Wonder of Wonder, Miracle of Miracles

If you’ve done even a small amount of reading on the blog, then you know that the biggest struggle of my life has been my infertility.

It has been the single most defining characteristic of my life. It ended my first marriage, sent me spiraling into a depression so deep I never thought I’d claw my way out of it, and It rocked the very foundation of myself and fractured the core of my being.

Not only that, but it altered the way I looked at myself.

I was no longer Jenn Bogle or Jenn Moyeda. I was the girl who couldn’t have babies.

I was the broken sister, the divorcee who would spend the rest of her life alone, and when I died,  no one would know. I would have no children or grandchildren who would know I was sick and check on me or help to take care of me. I would probably end up being eaten by my cats.

It’s a dark and morbid thought, I know. But that was what I thought about.

I remember sitting in a plasma donation center in Taylorsville, Utah. After they brought me back to test my iron and get my weight and all that, I looked up at this poster on the wall. It was a grandfather and his grandson and while I can’t remember the exact wording, it said something to the effect that the grandfather was donating for his grandson. It was something he could do to help his grandson and help his family.

And for whatever reason, it hit me. I would have no grandchildren to push on swings.

I would always be alone.

And I wept.

Not cried, or sniffled.

I wept.

So much so that the staff told me I had to go home.

When I got with Tim and inherited the boys, I was overcome with the joy and unbridled hope I felt for the future. For the first time that sad depressing image of me alone on the kitchen floor, (Why did I picture myself dying in the kitchen? Because I was like 300lbs), was replaced with me and these boys and their families gathered around our hearth with grandkids running around and more stockings hung on the mantle than should be possible.

I love my boys.

The boys on the first day of school 2024

They made me a mom.

More than that, they chose me to be their mom.

Which I feel like is more special.

You get the mom you get. Sometimes you’re lucky like me and Tim, (our mom’s are amazing), and sometimes you get a mom that can’t be what you need her to be. It happens. It happened to the boys. Their mom had to do what she had to do for her own mental health and I don’t fault her for that. I can’t imagine the strength it took to walk away from these beautiful boys. I would never be able to do it.

They are the missing pieces of my heart.

And even though the teenage years have been rough, I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

They are mine.

And I am theirs.

Even when they don’t want me.

Why am I telling you this?

You’ve read the blog, you know that I love my sons like I carved them from my own flesh and bones. That’s not new.

So why this post?

When I got my surgery everyone told me to be so careful in the first three to six months. Oh my fertility will spike and I might get pregnant. I should be careful, it's not safe that early after surgery. Make sure I’m taking precautions.

I laughed.

That would not be me.

I had spent thousands of dollars to be told in no uncertain terms that I would never bear children. It wasn’t a hormone thing, a weight thing, or a timing issue. I was unemphatically unable to bear children. Unless I wanted to consider IVIF. And the cost alone made that an impossibility. Not to mention that they take all your eggs!

All of them!

And that has never set well with me.

Then my marriage fell apart and didn’t matter. I couldn’t go through all of that alone. I’m simply not strong enough. I know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t survive that process on my own.

Now I won’t lie, there was a part of me that was so eager to test this theory about what I could do with a much smaller me. But the first three months came and went. And then six months. I hit my 100lbs lost goal and my womb remained empty. I told Tim that it was what I had expected, (feared).

Then one night in mid February of 2024 I was headed into the gym and they had this whole booth set up about adopting in Alaska. They had packets of info, water bottles, key chains, and every bit of information you could possibly need to get started on that path. I sent a picture to Tim and told him that, as cheesy as it sounded, I felt like it was sign.

Maybe it was time we started looking into what it would take to become foster parents in Alaska so we can start that adoption process.

I grabbed a folder of information and a water bottle to be a reminder to me and went on with my workout.

Later that month I left for Utah to celebrate my grandma’s 90th birthday!

I know, Gramcracker is killing it.

Grandma's cake made by my fabulous mom

It was the first time I had seen my family since I’d lost the weight, and gotten my teeth straightened and it was so validating to hear them all tell me how great I looked and how proud of me they were for taking that step and getting healthier.

I got home after about a week and went back to work like nothing had changed.

Because I didn’t realize just how much had changed.

Before I left for Utah, my husband and I had a “goodbye” night, I’m sure you know what I mean. And there must have been something magical about that night. Or the planets aligned in some mysterious wondrous way that I will never understand.

On Sunday March 3rd, as I was waking up to get ready to go to work, I noticed that my boobs felt so weird. Which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes I would get these symptoms that mimicked pregnancy symptoms. I would get excited for a few seconds, pee on the stick and almost as soon as the test popped negative, my period would start.

