A Promise Fulfilled

By C J Rock

Over thirty years ago, my pain and anguish at not being able to conceive a child led my husband and me down a path that included unsuccessful fertility treatments and obstacles in the quest to adopt a child. Through this series of trying events, my husband and I were eventually blessed when we became parents to Jade, a Korean girl. Our trials and tribulations had only begun, however, when we learned of Jade’s birth defect and set out to repair the problem and give her as normal of a life as we could. "A Promise Fulfilled" is the amazing recount of our family’s story.
In 1979, I met and married, Ted, my knight in shining armor. Six months later, I was hospitalized with severe abdominal distress. Through a laparoscopic abdominal procedure, the doctors uncovered my scarred cervix. There was the strong possibility I would never be able to conceive a child.

For six years, Ted and I went through hell as we desperately tried to have a child. We experimented with countless methods to conceive and I took heavy doses of fertility drugs. After suffering a tubal pregnancy that nearly killed me, I came to terms with the fact that I wasn’t able to conceive.

After attempting to adopt a premature baby boy and having him ripped from our arms when his birth mother decided to stop the adoption, my faith was put to the test. Once again, my hopes at motherhood were dashed. I was devastated beyond belief, and the event nearly destroyed me. Struggling with my faith, I wasn’t sure how I would live life without a child.

Through a miraculous turn of events, we learned of Helping Children of Various Nations (HCVN), an agency that dealt with foreign adoptions. They worked with Korea and India placing infants to adolescents in American homes. I was skeptical, but determined to overcome my fears. With trepidation, we began the foreign adoption procedure. After months of scrutiny and every aspect of our lives placed under a microscope, our adoption request was approved by the Korean agency. A beautiful, one-month old baby girl was ready for adoption.

Jade Sung was born on September 1st, 1987 in a province in Seoul Korea called Kyonggi-Do. The birth mother relinquished her at 18 days old. Our miracle baby was born with a malformed left ear that was completely closed. There was the possibility she could be deaf. However, that did not matter to us. She was the baby we prayed for. I gazed into my daughter’s eyes and made this promise to her: “My angel, I will find a way to get your ear fixed; this is my solemn vow to you.”

From the time I uttered these words, we set upon a quest to fulfill our promise to Jade so that she might have a more normal life. Over the years, we coped with Jade’s health problems, some of which caused her to suffer with Epileptic Febrile Seizures. There were obstacles and challenges, but as a family we found the faith and inner strength to cope with her non-American heritage, adoption, severe facial disfigurement and taunting from her peers.
"A Promise Fulfilled" will illustrate to readers that dreams can come true, but in the process, fulfillment often means making difficult decisions. With help from unexpected places, Jade’s dream becomes reality.

Readers will come along on that journey as an exhaustive search leads to many obstacles, with doors slammed in our faces time-after-time, until the Shriners Hospital in Galveston, Texas emerged as our beacon of hope. Thanks to the Shriners love, dedication and concern for the well-being of children, Jade, and our family, were given our dream.

A tale of inner strength, readers will be inspired by Jade’s courage, as well as our love and support as she endures the intense pain to endure multiple surgeries for reconstruction on her ear. Thanks to a team of dedicated experts, Jade, and we, are blessed with a life we could only dream about.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C J Rock
• Release date: Mar 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476089454

