We weren’t exactly trying, but we weren’t protecting either. Month after month passed, and nothing. Not even a scare. Not even a maybe. Just a quiet kind of heartache that settled deeper each time.
I remember watching the world around me bloom with pregnancies. Social media announcements. New baby smells. Parents on the news doing the unthinkable to their children.. while we sat with empty arms and open hearts, ready to give it all- and still waiting. Still wanting.
Doctors told me I had multiple cysts, so I booked an appointment with a renowned PCOS specialist in La Jolla. After scans, bloodwork, and back-and-forths, he confirmed I was polycystic, but didn’t have PCOS. In theory, I could get pregnant. And like every specialist before him, he offered the same advice: “Just relax. Don’t think about it.” Easier said than done when your heart is screaming for something your body won’t deliver.
Eventually, I told Kevin, “I think it’s because we’re not married.” So we eloped in Vegas. Still nothing.
I said, “Maybe it’s because we’re hiding it (nobody knew we had gotten married until December, and we had eloped in July).” So we got married again, this time in front of our family and friends. Four months later, I was pregnant…. but not without a fight.
I did my research and eventually chose Reproductive Health Partners. Every clinic I phoned left me cold. But when I called RHP, the coordinator’s voice was so kind, so gentle, so human– I teared up mid-conversation. I knew I was in the right place.
From that moment on, it became a part-time job. Weekly ultrasounds. Eleven vials of blood. A full scan of my body. Kevin started supplements. I was put on the same supplements and a breast cancer medication shown to help with ovulation.
Dr. Duleba- kind, methodical, and compassionate- chose the least invasive route first. We’d try insemination. Three trials. If it didn’t work, we’d discuss IVF.
Trial one. Failed. I’ll never forget that phone call. The sharpness in my chest. The gut-punch of emptiness. I hung up and sobbed like I’d never sobbed before. It was a grief that had no shape, but all the weight. We started again. More blood. More tests. More meds. Now injections too.
Trial two. Insemination, prayers, and a body that had become a battleground. And this time, by the grace of God, I was pregnant. They labeled me high-risk from the start. I stayed on meds, went in for constant monitoring, and prayed like I never had before.
Greyson- my miracle, my oldest. The one who made me a Mother. After Greyson, came Preston. Then Colston. Three boys. Three births by c-section. And my last.. nearly my last breath.
With Colston, I hemorrhaged. I became so diaphoretic that the tape holding my IVs slipped right off- my skin drenched, my body in distress. They brought in a blower fan to assist in stabilizing me. My blood pressure dropped dangerously low. I convulsed, then the bleeding started again. I was given two injections to help clot my blood.
And while there was mayhem in the OR- voices asking me questions, feet scrambling, machines beeping- I felt strangely calm. Being a nurse, I knew what was happening. I understood the urgency. But somehow, in the middle of the chaos, I was at peace. A stillness wrapped around me like a whisper from God: You’re not alone. You’re going to be okay. And I was.
After, I was told gently but firmly, “You need a bilateral tubal ligation. If you get pregnant again, it could cost you your life.” That was the end of the chapter. But not the end of the gratitude.
Some days, Mai Boys make me question everything- my patience, my sanity, my life choices. They test my limits like it’s a sport, leave crumbs on every surface, and somehow never hear me talking until I yell. I’ve found myself pacing in the garage, muttering ‘shit’ and ‘fuck’ like they’re the only two words I know, because sometimes, they are. From wrestling matches in the living room to arguing over who breathed too loudly, they push every button I have.
But when I look at them, when I really see them, I see answered prayers. I see everything I ever begged God for. And even when the noise is loud, the house is messy, and my patience is paper-thin, I know without a doubt..
They are Mai World. They made me who I am. And, I wouldn’t trade a single second of this mayhem.
Mai Household Mayhem 