Читать книгу Hope for August - Jennifer Kirsch - Страница 3

The joy in motherhood comes in moments. There will be hard times and frustrating times, but amid the challenges there are shining moments of joy and satisfaction. M. Russell Ballard

At this point, I think filling in some of my background is in order. Born in Pittsburgh in 1970, I was indeed a child of the Seventies, with the typical two parents and a sibling. I was raised in Green Tree, Pennsylvania, a bedroom suburb of the City of Pittsburgh, in the house where my parents still live. My father was the breadwinner, as my mom chose to resign her teaching position and be a stay-at-home mom after becoming pregnant with me. The majority of my friends’ families were one-income families, so having one parent at home was the norm. Although we had one income, we wanted for nothing.

My parents--my mother in particular--exposed my sister and me to a variety of experiences. As a former music teacher, she always played music in the house. Whether it was records of orchestras or John Philip Sousa marches blaring to wake us on every patriotic holiday, we loved music. On random evenings, she would crank up the volume and let us dance ourselves into a frenzy around the living room in our underwear before bath time.

We were introduced to the arts at an early age. We visited the Carnegie Museums of Art and Natural History. We attended concerts and performances by the Pittsburgh Ballet Theater and community-based groups. We took instrumental music and dance lessons. Art supplies were readily available. One of my favorite artistic exploits was toe painting, not finger painting, in the driveway. We were given tempera paint and freezer paper and created our masterpieces. On those messy occasions, we were stripped down and had our preliminary “shower” in the back yard via sprinkler.

Summers were carefree--full of adventure and fun. We played softball and took swimming lessons. We hung out at Green Tree Swimming Pool most afternoons. We had our assigned chores and did schoolwork to prepare for the upcoming school year. We took walks at the local Nature Center. We made pilgrimages to the Strip District where we ate salt sticks from Pennsylvania Macaroni and drank Cherokee Red soda in the back of our full-size, green station wagon. We took weeklong vacations to Geneva-on-the-Lake in Ohio and long weekends at the Oglebay Resort in West Virginia.

I was creative, curious, smart, and sensitive. I knew right from wrong and how to speak up for myself and others. I knew, even at that young age, that I had a bigger purpose in life. That purpose was to be a mom. Surprisingly it had nothing to do with traditional family values, gender stereotypes, or my Catholic upbringing. I knew instinctively that it was something I wanted--that I was destined to do.

As I grew, my mom instilled in us the value of being a family. She fostered our creativity and encouraged our independence. She taught us about personal responsibility and the importance of honesty. When I reflect on my upbringing now, I wish I could be half of the mother she was.

During junior high school, I began babysitting for neighborhood families. Although I don't want to brag, I was an excellent babysitter. I packed my blue backpack with crayons, markers, construction paper, pipe cleaners, safety scissors, color pages, and puppet-making supplies. When I babysat, the children in my care worked on projects. Some were seasonal projects like the red and green chains we used to decorate a number of mantels at Christmastime. Others involved creating puppets over several sessions and performing puppet shows for the parents. There was no doubt that I was good with children.

At Keystone Oaks High School, I took a variety of high-level, academically-challenging courses and elective courses that allowed me to explore my varied interests, including a two-year child care program where I had the chance to plan and teach lessons and present activities and games to preschool children. I was born to be a teacher in some capacity. Through this class, I realized that I had the skills to be a good mother.

Outside of school, I continued to babysit. I also assumed the role of a student dance teacher at the studio where I took classes during my junior and senior years of high school. I taught preschool-aged students in ballet, tap, and basic acrobatics.

Throughout high school, a number of girls became pregnant, and most chose to carry their pregnancies to term. While I wanted to be a mom and recognized that I had the fundamental skills to do so, I certainly didn’t want to be one at such a young age. I couldn’t support myself, much less a child, so there was no jealousy, just a gentle reminder that I would get to join the “mom club” when it was my time.

I graduated high school in June 1988 at the age of seventeen with no intention of immediately continuing my education. I wanted to live and work before deciding on my path. After a couple of weeks working at Parkway Center Mall I had an epiphany. I didn’t want to work at the mall for the rest of my life. Retail sales work was not for me, so I applied to Carlow College in Pittsburgh and was accepted.

Not only was I accepted, but I was also given an academic scholarship. I enrolled part-time in the spring term of 1989. By the end of that first semester, I was hooked and changed my status to full-time. I commuted during my years at Carlow and was heavily involved in campus life.

Throughout college, I dated on and off. More often than not, my friends and I would go out in groups. As this was the pre-Internet dating world, neighbors and friends set me up on blind dates. Most of those blind dates were what I like to call “one and done”—one date and no more of that man. Sure there were a few guys I’d gone out with, but there wasn’t anyone “special” to me. Some of my friends got engaged and a few had children. That reignited my desire to become a mother, but there was no sense of urgency.

By the time I graduated with bachelor’s degrees in English and Writing in 1993, I’d traveled, for a second time, to Europe, staying with friends in Sweden and London. After graduation, I free-lanced at Black Box Corporation and MARC Advertising, with whom I’d interned during my final semester in college. I didn’t have luck finding anything permanent in the advertising/public relations fields, so I returned to Carlow to pursue my teaching certificate.

At that point, I put my personal life on indefinite hold since I wasn’t working and was attending classes full-time. I did date one man for a few months during that time, but then I began my student teaching, which was the equivalent of a forty-hour work week, two to three hours of work each night, and no income. That definitely threw a wrench into any semblance of a personal life. Still, I longed to find that man with whom I would fall in love and want to have a child.

