I was 20 when I found out that having a family was going to be a struggle for me.  A college junior, I was more into appearance and partying than family building so the thing that tipped me off wasn't my inability to conceive but my inability to lose weight, the fact that my hair was thinning, and that I had acne that just wouldn't go away.

My first diagnosis was hypo-thyroidism, an easily medicated hormonal imbalance.  About a year after my diagnosis, I sat in the waiting room at the dermatologist's office and read an article about women living with PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome).  Hmmm...absent periods, acne, hair where you don't want it and not enough where you do...that sounds like me.  After months of pushing, it was official.  I did, indeed, have PCOS.  My doctor handed me a prescription for metformin (to regulate my blood sugar and help with weight gain) and sent me on my way, assuring me that one day, I would get pregnant.

Fast forward through 10 years of hard living and harder working as a cook and a pastry chef.  At age 30, I had lived in several cities on a couple of continents, and I had been married for 5 years.  It was time to pull the goalie, as they say.  So, after one final appearance as a bridesmaid, I quit taking my birth control, and we decided to try the old fashioned way.  In 7 months of trying, I got my period a total of 3 times.  When we had been trying for a few months with no luck, I started to try and live a little healthier: yoga once a week, Weight Watchers, and biweekly visits to my acupuncturist.  My cycles were totally out of whack.  So, "trying" was just for fun, whenever the mood struck us.  One fateful day, my college girlfriends were on their way into town for a girls weekend.  "You better get it out of the way before we arrive!" they said.  And, so, we did.  9 months later, the love of my life (and her father's) arrived.

My pregnancy met minimal complications: an anterior placenta and mild pre-eclampsia which eventually led to an induction at 39 weeks.  She was perfect, though.  (She did spend 2 weeks in the NICU, but that's a story for another time.)  4 weeks postpartum, we were finally having our newborn photos shot when I started hemorrhaging.  My husband called the ambulance, and I was rushed to the ER where they told me that my period had returned.  I tell you, no woman on earth has ever had a period like this.  The bleeding subsided, and I thought everything was ok.  A week later, more bleeding, worse this time.  Another ride in an ambulance to find out that I had a retained placenta that required an emergency D&amp;C and a blood transfusion.  Whoa.  The girl may have been perfect but she broke the mold on her way out.

When O was 7 months old, I stopped nursing and got my period back.  So, we decided to try for #2.  This time, I was busy caring for an infant and not enough for myself.  I remembered to take my metformin on occasion and certainly didn't have time for acupuncture.  Yet, after 7 months of trying, I found myself pregnant again.  Bittersweet, we learned of this the same weekend my husband lost his grandmother.

But, it wasn't meant to be.  I miscarried at 9 weeks and was once again scheduled for a D&amp;C.