I was fourteen the first time a doctor told me I might never have children.
I remember sitting in a pediatric neurologist’s office, the sterile walls closing in around me, as the doctor began rattling off a list of things I would supposedly never be able to do following my recent epilepsy diagnosis. Go to college. Move out. Get married. Have kids. In a single, cold breath, he systematically crushed each dream I had nurtured without warning. His words landed like punches, and what made it even harder to bear was the way they were spoken—not to me, but to my parents. I was there, a quiet witness to my own life being dissected, but my voice, my feelings, my hopes, seemed entirely irrelevant to him.
At fourteen, I hadn’t yet thought deeply about family or motherhood, though I had imagined one day having children. Hearing this, I felt blindsided and confused. I was a normal teenager, navigating school and friendships, yet suddenly my future seemed predetermined, limited, and grim. In that moment, something inside me clicked—I would prove him wrong. I didn’t know then that this was the first step on my long, winding journey toward surrogacy, toward building a family despite the odds.
Years later, with medication, second opinions, and an unyielding determination, I refused to let my health define me. I earned a Master’s degree in Health Communication from Boston University, married my best friend, and together we bought our first home—a charming renovated bungalow with cozy bedrooms just waiting for little feet to fill them. By almost every measure, I feel fortunate. But the last piece of our puzzle—growing our family—remained just out of reach.
Over time, my desire for children has only intensified. What was once an abstract dream has become a vivid picture in my mind: visits to the local park, dance recitals, mommy-and-me swim classes. Every day, I imagine our lives centered around family, community, and raising children with love. My husband is everything I could hope for in a father, and together, we dream of a family life filled with joy and laughter. Yet infertility, a challenge that sheer willpower alone cannot overcome, has been a harsh reminder of life’s unpredictability.
Infertility is different for everyone. While clinically defined for women under 35 as a year of trying without success, my struggle started much earlier. It’s not that I couldn’t conceive, but my epilepsy medication posed serious risks to a developing baby, while going off it threatened my own health. Each doctor we consulted strongly cautioned against trying, creating an impossible dilemma: my dream of motherhood versus my survival.
When I was 24, I attempted to switch medications, hoping it might make carrying a child possible. I knew the risks, but desperation pushed me forward. Within a month, my epilepsy became uncontrollable, seizures struck, and my mental health spiraled. Days felt heavy and dark, and I hid my struggles, afraid that admitting them would force me to return to the medicine that would protect me but end my chance at pregnancy. Those months were among the darkest of my life, filled with fear, shame, and heartbreak.
The turning point came when I had a seizure in front of my husband. I felt a mixture of devastation and relief—relief that I could no longer pretend, and devastation that our plans seemed further away than ever. Yet his response surprised me: unconditional love. He reassured me that nothing mattered more than my safety, that we would figure out parenthood together, and that we could face this challenge as a team. For the first time in months, I felt a glimmer of hope. With his support, I finally accepted reality and began exploring the options that remained.
Knowing I couldn’t carry, we explored gestational surrogacy and adoption. Surrogacy felt right for us, and we shared our decision with family, who responded with support and curiosity. Researching surrogacy in Canada, we discovered its unique approach: altruism. Surrogates can be reimbursed for expenses, but cannot be paid, making the process feel genuine, human, and heartwarming. We also learned about the remarkable bonds formed between surrogates and intended parents—lifelong friendships that endure for the surrogate, the parents, and even the children born from the journey.
Finding a surrogate was not easy. In Canada, there are roughly ten intended parents for every available surrogate, meaning waits can stretch for years. To stand out and to demystify the process, we went public with our journey—sharing our hopes, research, and fears online. It was terrifying to expose the most vulnerable parts of our lives to the scrutiny of strangers. Some comments were cruel, shaking my confidence and leaving me questioning our decision. After six months of uncertainty and exhaustion—made worse by the pandemic—I broke down, convinced our dream was slipping away.
Then Sarah appeared. After a lighthearted Instagram Reel, she reached out. Our first Zoom call was filled with laughter, shared interests, and an immediate sense of trust I rarely encounter. Within a week, we made the match official. The very next day, I began IVF to create embryos. Despite side effects from medication, the process went remarkably well. Today, I have an incredible surrogate supporting us and eleven embryos being tested at our fertility clinic, with results just weeks away.
Looking back, I wish I could hug my fourteen-year-old self and tell her it would all be okay. I wish I could reassure my twenty-four-year-old self that putting my health first didn’t mean giving up motherhood. By sharing my story, I hope to reduce the stigma around infertility and surrogacy, and to inspire those navigating similar struggles. There are still challenges ahead before I hold a baby in my arms, but for now, I feel hopeful, empowered, and truly on top of the world.
