The road to pregnancy for me was a rocky one. From the beginning my husband and I had planned for the birth of our child and expected it to happen without complications. I don't know if I would call it optimism or naivety now, but one thing is for sure: I no longer take any function of my body for granted.

Two months after going off of the pill I went to my gynecologist for a "pre-baby" checkup. I wanted to make sure that I was in perfect health before attempting a pregnancy. I discussed the fact that I had not had a period since going off the pill and was assured by my doctor that everything was fine and that I should be pregnant within a couple of months. So I waited and waited, and seven months had passed and I hadn't even had a period. Those missed periods every month played a game on my psyche as well. I cannot even begin to imagine the amount of money spent on pregnancy tests during that time.

After nine months of no period I became very concerned and went to another doctor. With hardly a checkup he put me on Clomid and again I was told that I should be pregnant within a couple of months! No such luck and after a few more months of Clomid and no answers I decided to try someone else.

My new gynecologist recognized that I had some kind of ovulation disorder that would probably require something more aggressive than Clomid. Nevertheless, she wanted to try Clomid for just a few more months to see if anything would happen. It didn't and instead of trying to guess again she referred me to a fertility clinic.

When I called for my first appointment I was told that they were booked up for two months. I almost lost it at that point, but I politely made the appointment and resigned myself to the fact that I would have to continue waiting. My husband and I went on vacation and tried to relax and forget about everything that we had been through during the last year.

My first appointment was a little overwhelming. They laid out a course of action to cover every possibility. I finally began to feel as though something might happen. They did some blood work on me that day to try to determine where I was in my cycle and much to my surprise I had just ovulated! I was so excited that I decided to wait on any medication that they wanted to put me on to see if I could get pregnant by myself. I didn't, but having a period without medicinal help was a relief to me.

I started taking Metformin and Clomid for a few months to see if anything would happen with my ovulation and once again we were unsuccessful. I was subjected to a hysteroscopy and a hysterosalpingogram as well. The hysterosalpingogram found an abnormal growth in my uterus. The radiologist refused to make any diagnosis so I went home thinking that I had cancer. I know now that it was an illogical thought, but at this point I was at my wit's end. As a result of the diagnosis, my doctor scheduled me for a hysteroscopy, which, thank goodness, came back negative.

During this time I was also beginning to feel as though I could start my own blood bank with all of the blood that I had to give. I also made sure that I always wore long sleeves so the eighth graders that I taught would not think I was a heroine addict. After a few months on the Clomid and Metformin my doctors and I both agreed it was time to try more aggressive treatment.

At this point almost two years had passed since we had decided to become a family. It was starting to feel as though it would never happen. I felt as though I was being punished for some past sin. I just couldn't accept the fact that my body would not do what it was designed to do – produce a baby.

It was also very difficult talking to some people about it. The people that I worked with and my mother were usually very supportive with everything. But there were people who made very insensitive comments that eventually had to be cut off from all information. In order to maintain your own sanity sometimes you have to keep others in the dark.

The treatment we decided on were injections of Follistim and Noveral. I was none too thrilled about having to inject myself in the stomach, but I wanted a baby more than anything in the world. My husband participated in this by getting the injection ready, but there was just no way that I was going to allow him to stick me. The first treatment appeared to work beautifully, but lo and behold I came down with a really bad case of strep throat right at the time we were supposed to have sex. I cursed myself and got very upset at the whole situation. But I quickly learned that you couldn't cuss your body out of an illness.

We went back a few weeks later for an ultrasound to see if we could try again. We couldn't because so much fluid had accumulated in my ovaries the doctor put me on the birth control pill for a month to calm them down. When I got home from work that day I broke down. I cried and cried and tried to figure out why this was happening to me. I had tried to always do what I was supposed to do. Why was I being punished like this? I soon learned that I had to let go of thoughts like these if I was going to go on with the treatments.

So my hubby and I went on a spring vacation to New Orleans and once again tried to forget about everything. When we returned on Easter morning we were told that we could try the shots again. I don't know why but the shots seemed to hurt more this time and I told myself that if it didn't work this time there was no way that I could go through another month of this.

The two weeks after the shots were full of pain and discomfort for me. My back and sides hurt and I always felt as though I needed to rest. I didn't allow myself to think that I was pregnant. I assumed that I must have the hyperovulation syndrome that sometimes comes with these infertility drugs. But I was wrong.

On May 11, 2001, we went in for a pregnancy test. We kept ourselves busy most of the day shopping for Mother's Day gifts for the next day. When we returned there was a message from the nurse who practically sang the words, "You're pregnant and the numbers are great."

I lost my breath and couldn't even listen to the rest of the message. I had to sit on the stairs while my husband re-read the message. We both cried and decided that no matter how early it was that it would be perfect to tell our moms on Mother's Day. So we bought two bibs that said "I love my grandma" and gave it to them. In some type of orchestrated move they both opened the gift at the same time and screamed and cried. It had been a long time coming and I think that they were just as relieved as we were.

At the time of this writing I am 15 weeks pregnant. I have had four blood tests, two ultrasounds and two heartbeat confirmations and part of me still doesn't believe it. I do feel, however, that a great burden has been lifted off of me. I cannot wait for this baby to be born. Even though the road has been a rocky one, I couldn't imagine a greater outcome than this.

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