I finished my teaching certification program and student teaching within the calendar year of 1994, and I spent the next two and a half years day-to-day subbing and filling short leaves of absence. I knew teachers had to pay their dues, and I certainly did. More friends married and had children. I continued to go on blind dates. No one clicked for me, so baby making was put on the back burner again. Since I was then in my mid-twenties, I thought there was no rush.

In August 1997, I was hired and signed a contract with the Warren County School District to teach seventh and eighth grade English and seventh grade Reading. Warren County is about 150 miles northeast of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and worlds apart. I’m a woman who thrives on the energy of the city and the cultural and sports opportunities of my hometown.

Warren was the antithesis of the life to which I was accustomed. To say it was culture shock was an understatement. I taught students who didn’t have indoor plumbing. People hunted for food, not for sport. Everyone knew everyone and their business. “Where do you work? Where do you go to church?” were usually the first two questions asked of me. I was thrust into a geographical area where it began to snow in October and continued into May. Snow was measured in feet, not inches. Once the snow flew, people didn’t travel because it wasn’t safe to travel.

I went on one disastrous blind date in the three years I lived in Warren. I continued to be set up on blind dates when I visited or stayed in Pittsburgh. There wasn’t a special man in my life at that point. It was as if my entire life was put on hold, save for gaining experience for my teaching career. The notion of becoming a mother had been pushed so far from my consciousness and reality at that point; my total focus was on finding a contracted teaching position in the Pittsburgh area.

In early June of 2000, I moved back to Pittsburgh with no intention of returning to Warren. If I had to hold down two or three part-time jobs, that was fine with me. I needed to be back in a more metropolitan setting. I began graduate school at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh and interviewed heavily in the Western Pennsylvania region. By the end of that summer, I had two graduate classes under my belt and accepted a junior high school teaching position with the North Hills School District. I found an apartment and a roommate, with whom I taught in my new job.

To expand my circle, I took a variety of community education classes through the Community College of Allegheny County’s Community Education Department but didn’t meet anyone of lasting interest. More friends married and expanded their families, and the feeling of having a baby gnawed at me again.

In the summer of 2011, I tried my hand at online dating. After my first couple of matches and first dates, it dissolved into a game for me. I kept what I called “The Binder,” to document my online dating experiences. My friends and family members chuckled as I recounted my exploits. I dated nine men that summer. I met a few nice men, but I didn’t feel chemistry with any of them. I met some men who wanted a physical relationship only. Overall, it was a bust.

Then, I began a series of failed short-term relationships resulting from recommendations and fix-ups from friends. Again, no one of lasting or quality status came into my life. At that point, I was in my early forties, and I realized my biological clock was really ticking. I needed to put forth effort to investigate my options in my quest to have a baby.

I yearned for my dream of motherhood to come to fruition. I wanted to have the physical experience of being pregnant and giving birth. I wanted to experience every milestone that a mother gets to experience—changing poopy diapers, watching my baby roll over, seeing the joy when my baby would discover his or her feet, the trial and error of trying solid food, holding my arms out for the first steps, and of course, hearing the name “Mommy.”

I looked forward to everything motherhood required—midnight feedings, swaddling my baby, sleep deprivation, and that feeling of immediate, unconditional love for another. In my case, realizing my dream would be more complicated than most. I just didn’t know how complicated.

I’m very much a “Type A” personality who thrives on organization, order, control, and rationality. I knew having a baby would forever change every aspect of my life. My needs would be secondary. As a result, when I seriously considered embarking on the journey to motherhood, I considered what I thought to be every possible part of my life. Professionally, I was at the top of my teaching career and excellent at what I did. I was financially responsible and secure, with my mortgage as my only outstanding debt. I calculated the financial expenses of raising a child, factoring in food, clothing, childcare, routine doctor’s appointments, establishing a college fund, and day-to-day living expenses.

I’d traveled abroad numerous times. I was physically, mentally, and spiritually healthy. I had an extensive support system of family and friends, and I would come to learn much later that my support system extended to my colleagues as well. Legally, my estate was in order. It was the opportune time of my life to begin this journey.

I also considered the potential challenges. I was single, so I knew I would need to investigate alternative options to conceive a child. I was also over forty years old. Knowing that I was born with all of the eggs I would ever have was also a concern; older eggs presented potential genetic problems. Additionally, older mothers also had increased risks to their own health.

All things considered, I decided that this could be my time. At my annual visit with my gynecologist in 2013, I began the discussion about having a child on my own, as I wasn’t in a committed relationship. Dr. Simmonds, my gynecologist of over two decades, told me that I was physically healthy but that my age was working against me.

I shelved this notion for another year hoping that my personal situation would be different. I shared my dream with very few people. I didn’t need judgment or questions. I needed honest feedback from those who knew me well. For male perspective I spoke with my dearest, lifelong friend Tom about it, and he thought it was “my time.” I also spoke with my friend Brandon about it. He had some initial questions and jokingly offered his “donation” as a good-looking, handsome, blue-eyed and--let’s not forget--humble man.

In June of 2014, I revisited the conversation about motherhood with my gynecologist. With my “advancing age” and single status, he referred me to the Center for Fertility and Reproductive Endocrinology at Magee-Women’s Hospital of UPMC. I made my appointment that day and met with Dr. Wakim, a fertility specialist the following week.

At my initial fertility consultation, Dr. Wakim reviewed my medical records and advised me to stop taking my birth control pills and wait for two menstrual cycles to pass before he would order any preliminary testing. My body needed to be hormone-free. It was a case of “hurry up and wait,” a pervasive theme throughout my journey. However, I was ready and willing to take any and every necessary step to conceive a baby.

Little did I know how physically and emotionally challenging and draining an undertaking my journey would be.