Our journey to parenthood unfolded more like a marathon than a sprint, along a winding, often tortuous course. Most days, the finish line felt invisible, and hope seemed fragile. Yet, today, we are a family of four incredible children, each carrying their own unique story—a story of faith, perseverance, patience, and the unwavering belief that your purpose will find its way. Our long-sought dream has finally become our beautiful reality.
I grew up in a bustling household with ten siblings in Louisiana, where big families mean big love. I always knew I wanted to be a mother. My parents prioritized family above all, and my six brothers and three sisters have remained my closest friends throughout life. I still cherish memories of summer road trips to Disney World, Friday night slumber parties, and holiday traditions filled with laughter and a house brimming with kids underfoot.
My mother made parenting look effortless, though she later confided she would have pursued college if given the chance. As a young Black woman in rural Louisiana, higher education was a dream that remained out of reach for many women of her time. She married my father, supported him through medical school and residency, and never regretted her choices—but she wanted more opportunities for her daughters. Inspired by her vision, I mapped out my 20s with a clear plan: graduate college, pursue a career, and start a family after establishing myself professionally. I began medical school at 23, and while the training was grueling, dating seemed even harder. Looking back, I realize this was the beginning of my practice in ‘letting go and letting God,’ though I didn’t know it yet.
After yet another frustrating date, I told my older sister, “I just don’t think there’s anybody out there for me.” The very next day, I started a new hospital assignment—and met my husband for the first time. He was far from what I thought I wanted, but I fell in love instantly. For the first time, I truly understood what life-partner love feels like: kind, passionate, strong in spirit, adventurous, funny, intelligent, and unconditional. Our romance was immediate but complicated by distance. Three weeks after we met, he was assigned to a hospital an hour away, and a long-distance relationship began.
Three months later, Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans, where I was in medical school and Colin in residency. Assignments shifted—he went to Dallas while I traveled to Chicago, then Charleston for rotations. Long-distance can break relationships, but we knew we were meant to make it work. We got engaged despite the miles, married, and after our honeymoon, returned to separate cities to complete our training. At 31, we finally lived in the same city, rented a cozy home, and launched our private practices together.
With my career and higher education goals checked off, it was time to start a family. As an Ob/Gyn, I often hear patients say, “I always had a feeling I’d struggle to conceive naturally.” That nagging thought lingered for me too. After a year of timed intercourse, positive ovulation tests, and anxiety-filled pregnancy tests, I consulted my Ob/Gyn. Despite being in the profession, I had no idea the road ahead would be so difficult.
Our fertility evaluation revealed diminished ovarian reserve and uterine fibroids. We began with fertility pills and timed intercourse, progressing to artificial insemination, and ultimately, IVF. Two transfers failed, and surgery revealed fibroids and endometriosis. At 34, I wept silently after surgery—an Ob/Gyn unable to do what I helped women achieve every day: carry a healthy pregnancy. Anger, envy, and grief consumed me, but my faith, my husband, my family, and the friends who stood by me became lifelines during those dark years.
We pursued embryo banking, stimulating my ovaries repeatedly to create and freeze embryos. After three cycles, we had only two embryos. Physically and emotionally drained, despair weighed heavily. Around this time, God began introducing us to adoption stories—friends, patients, and church members who had been blessed by adoption. Slowly, after months of prayer and conversation, we began the adoption process.
As I approached my 35th birthday, still feeling the pressure of “advanced maternal age,” I convinced my husband to try one more fertility cycle. Only one egg was retrieved, and we opted for artificial insemination. Miraculously, it worked. Two weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant. A week after that, we received a call from our adoption agency: we had been matched. The synchronicity felt like a divine plan beyond comprehension.
Our adopted son’s birth, however, brought heartbreak—the birth mother changed her mind. Even amidst my own pregnancy, I grieved deeply for the child we had imagined. Yet in July, just before my 36th birthday, our biological son arrived healthy and perfect. Two years later, twins arrived—the two embryos we had frozen before our first pregnancy. Three children in two years, our hearts overflowing with love, yet something still felt missing.
On my 40th birthday, we knew our family was ready for one more. Against fears of loss, we returned to adoption. After months of paperwork, home visits, and anxious waiting, we were matched with a birth mother expecting a baby girl. When the call came, our three-year-old daughter rejoiced at the thought of a sister. From the moment we met her birth mother, we felt this journey would end in joy. In April 2021, our daughter arrived, and meeting her felt like the universe had conspired to bring her to us.
None of our children were born exactly as we imagined, yet each arrived through the perfect blend of perseverance, faith, and hope. Parenthood has never been easy, but our journey has been deeply purposeful. Every tear, every prayer, every setback was part of the story that led us to the family we always dreamed of. Today, our four children are our joy, our reason, and the living proof that with faith and perseverance, dreams do come true.