C J Rock

C.J Rock Writer-Public Speaker C.J. Rock began writing at the age of 15, starting out with journaling and progressing to novellas and poetry. In more recent times, she has written (unsolicited) poetry to Hillary Rodham Clinton and the Kennedy family. Letters of appreciation arrived from Hillary Rodham Clinton and Ted Kennedy. C.J. Rock wrote two articles for the “About Las Vegas Nevada” website which was hosted by Barb Donohue at Webseed Publishing in 2001. In addition, C.J. Rock has written three books: "A Promise Fulfilled," is a story about her adopted daughter from Korea who was born without a left ear, and her struggle for normalcy. "Doctors Don’t Always Bury Their Mistakes," a story of the fight to resume a normal life against overwhelming odds. "Shaken To The Core," her recently published book for the prevention of child abuse. Currently she is working on "Animal Tails," an anthology of poetry about animals. C.J Rock’s goal is to be a modern-day storyteller who relates non-fiction incidents that may help others overcome adversity and achieve their goals. She also loves weaving stories within poetry to entertain both children and adults. She is a charter member of the Enid Professional Writers Organization and has graduated from the Scribe & Quill’s freelancing writing course. Guest Lecturer- Northern Oklahoma University Enid, Oklahoma, Oklahoma State University, Kerr Drummond Hall Stillwater, Oklahoma Centennial Celebration Enid Public Library of Garfield County, Brace Books Ponca City, Davinci’s Coffeehouse, Enid Metro Association of Realtors Inc, Beta Phi Zeta Langston Alumni, Guthrie Oklahoma, Northwestern Oklahoma State University Enid, Oklahoma Book Signings Hastings Books, Enid Public Library, Full Circle Bookstore, Oklahoma City, Steve’s Sundry Books and Magazines, Tulsa, Oklahoma Brace Books Ponca City, OSU, Stillwater, OSU Student Union Bookstore Radio Interviews-Rob Houston at KNID Radio, Alan Clepper and J. Curtis Huckleberry, KOFM Radio, Randy Renner at KOKC Radio, & Bev Walton Porter. Newspaper Interviews-Ruth Ann Replogle, Lifestyles Editor, Enid News & Eagle, Judy Randle World Book Editor, Tulsa World, Sally Hodges, Ponca City News, Eli Nichols The Daily O’ Collegian Assistant Managing Editor. Honored For Women’s History- March 13, 2008- Northwestern Oklahoma State University Panel/Presentation, March 25, OSU Student Union (Her Story) Shaken to the Core displayed at Chapters Bookstore OSU Student Union She has been happily married to her soul mate for 33 years. They have one daughter who is 25. CJ Rock is an Oklahoma Author. She grew up in Chicago, Illinois and has lived in different cities across the U.S. These experiences have expanded her knowledge of people and places.

Book preview

Chapter 21

FAMILY VACATION

Chapter 22

ON TRACK BUT MILES TO GO

1

TICKTOCK GOES MY BIOLOGICAL CLOCK

Our long journey, and labor of love, began twenty years ago when my husband, Ted, and I adopted a little girl from Korea. The day the social worker told us they had a child for us was the happiest day of our life together. Finally, after six years of trying to have a baby, we were elated to have our long-awaited dream of being parents come true.

Our story actually began in 1977. I met Ted on a blind date in a bar in Chicago, Illinois. Ted had relocated from Cleveland, Ohio, to work as a manager for a freight trucking company. I was a respiratory therapy student, living in a nursing dorm at the Illinois Masonic Hospital. Lottie, a coworker of Ted’s and a beauty parlor friend of my mother’s, raved about Ted’s upstanding moral character. These two women were bound and determined to play matchmaker. Initially, I was apprehensive about another blind date; my mother’s well-meaning but feeble attempts in the past had been horrible at best. After a lengthy telephone conversation with Ted, my apprehensions subsided. Ironically enough, his apartment was just one block away from where I resided.

It was almost spiritual; on our first meeting, hearing a bell chiming inside my head, I felt I had met my soul mate. He was handsome, charming, witty, intellectual, and intuitive. His warm, captivating brown eyes were like a window into his soul. The man had sex appeal. He was physically fit, broad-shouldered with a muscular physique. Ted’s wavy grayish-brown hair lent his face a distinguished look. His wonderful spirit, smile, and laugh lit up the room.

Ted was my knight in shining armor, always coming to the rescue. As a struggling student, I was constantly famished. He would pick me up and take me out for cheesecake or any other gastronomical treat my heart desired. I was wined and dined at some of the finest restaurants. If I had car troubles, one phone call and Ted would come rushing to the rescue. This dear man quickly became my best friend and confidant.

It was most certainly comical to see Ted and me together, as we were a true Mutt and Jeff. My height barely reached five feet, and I weighed 108 pounds soaking wet, while he was six feet tall and 185 pounds. Even with the differences between us, there were obvious sparks. The guy was impressed with my ample bosom, blazing dark eyes, and high cheekbones, which he affectionately called chipmunk cheeks. As we walked hand in hand down the street, people would stop to stare at such a mismatched couple. Personality-wise, we were a yin and yang. While I tended to be outgoing, chatty, and enjoy dealing with people, Ted, on the other hand, was quite stoic. Often a conversation with my significant other was like pulling teeth.

