynne and Lennox are our miracles, our treasures, our world. And for them, every tear, every moment of despair, was worth it.
