“Tears silently rolled down my cheek and onto my pillow. Thoughts ran unimpeded through my head. ‘You’re not enough. You’ll never be enough. What’s wrong with you? You can’t even get pregnant? You’re nothing, and you don’t deserve happiness.’
Over and over, night after night, the pain of the reality that we were struggling with infertility set in.
We married young and wanted a family soon after. I was hopeful, excited, optimistic. Slowly, red flags started popping up in our minds. We started trying to conceive more seriously.
Every single month I took a pregnancy test, even though in the back of my mind I knew it was unlikely I would see a positive. The pain of hoping you’re carrying the sacred gift of life in you, knowing it should be happening, and then having to see negative after negative takes such a toll on your soul. I soon found myself in a lonely, dark place.
We decided I needed to go to a specialist to find answers and hopefully help. I remember sitting in the waiting room. My heart was pounding. I was surrounded by pregnant women, some far along, some just beginning their pregnancy. ‘I’m too young for this! Why am I not sitting in this waiting room, waiting to go back and see my baby? Why am I not worthy?,’ I thought as my eyes filled with tears.
‘Koryn!’ the nurse called as she opened the door leading back. I walked through the door, and officially started the journey to our baby.
After discussing more about my diagnosis of Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome, my doctor was optimistic there were steps we could take to help us conceive. Then began the slew of medications. Many of which made me intensely ill, vomiting multiple times a day, but I was so hopeful. ‘Of course it will work! Why wouldn’t it?,’ I thought as my first month on medications came to an end.
I was so excited to take the pregnancy test. I waited a few minutes while the test developed. I prayed with all my heart, ‘Please let me be pregnant, I’ll give anything. Please, please, please…’ I glanced at the test. Negative. I slumped to the floor. Despair filled me. This cycle continued month after month, until I decided I literally could not take one more pill. It was too heartbreaking, too defeating.
This is when the thought of adoption first entered our minds. It was quickly shut down, as the logistics of adoption seemed completely unrealistic for our stage and situation. But the dream of adopting lingered in our minds.
Years passed, and I had lost all hope. I had no self-worth and felt like I was wandering in the dark, desperate for any sign of which direction to go. I couldn’t go to church, I couldn’t go to baby showers, I could hardly get on Instagram without tears. I felt like everyone was passing me by and I was stagnant. I felt powerless. I had no control over my body or timeline.
Truthfully, there was no light bulb, a-ha, angels singing moment that made us know without a doubt that adoption was the avenue for us, but little by little, we took steps into the unknown. And before we knew it, we were on the path to adoption.
There were 2 adoption situations wherein we tried desperately and tirelessly, but they fell through. It was excruciatingly painful. We were so confused why we felt guided to adoption, and nothing was working. Nothing was going in our favor.
I got to such a low point that I had a paradigm shift. I could either give up or stop beating myself up so badly. I had to stop talking to myself in such a derogatory way. I had to start sharing my story and pain and finding others who had gone through similar situations. I had to find my tribe of people, who knew my specific heartache and longing. So, I started chatting with friends who I knew had adopted, which was totally out of my comfort zone. A friend who had adopted her children helped and talked me through much of the process on how to heal and get started.
I got a text from her. ‘I have a friend of a friend who adopted Marshallese babies. I’m not sure if that’s something you would be interested in, but I can give you her info.’
That text literally changed our lives forever.
I decided to reach out to her friend and simply find out a little more about what they did. We ended up having a very long phone conversation, and she explained there was an adoption attorney who did many Marshallese adoptions. He spoke the language and understood the culture. After thinking for a few days, we decided to contact the attorney. Things then moved at an unprecedented speed.
We agreed to work with the attorney and were officially waiting to be matched with a Birth Mother. Hope and eagerness filled my heart, alongside fear and trepidation. Only 2 weeks later, we received the most wonderful words we had ever read.
‘Koryn, I have some exciting news. A Birth Mother has given her consent for you to adopt her child. Congratulations!’
I was sitting at the top of our stairs when I read the email. I literally screamed. Tears of happiness flowed. He explained that the birth mother was due in October and she was having a girl. Then, I read the fee/cost of the adoption, and my heart sank. I couldn’t figure out a way we were going to make this work. After counseling with my husband, and our parents, we decided to go forward and accept the placement opportunity, taking a leap of faith that everything would work out if it was meant to be.
Miracle after miracle followed.
Our whole community rallied for us. They gave what they could. We received boxes of diapers, wipes, and more. We had a constant flow of support. People we didn’t even know who heard our story helped and donated. We prepared the nursery, we tried to prepare ourselves, and miraculously, we found the money. Looking back, there was no way everything should have worked, but it did.
So, we were awaiting the arrival of our sweet baby. Our Birth Parents lived across the state, so meeting face to face was difficult. About a month before the baby was due, we set up a night for us to drive up, take them to dinner, and get to know each other a little bit. We excitedly packed our car and made the six-hour drive up.
We arrived a night early and decided to go see our friends, who I had talked with on the phone at the beginning of the whole process. We held their precious, new Marshallese daughter, and cried as we imagined this could be our future. After leaving, we went to family’s house to rest and get ready for the next day. While we were preparing for bed, my phone started ringing. It was our translator for our Birth Mother. My stomach dropped. She had never called me before. I answered quickly.
She said, ‘Hi. So, she delivered.’ My stomach dropped even further. My first thought was, ‘No! A month early! Is something wrong? Is the baby okay?’ I asked her if the baby and the mother were okay and healthy. She replied, ‘Oh yeah. They are both good. Both healthy. They said you can come to the hospital.’
We cried, screamed, called parents and told them to come, and bolted to the car to make the ten-minute drive to the hospital. We cried the whole way. Out of all the miracles that had to happen for things to fall into place, this one stands out the most to me. What are the chances that we just happened to be 6 hours from home, only 10 minutes from the hospital, and there on the night our baby was born a month early (which she actually wasn’t early, our Birth Mother had miscalculated her due date… by one month)?
We waited what seemed like an eternity in the waiting room at labor and delivery. We finally were buzzed in, and we slowly walked down the wide hospital hall to her room. We opened the door. It was quiet, a sacred feeling filled the room. Our Birth Mother was laying in the bed. Her sister was next to her, holding the most beautiful child I had ever seen, swaddled in hospital blankets. Her sister gestured to me to take the baby. Hands shaking, I reached out and held my daughter for the first time. Tears fell down my cheeks. I looked up and everyone in the room was crying. I had never seen something so perfect, so beautiful, so tiny, and so wonderful. She was perfection, in every way.
It was all such a whirlwind. I asked the attending nurse if everything was okay and how the delivery went. She said, ‘She’s tiny, but she’s perfect. The delivery was fast, so fast that I delivered her!’ I couldn’t believe it was real, it was happening. I was a mother. My husband was a father.
After the required time after Birth had passed, our Birth Mother signed the relinquishing paperwork, and they prepared to leave the hospital. The sacrifice and selfless love of our Birth Mother filled the hospital room. We wept together, we hugged, and we said a sacred goodbye. The realization that this perfect little human was ours set in, and my heart and soul had never been so at peace. We drove home the next day, miracle baby in tow.
The respect, love and admiration we have for Birth Parents, couples struggling with infertility, and those struggling with purpose is deep. I never thought I would heal. I never thought the wound would close. I never thought I could put my heart on the line one more time, but when I hold my child, I realize I wouldn’t change our journey for anything.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Koryn Hurd of Utah. You can follow her journey on Instagram here. Submit your own story here and be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories.
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