You could set your watch by it.

Oh you think you might be pregnant? Take the test and the bleed for a week.

It honestly got to the point where if I started having symptoms I would take a test just to trigger the period. I know that sounds nuts, but talk to any woman who has gone through this struggle and she’ll tell you. It just works that way.

So I got up decided to take the test. I was a few days behind where I had been having my period, but they were so up in the air and random when they came, that didn’t mean anything. Grabbing my last test, a Clearblue Digital test, naturally it would be one of the most expensive tests.

I peed on the stick, set it down on the heater vent next to me and did a double take as the little bars that usually took several minutes to make their digital progress from one side of the screen to the other, were moving like it was a damn race! I stared, dumbfounded as the test that tells you it takes three minutes rendered its decision in about 45 seconds.

Test number one

Pregnant.

Like what the actual fuck?

That can’t be right.

It had to be wrong.

How often were these digital ones wrong?

So I googled it.

Of course, all I could find was the usual it's 99% accurate and if it’s negative give it three days or six days and then try again, but make sure you use that first morning pee, so that it's concentrated.

But nothing about false negatives.

I walked into the bedroom and told Tim I needed him to wake up.

I literally threw the test at him. I had no idea how to feel or what to think. I wasn’t just in uncharted territory; this was like majoring as a chef and finding yourself landing on the moon. I was never supposed to be here.

Tim, of course, bless him, looked me groggy-eyed and then turned on his bedside lamp. He looked at the test and then looked up at me with such radiant joy shining in his eyes I almost broke down and cried.

He didn’t get it.

The test was wrong.

It was broken or old.

There was simply no way I was pregnant.

“No,” I said holding my hand out to him. “No. We’re not doing that. The test is wrong. We need more tests.”

“Okay,” he said. I could see him start to real that joy back in. He looked down at the test and held it so reverently it broke my heart even more. He didn’t believe me when I told him the test was broken. But he was willing to check his joy and elation until I was ready to celebrate too.

I was like a spooked horse and he was talking low and calmly to make sure he didn’t spook me even more. In that moment I loved him more than I ever thought I could.

“What do you want to do?” He asked.

“I need more tests.”

So I got ready for work and left. Tim was going to get up later and head into town to get some things and bring me tests. Not only did he bring me tests, he also brought me a slice of Costco pizza and a Pink Drink.

I took a test right away, sure that now it was the afternoon, the test would be negative.

Nope.

Positive and fast.

I couldn’t think.

There was no way to wrap my head around what was happening.

When I came back in from the bathroom, I told my coworker what was happening. I had told Tim I didn’t want to tell anyone until I had a blood test to confirm. I know that the blood test looks for the same things that I pee test does, I just felt like I needed something more medical to tell me what was going on.

I called my doctor and got in the next day. She did the blood draw and talked to me about how exciting it was and how happy she was for me. I’d have the results by the end of the day. And then five came and went and there was no call and I assumed that the test was negative and my doctor, who is amazing, just didn’t know how to break the news.

Then she called.

Not just pregnant, but seriously pregnant. My HCG levels were super high.

Oh yeah, my eggers was preggers.

But I would lose it. I knew I would. There was no way that I would be able to carry a baby to full term. I was defective.

I was broken.

That’s why no baby had ever set up shop in my uterus before.

Tim was over the moon. He couldn’t have been more excited if I’d paid him. He’d always wanted a big family, like me, and the thought that he could have more kids now just filled him with so much joy.

I wanted to believe. I wanted to hold my belly and feel the life move in there. But I was so afraid to believe.

What was going to happen when I eventually lost the baby?

It was going to happen.

I was so old to be having kids for the first time.

When the inevitable finally happened, I was going to be destroyed. I was crying all the time because I wanted so desperately to believe but I was just so terrified.

Tim supported me when I said I wanted to wait to tell people and the families. I wanted to be at least three months in before I could feel comfortable letting people know. And he said okay. I got set up at the Tanana Valley Clinic OB GYN and was incredibly blessed to be placed with Dionne Montgomery. Who was the most amazing provider. She cared about how I was doing, what was going on and she heard my fears and concerns with my surgery having been so recent.

She has been and continues to be one of my favorite medical providers ever.

 I think if I’d gotten someone else, the pregnancy might have gone a whole different way. Or maybe it would have been harder. But she was amazing. She took me back and gave me an ultrasound and showed me, in no uncertain terms, that I was 100% pregnant.

I lay on that table and cried.

And cried.

And cried.

I was honestly, finally, pregnant.

The First Photo of Bean