When we welcomed our beautiful daughter, Mairi, into this world, it felt like relief. Like we could finally exhale.
Excitement quickly followed. My husband, Chris, placed an announcement in the newspaper. I intervened at the last minute to stop him from putting a stork on the front lawn. We wanted the world to know what Mairi meant to us. It was a joy that can only come after years of heartbreak.
Hope ebbs and flows in a fertility journey. With each cycle, it is restored – a new approach, different medications, another chance for a positive result. Reflecting on the last seven years, how many times did we hope? How many times could we have been pregnant? How many times did we hold and kiss an ultrasound photo hoping it would become more than an embryo? And how many times were we met with devastation and grief? Each time we looked for hope, it was harder to find. There was a creeping realization that no matter what we did or how much money we spent, we had no control.
Infertility consumed us. It became the lens through which we saw everything, weighing on every moment and decision in our lives. What we ate and drank and when we could make plans with friends and family. It took up all the space in our marriage and our relationships with others. Every decision felt tangled up in a cycle.
Time was passing, and the fear that it would never happen was ever-present. People call it a fertility “journey”, but journeys are supposed to have a destination. I remember meeting with our counsellor, who said my homework was to make a plan that would allow me and Chris to start living our lives.
Infertility isn’t just hard on the people going through it — it deeply affects those closest to you too. They watch you fall apart. They may not fully understand the pain, but they feel it. Like you, they feel helpless.
They research your procedures and side effects of your medications. They pick you up from appointments and bring you snacks. They wait until you are ready to talk and learn that no news is not good news. They check in with your partner when too many text messages and phone calls go unanswered. When words fail, they send you heart emojis or stay on the other end of the phone in silence for as long as you need.
My older sister, Caitlin, lived the sadness that was overwhelming our lives. She was always loving and supportive. Around my 37th birthday we went for a walk together. As we paused at the top of a hill, she took my hand and said she would do anything for me.
We talked some more, and in the weeks that followed, we explored the possibility of her becoming our gestational surrogate. Caitlin’s choice was a brave and selfless act.
Caitlin was already a mother of three children between the ages of four and ten, so the idea of adding this huge risk to her life – emotionally, physically, and logistically – was a tremendous commitment.
My sister’s resilience was on full display as she endured two failed embryo transfers. The physical and emotional toll must have felt unbearable. Our hope was now hers to carry and sustain. She was a champ taking the daily injections and attending frequent and long appointments, all in addition to raising her family. When things didn’t work, she felt the burden of her grief and ours.
One moment after another failed cycle, Caitlin and my husband stepped outside the fertility clinic. She broke down in tears, overwhelmed by the lack of answers and helplessness of it all. She wondered how we could have done this for so long. Chris had no words; all he could do was hug her.
With one embryo left, we all made the choice to switch clinics. We needed a fresh approach and experience, even if we knew it likely wouldn’t lead to a miracle. It was worth trying, worth hoping for again.
On April 3rd, 2023, we found out we were finally expecting. We held our breath as we waited for each updated hCG result and heartbeat.
Caitlin is a bright and shiny person, and while she was carrying our child, she reflected this to the world around her. Her husband, our nephew and nieces, and our extended family supported her throughout the process. I’m sure she was exhausted, but you would never know it. Her smile renewed our hope.
Advocating for ourselves was something we expected. We anticipated challenges and legal hurdles, but we were often shocked to discover that the medical and legal systems didn’t recognize us as parents. They are designed around how families are traditionally made. This impacts how information about our baby is shared and how ultrasound visits are handled, to how hospitals viewed us as the “intended parents”.
Caitlin was our strongest advocate – she made us feel seen and heard as parents. When people asked her for the due date or if she knew what she was having, Caitlin would smile and look at us, as if to say: “It’s their baby, they can answer.” She was relentless with hospital staff to make sure we had our own room, wristbands to access the birthing unit, and that we would be the first to hold Mairi when she was born. She made the day of our daughter’s birth everything we could have hoped for.
When you have to struggle for something for so long, the reward is more than words can express. Every scrunched-nose smile, squeal for more food and wave to a passing stranger fills our hearts with overwhelming joy. We have the life we dreamed of. The baby we hoped for. The gift of Caitlin’s surrogacy has flowed through Chris and I, our family and friends.
We recognize the challenges that families on journeys like ours face and believe financial barriers shouldn’t be one of them. Our goal is to give back in honour of Caitlin by offering other families the financial support they need to start or continue their fertility journey.