One time, he was sitting on the couch with my beloved grandfather, watching a baseball game. Grandpa Sam was trying so hard to involve Ted in a conversation, asking him every kind of question imaginable. While Ted was polite, his one-syllable answers soon made it obvious that this was one meeting of the minds that wasn’t going to get far. My grandfather commented during his next visit, Your fellow never talks much. When I shared this with Ted, he shrugged and politely said, The Cubs were playing the Reds, and you know who my first love is. Besides, is your grandfather a baseball fan? I just shook my head, mumbling Oh, Ted.

I’d always been high-spirited and passionate about life. Disillusionment was not a word in my vocabulary. Whenever Ted or any of my friends were down in the dumps I had a knack for saying the right thing to buoy their spirits—smiling, laughing, and putting people at ease were my strongest attributes. My sense of humor allowed me to take difficult situations and make light of them.

I knew deep down inside that this was the man I would walk down the aisle of life with. On March 24, 1979, we took our wedding vows, promising to forever love, honor, and respect each other. We didn’t know at that beautiful moment how much our vows would be tested.

Six months after happily strolling down the aisle, I was admitted to the hospital with excruciating pelvic pain. Our life took an unexpected turn. Imagine, barely through our honeymoon period, and I’m rushed to the hospital in severe abdominal distress. Ted grabbed my hand and slowly walked me through the emergency room entrance. I could hardly walk, let alone speak. Wobbling and hunched over, I painfully made my way toward admissions to sign in. Suddenly, my face flushed and I felt light-headed. My concerned husband immediately requested a wheelchair. Rushes of adrenaline coursed throughout my body. My vivid, overactive imagination kicked in, wreaking havoc with my nerves. I kept visualizing the worst-case scenario. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my name was called.

I lay on the gurney, sweat pouring down my brow. A nurse monitored my temperature and rising blood pressure. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see how terrified I was. The drab, yellow-tiled institutional walls began closing in around me. Ted’s failed attempts to make me laugh were sweet, but at the time, my sense of humor was lost. What a dreadful day it was. One moment I was in the comfort of my own home, and the next, my body was being poked and prodded at Weiss Memorial Hospital.

A compassionate physician authorized my admittance for further testing. An injection of Demerol was administered, and this blissfully took the edge off my pelvic discomfort. Daily blood samples were drawn for analysis. I referred to the lab technicians as vampires. Over the next few days the doctors ran a battery of tests. I’m not sure what was worse—the preparation for the testing or the tests themselves. As the days progressed, my frustration increased along with my pain. When the pain shots wore off, the excruciating, throbbing pelvic twinges increased. The pain was like a red-hot branding iron burning into my lower right side. It was agonizing and became unbearable to withstand.

Upper and lower gastrointestinal tests were completed to check for gallbladder disease and an obstruction of the large and small intestine. Furthermore, a diagnostic proctoscope for visual examination of my rectum and a vaginal ultrasound were performed. These tests were inconclusive.

My abdominal pain appeared to be a medical anomaly. The doctor felt it was time for an exploratory laparoscopic procedure to look into my abdomen. There was a distinct possibility I was suffering from endometriosis, a condition in which tissue like the inner lining of the uterus is found growing in other areas in the pelvis. Sometimes the tissue is seen on the surface of the fallopian tubes, ovaries, bowel, or other parts of the body in the lower abdomen. The tissue bleeds at the end of each menstrual cycle, just as if it were in the uterus. Since the fluid cannot be flushed freely out of the body, it can build up inside, causing nearby tissues to become red, swollen, and painful.

I was in utter panic thinking of undergoing surgery, yet desperate for relief. As I signed my name to the consent form, my hand shook. Ted kept me company during the evening, and we played cards to pass the time. Finally I fell fast asleep. Before I turned around it was six a.m., and my exhausted body was being moved onto the gurney. We proceeded toward the elevator, and I was relieved that Ted rode down with me. I gripped his hand tightly, not wanting to let him go. I had a premonition this was the last time to gaze into my husband’s eyes. Ted kissed me goodbye, and I was wheeled into the operating room to be prepped for surgery.

