Why Infertile Couples Don’t “Just Adopt”

I’ve published countless articles on infertility as an editor-in-chief for a women’s magazine, and for some reason, I always felt this little pit in my stomach whenever this topic came across my desk. It was like I could sense this cross in my future somehow, but it wasn’t until last year that I had to face it: I was experiencing fertility issues. Even today, I use the words “fertility journey” and not “infertility” because the latter word is hard to diagnose and even harder to define. As a NaPro ( Natural Procreative Technology ) client, I believe that most infertility cases can be solved once the underlying root issues are treated. This means that having a hard time conceiving doesn’t necessarily mean you’re infertile – it could mean you have untreated endometriosis , hormonal imbalance, cysts, or some other treatable issue. Sometimes, even NaPro can’t quite pinpoint the issue, though, and sometimes the issue is clear but untreatable. In short, the CDC defines infertility as not being able to conceive after one year of unprotected sex. So, at what point does a couple undergoing infertility treatments begin to consider alternatives, like adoption? Obviously, it depends on the couple, but across the board, infertile people would agree – adoption is not a fix for infertility. My Fertility Journey The first month my husband and I were open to children, we got pregnant immediately. We lost our baby Noel early on, which was sadly not too surprising since 10-20% of known pregnancies end in miscarriage . After struggling to conceive for the following six months, I knew that there might be more at play than just miscarrying our daughter. I’ve always suspected that I had endometriosis or some other underlying issue, given the symptoms I frequently faced from tough cycles (fatigue, bloating, inflammation, cramping, passing out, you name it), but I had bought into the lie that these were “normal” and that as long as I was treating the symptoms, there was no need to treat the actual issue. About six months after losing Noel, I started seeing a NaPro physician who quickly diagnosed and treated low progesterone and hypothyroidism. Boom. I got pregnant again. But I was hit hard with PTSD – every little cramp, every trip to the bathroom brought on overwhelming panic that my baby could die again, even though we had the comfort of seeing his heartbeat at the eight-week ultrasound. He was alive! But like his sister, we lost Leo a few weeks later. The devastation hit harder. Clearly, something was not right. The only way to figure out if someone has cysts, polyps, endometriosis, a septum uterus (or any other myriad of physical complications) is surgery, which we promptly scheduled. My husband and I avoided pregnancy in the months leading up to my laparoscopy to avoid any further loss, and I have to admit, those months were healing. My periods were less triggering, and I was able to bond with my husband without obsessive preoccupation over conception. Finally, this past summer, after three surgeries and eleven incisions later, my stage four endometriosis was successfully removed. So am I no longer “infertile”? I’m not sure. It’s been three months since my last surgery, and I still haven’t conceived. I am now undergoing an extensive two-week streak of daily ultrasounds to study follicle growth and ovulation, as well as an intense hormonal profile that involves blood work every other day for a month. Already, we’ve discovered even more – I’m prediabetic, Vitamin D deficient, my hypothyroidism has gotten twice as bad this past year, and I have low prolactin, to name just a few. All of these things directly affect your fertility. My mom couldn’t help but ask a few days ago: “At what point does your doctor say there’s nothing left to do?” Until you can accept that you might never have an answer, jumping into adoption isn’t safe, fair, or healthy. Adoption Isn’t the Last Resort My husband and I began discerning adoption around the time we scheduled my surgery, back in February of this year. We both feel strongly that we are called to adopt and even found the adoption consultant agency that we want to work with. We had our initial phone call and were told their average match time was six months. We could start the process immediately – we just had to sign some papers. Thankfully, my husband helped me to slow down. This conversation made adoption very real, and while I was ready to dive into it, I’m grateful that he encouraged me to focus on one thing at a time, and this year, we wanted to focus on my health. The thing is, adoption is not a fix for infertility, as much as we or others may want it to be. Adoption is a very specific discernment process, and it should not be considered the “natural next step” if a couple learns that they cannot conceive their own biological children or that conceiving is going to take them longer than they were hoping. I never took issue when people asked me if we’ve considered adoption or shared the common adage “Watch