HOPEisode: Jennifer’s Story!
On this episode, Sonia and Jessica read an inspiring HOPEisode story submitted by Geriatric Mamas listener, Jennifer. They discuss the impact of advocating for yourself throughout your fertility journey, why so many women have accidental pregnancies in their forties, and they share Trudy Perrow’s heart wrenching journey to ‘geriatric mamahood’.
Topics discussed in this episode:
HOPEisode Intro! (15:39)
Jennifer’s Story (17:34)
Why So Many Women Have Accidental Pregnancies In Their 40s (27:39)
Trudy Perrow’s Journey to Geriatric Mamahood (33:32)
Jennifer and her husband with their two miracle babies.
Resources mentioned in this episode:
After she turned 42, Teesha Karr thought she was done having kids. Six, in her mind, was perfect. And besides, she was pretty sure she had started menopause. For the past six months she’d had all the same signs as her friends: hot flashes, mood swings, tender breasts. She and her husband decided they could probably safely do away with contraception. But less than a month later, Karr felt a familiar twinge of pain in her ovary – the same twinge she’d felt every time she’d been pregnant before.
Karr felt embarrassed. “Teenagers accidentally get pregnant. Forty-two-year-old women don’t usually accidentally get pregnant,” she told me. But, really, 42-year-old women accidentally getting pregnant is surprisingly common. (Full article here).
Trudy Perrow’s journey to Geriatric Mamahood (TorontoLife.com)
I always knew I was going to have kids. But I thought everything had to be perfectly in place first. During my 20s, I studied psychology at Western and eventually worked as a therapist in the U.K. By my mid-30s I was back in Toronto and ready to settle down. But where was the guy? I’d had a serious relationship in university, then dated here and there—nothing long-term.
When I was 36, I was diagnosed with grade one stage one synchronous ovarian and uterine cancer, which means it appeared in my ovary and uterus at the same time. That kind of cancer has a better prognosis than when one spreads to the other. But I needed a total abdominal hysterectomy—they were going to take everything, even the layer of fat that ran along my tummy (the only upside). I would never be able to give birth to a child.
I got the news on February 15, 2008. The next day I was in the oncologist’s office and booking my surgery for two weeks later. I was devastated. It sounds awful, but I didn’t care if the cancer was going to kill me. If I couldn’t have kids, I thought, I’d rather die. Later that day, I called a bunch of fertility clinics, scrambling to figure out if I had any options. I was able to book an appointment at the Create Clinic on Bay Street for the next morning. I explained I was getting the kit and caboodle out in 13 days and wanted to freeze as many eggs as possible. The fertility doctor told me that the egg-harvesting process takes 10 to 12 days and must begin on day three of a menstrual cycle.
She did a blood test and, unbelievably, I was on day three. It seemed like a miracle. If I began treatment that very day, we could potentially harvest some eggs right before my hysterectomy. I’d have only one shot, and I had to decide within a matter of hours. I spent the rest of the afternoon talking it over with my mom. But really, my mind was made up. I was going to do whatever I could to have a baby. It was hard for my family—all they wanted was for me to survive—but they supported my decision. I knew that I wanted to wake up from that hysterectomy with the chance of having a biological child.
I spent the next 12 days preparing for the hormone injections necessary to extract my eggs. I was dealing with terrible anxiety about my upcoming surgery and not knowing how far the cancer had spread. At the same time, I had to start thinking about sperm. Embryos are hardier and easier to thaw than eggs that haven’t been fertilized, and the transfer success rate is higher. The nurses walked me through the process—they helped me pick a donor who had similar colouring to me, so I’d have a greater chance of making a baby who looked like me. He was university educated and had a clean medical history. When I went in for my life-saving hysterectomy, I knew I would have five frozen embryos ready and waiting. The surgery went well, and three weeks later the pathology reports were clear—no further treatment was required.
About six months after that, I was back at work and dealing with the hot flashes and night sweats that came with medically induced menopause. Then I received more bad news—my mom was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer, which is relatively slow to metastasize but ultimately incurable. It made me determined that my mom would meet her grandchild.
Surrogacy in Canada is complicated and expensive. You can’t legally pay someone to carry your child, but you can agree to cover their bills and expenses. I even know a woman who found a surrogate on Kijiji. I went through an agency and connected with a woman from out of town. She already had two of her own kids and had been a surrogate before. That eased my mind. It ended up being a good thing that she lived a few hours away; otherwise I’d have been tempted to drive by her house every night to check up on her. It’s hard to relinquish control over something so important. Between the legal, medical and agency fees, and the surrogate’s costs, it ended up running me about $70,000.
My daughter, Liv, was supposed to be born via C-section on a Tuesday in March 2012. The surrogate called me on the Sunday before to say her water had broken. My brother drove me to the hospital in record time. When I charged into the maternity ward, I saw a group of nurses cooing over a baby at their station. One of them asked, “Is your name Trudy?” The surrogate had told them to bring my baby out and wait for me to arrive. All I could say, over and over, was, “Are you sure? Are you sure she’s mine?” I knew that once I held her, I could never let her go. And when I looked down at her for the first time, all I could think was, She looks just like me. I was able to get a room next door to the surrogate, and my parents met us at the hospital—I was thrilled to see my mom hold her granddaughter, and she’s been helping me raise her ever since.
Liv is a wonderful kid, healthy and happy. Her energy is non-stop, which keeps me very busy. I’m working as a rehabilitation consultant for an insurance company. Being a single mom is overwhelming sometimes, but my family helps me cope.
So now the question is, what do I do with the remaining embryos? They’re frozen in time. I pay a fee every year to keep them in storage, and who knows, maybe one day I’ll have a surrogate carry another child. But that would just be a bonus. I’ve already got the baby I wanted so badly.
Financing For IVF & Other Fertility Treatments:
When it comes to financing in vitro fertilization, most Americans can’t afford to pay out of pocket for the full procedure. The average cost for one cycle of IVF is from $10,000 to $15,000, according to the Society for Assisted Reproductive Technology, and currently, only 20 states have laws that require insurers to either cover or offer coverage for fertility treatments.
Making financial trade-offs and saving for IVF is the best-case scenario, but for those eager to move forward without adequate savings, financing may be the answer.
Is the financial cost of surrogacy standing in your way of becoming a parent? A 0% loan makes a huge difference, reducing repayments to an affordable monthly amount.
With a 0% interest rate, a BetterMed loan will save you at least $35,000. It’s the lowest cost way to pay for surrogacy.
To process your application, we ask for a $10,500 application fee, which acts as security on the loan. And the good news is, every cent is taken off the total amount you pay back.
We also have a 100% Approval Program. Email info@bettermed.com to set up a call to see if you qualify.
Reminder: Listeners can receive 20% off services at Ageless Medical Aesthetics in Westbrook, ME with Code: MAMAS2024 when you follow them on instagram! Also receive a Free First Swim Class at Goldfish Swim in Portland, Maine with same code: MAMAS2024; you’ll need to call them to schedule your little one’s first class.
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