After I was anesthetized, my body was tilted slightly with my feet raised higher than my head. This allowed some of my abdominal organs to shift upward toward my chest and out of the way. As the gas entered my abdomen, it created a space inside by pushing the abdominal wall and the bowel away from the organs in the pelvic area. This made it easier for the surgeon to study my reproductive organs with the slender, telescope-like instrument called a laparoscope. It was inserted through a small incision just below my navel for exploration of the abdominal cavity.

The doctor discovered only a scarred cervix, telling me, At some time in your life, there were undetected and untreated pelvic infections which may have caused this scarring and pelvic pain. It would be advisable to attempt the conception of a baby immediately, as there is a strong possibility you might have an infertility problem. The cervical scarring could make it more difficult for you and Ted to conceive a child the longer it is delayed.

I was in a state of shock, sickened by his words. It was inconceivable to think we may never have children. The timing was off—as newlyweds, we needed to grow together before beginning a family, and although Ted and I respected the medical opinion, we opted to temporarily postpone parenthood. But a lingering thought haunted me. I heard a recurring voice in my mind ring out loud and clear. What if I can never conceive a child? It was unbearable to even consider the possibility. I went into denial, refusing to believe this was my fate.

Ted and I put all of our energy into work. We became two workaholics, concentrating only on our careers. Our busy schedules forced us to become two passing ships in the night. I worked days at the hospital, while Ted worked evenings. We were both going a hundred miles an hour, never stopping to smell the roses.

In 1980, Ted was offered a well-paid position with a family-owned and operated camera company in Denver, Colorado. There was no doubt that I would find work at a new hospital, and the offer was too good to pass up. Home is where the heart is, and my place was with my husband. I hoped and prayed the move would be positive and enable us to spend more quality time together.

Our transition to Denver came off without a hitch. Ted’s career was going strong, and I found a good job as a respiratory therapist at a local hospital. We enjoyed the fruits of our labors and purchased our first home. One of the perks of Ted’s job was the sales contests he won. We reaped the benefits, globetrotting to exciting, romantic destinations. We visited England, Paris, Greece, and the Virgin Islands.

Life was grand! We were settled and ready to begin parenthood. Ted and I made a great team, and we definitely had an abundance of love to shower on a child. Ours was a stable, loving environment with a husband and wife who adored and respected each other deeply. We had a strong belief in God and good family values. But parenthood was not ready for us.

For the next year we tried to conceive, but when natural conception was unsuccessful, we opted for medical intervention. The doctor’s admonishment after my surgery in 1979 echoed in my mind. But in 1983 we forged ahead into what became our journey of hell.

During this time we experimented with countless distinctive methods to conceive. For six months my fertility specialist had me chart my basal body temperature (BBT). The doctor needed to know the correct days of my cycle. The first day of bleeding of my menstrual cycle was called Day One. I used a basal body thermometer, specially calibrated to the tenth of a degree. Basal body temperatures fluctuate according to a regular pattern during the normal menstrual cycle as different events occur. When a women’s ovary is preparing an egg to be released (ovulation), the hormone estrogen is produced and BBT is usually low, around 97 degrees Fahrenheit for most women, and 97.8 degrees a day or two before ovulation. Progesterone is responsible for the rise in basal body temperature during the luteal phase of the menstrual cycle. The luteal phase spans the time between ovulation and the onset of the next menses.

I took my temperature on first waking, before getting out of bed or drinking any liquid. My temperatures did not stay reliably elevated for twelve days. Additionally, my next cycle continually began sooner than the normal twelve to fourteen days after ovulation. A serum progesterone test was performed about seven days past ovulation. It showed levels lower than fourteen nanograms per millileter. This indicated an insufficient production of progesterone. After ovulation my hormones did not produce in proper synchrony or in sufficient quantity. My uterine lining failed to be in the right phase at the right time. Embryo implantation is highly dependent on the state of the lining.