you get pregnant after you adopt!” We know many people who were not able to conceive until after they adopted, and while that’s hopeful, adoption doesn’t address the underlying issue in need of healing, which looks different for many. For me, that underlying issue was my struggle with control. Letting Go The fertility journey has taught me a lot about my control issues, and how I am called to surrender while also dutifully do what I can to heal what is broken. (I cringe writing the word “broken” because I’ve shed a lot of tears over my body “not working right,” but the truth is a lot of us are broken in our own unique ways, and the sooner we acknowledge this, the sooner we can heal.) I’ve been mindful of not diving head first into every single fertility treatment available, because there’s a lot – supplements, holistic approaches, surgeries, special diets, even your sock choices apparently can impact your fertility . But back to my mom’s question. There will be a point when I won’t be able to do much more, and for some unknown reason, my body may just have trouble conceiving and carrying full term. But I owe it to myself and to my children to try. This kind of acceptance that I’m working on during this journey doesn’t come easy, and until you can come to accept that you might never have an answer, jumping into adoption isn’t safe, fair, or healthy. It is never wise to make any big decision during a time of suffering, grief, or pain. My desire to have children and to be a mother is a totally separate desire from my longing to be pregnant. It took me a while to realize that my desire to have children and to be a mother is a totally separate desire from my longing to be pregnant. This understanding changed everything for me, because the truth is I will be a mother one day, and I’ve had to grow in wanting that more than being pregnant. My child might not have blue eyes like my husband and me, and they might not inherit his lanky height or the golden curls I had as a toddler, but they will inherit our love, our quirks, our laughter, our mannerisms, our faith, and everything we can possibly give them will be theirs. There’s a practical element in the discernment process too – namely, finances. Domestic adoption costs can easily reach $45,000 . While we focus on my health, practice surrendering, and work on healing emotionally from losing our two children, I also took on a second job to start putting aside funds for adoption because our desire to adopt runs parallel to our desire to have children. Adoption isn’t a last resort, and it isn’t a Plan B – it’s a desire that is related to but not dependent on us achieving biological conception. The Gritty Reality Adoption is a situation that is born of great pain and sacrifice. It’s not a glossy fix or a good samaritan act. It involves a heartbreaking situation where a mother has decided to make the ultimate sacrifice – and I mean that to my core. It’s the ultimate sacrifice a human being can make, which is to offer up your child at the expense of your own pain. Sometimes, the driving force behind this sacrifice is evil: the mother could be facing immense pressure or even coerced deception. My husband and I want to support this woman who chose not to abort her baby, who chose to endure pregnancy and whatever other complications this new life has brought into her own life, by supporting her through the pregnancy and loving that child as our own. There is no better way I can fathom entering into what I call “The War on the Womb” than to support a mother and adopt the baby. Practically, adoption can also be messy – the mother may be in a terrible situation. Your heart may be shattered when she chooses to keep the baby, even though this is the ideal scenario. You might learn the baby will have withdrawal symptoms from substance abuse or mental or physical disabilities. You might be asked for more money than you feel comfortable giving. And it doesn’t end once the papers are signed, either. You may have this woman and the child’s birth family in your life from that day on. Are you prepared for complicated, rolling emotions? Are you prepared for transracial comments or to adopt new cultural customs if your adopted child is of a different race? Are you ready for your child’s potential abandonment issues, no matter how much you love them? (It’s worth noting that these questions will also look different depending on where your discernment takes you, specifically looking at domestic or international adoption, as well as foster care.) Closing Thoughts It feels like I’ve been pregnant now for two years, but one day, this season of waiting will end. There’s so much that goes into the fertility journey and the adoption journey, and each warrants special care and consideration – perhaps more than the average fertile person may ever know. Your friend experiencing infertility does not need any more ideas – trust me, she’s already considered each and every avenue available to her, and if she hasn’t, it’s because she’s not in a place to do so.