There were a few months where I had no rise in temperature; the readings remained within half a degree, regardless of the number of days after menstruation, meaning I didn’t ovulate during this particular cycle. Eventually I was diagnosed with a luteal-phase defect. The doctor added progesterone by vaginal suppository. This would hopefully cause the uterine lining to thicken, thereby improving the odds of nourishing a fertilized egg in the second half (luteal phase) of my cycle. It was messy, and I needed to wear a sanitary napkin both day and night for the entire time I took the drug. I noted all the days of my cycle, all signs of cervical mucus, and whether the mucus was clear, stretchy, or copious.

For most women, there is little mucus present right after menstruation, or the mucus appears white, thick, and dry feeling. Toward mid-cycle (toward the normal time for ovulation), the mucus changes, becoming more abundant, a colorless fluid with a consistency of a raw egg. This is the optimum medium for sperm to swim through.

Ted’s semen was taken to the lab for analysis. His sperm count was low, but since sperm production could vary from day to day it was too soon to panic. Over the next few months, Ted would donate a seemingly endless number of semen specimens to definitively confirm a low sperm count. In the meantime, the doctor told him to stay out of any hot tubs and switch his underwear to boxer shorts made only of natural fibers. (Cotton would help keep his genitals cool and free from microorganisms that breed in hot, moist places and could cause infection.)

When ovulation time approached, we made love every day during this fertile time of the month. I was told to lie on my back after making love with my hips slightly elevated on pillows for about a half hour. This would tilt my vaginal cavity so the ejaculate would be forced by gravity to flow toward my cervix. Once I actually stood on my head, thinking the sperm would swim faster and stay in my cervix longer. I feared I was giving my husband performance anxiety. Nothing else mattered, and there was no spontaneity anymore. An act of love between a man and a woman that is supposed to be a beautiful experience became depressing and sorrowful. There was no love in making love. The whole kit and caboodle became so clinical—almost as clinical as the fertility procedures themselves.

Infertility is big business and a costly venture. Some infertile couples easily end up spending $10,000 per month on very high-tech treatments such as in vitro fertilization (IVF) or gamete intrafallopian transfer (GIFT). Adding insult to injury, our insurance company refused to cover the expenses for the fertility testing, citing that these procedures were experimental. Ted and I were stuck with mounting medical bills. But this was an investment in our future, and where there was a will, I felt sure we would find the way to pay these bills. My determination, and selfishness, to reach my ultimate goal of pregnancy forced us to dwindle our hard-earned savings.

For the next two years, I was on a strong regimen of fertility drugs, including Clomid—a medication used to hyper-stimulate the ovaries to induce ovulation. Hopefully, this would ensure that the follicles would release my eggs and in turn make conception possible. Many infertile women treated with Clomid become pregnant. Six percent of Clomid-aided pregnancies result in multiple births (a litter, as Ted would call it). I took two pills of fifty milligrams each once a day, starting on Day Five of my menstrual cycle and continuing through Day Nine.

Between the nausea, bloating, breast tenderness, occasional light-headedness, diarrhea, depression, insomnia, and constant irritability, I was coming dangerously close to a meltdown with my overloaded circuits. I was overeating out of stress and gained well over thirty pounds within six months. I felt as big as a whale. What a quirk of fate: I gained weight from the medication, but still no pregnancy. People I had not seen in a while would comment, Oh, C.J., you’re finally pregnant, and I would mutter, No, afraid not. A little piece of me died every time I heard this.

I was an emotional wreck, weeping constantly and consumed only with conception. Nothing would deter me from my mission! The doctor suggested a new procedure, and I gladly allowed him to render me the guinea pig. Three to four hours after intercourse, I rushed to the doctor for him to examine a small amount of my cervical mucus under the microscope. The test was performed to determine if the Clomid had adversely affected the quality of my cervical mucus, or if my mucus contained anti-sperm antibodies. The test appeared normal; my cervical mucus was a hospitable environment for Ted’s sperm.

The doctor sat down with the two of us to discuss our next step. He felt the time had arrived for another laparoscopic procedure. Ted and I were totally committed to getting pregnant and consented to the surgery. Nothing was more important in my mind than attaining conception. I hated going under the knife again, but I knew there was no other option if I was to find the answer to my unexplained infertility. One thing the doctor