Because no two paths to parenthood look the same, “How I Got This Baby” is a series that invites parents to share their stories.
Ever since Angela began working in child care — first as a day-care teacher, and later as a nanny — people told her that she would be a great mother. And she agreed with them: For as long as she could remember, she had wanted two or three kids. So when she married Brad, she told him she wanted to start trying for a baby right away. The couple, who lived in Chicago, were both conservative Christians. Angela’s periods had always been irregular, so she was convinced it would take them a long time to conceive.
But around the same time, Angela also decided that she could no longer live with the back pain she’d been dealing with for the last six months, ever since she’d bent over to pick up one of her babysitting charges and felt something pop. She made an appointment with a surgeon who ordered an MRI and then recommended surgery to remove a herniated disc.
A week before the surgery date, Angela went to the hospital for a number of clearance tests — blood work, an EKG to look at her heart, and a pregnancy test. As much as she wanted a baby, she was relieved to learn she wasn’t pregnant. More than anything, she wanted to be out of pain.
On the day of the surgery, Angela checked in and a nurse asked her for the date of her last period. Angela explained that it had been a while, but that her period was always irregular — there was no telling when it would come or if it would come at all. The medical team insisted on doing another pregnancy test just to be safe. She peed in a cup and two hours passed with no updates.
“I was waiting and waiting. Nobody was really saying anything, so I assumed there must’ve been an emergency with another patient,” she says. Finally the nurse returned: The team had run three pregnancy tests and they had all come back positive.
“I had the surgical cap and the hospital gown on,” Angela recalls. “I had the IV in my arm and the anesthesiologist had just been in the room to discuss the drugs they were going to use to put me under.” Moments later, the neurosurgeon came by to tell her that the surgery would have to be canceled. Angela’s mind was whirring. She didn’t know how she could survive pregnancy in so much pain.
“Pregnancy is already hard on a healthy body, but I had this herniated disc, so it was going to be even harder. I realized I couldn’t take any of the meds I was on for pain, chronic heartburn, migraines, and depression,” she says.
After the anesthesiologist left, Angela turned to Brad, who seemed shell-shocked. He worked at a nonprofit on a small salary and they lived in a tiny apartment. “I wasn’t working at the time because of my back and I could see his wheels turning, like, what does this mean for us? We don’t have enough room for a baby in our apartment and we don’t have the money to move. We don’t have the money for a baby,” she says.
Once the couple gathered themselves, they met Angela’s parents — who had traveled two hours to be there for the surgery — in the hospital waiting room. They were shocked to see her walking out to the waiting room in her normal clothes. Angela threw both hands out and said, “I’m pregnant!” Her mom started sobbing and her dad embraced her in a hug. “That was a special moment because all through growing up, I was like, ‘I am not having girls. I want boys. I want to be a boy mom,’” she says. “And my dad wrapped me in his arms and said in my ears, ‘You know it’s a girl, right?’”
The couple called Brad’s parents on the way home and asked if they could meet for lunch. His parents were confused because they thought Angela had just had surgery. Minutes later, they broke the good news to them at a Thai restaurant. “My mother-in-law got so excited because it was her first grandbaby and she was like, ‘I’m going to sew the baby so many clothes!’” Angela says.
When the couple finally got home, Angela called her OB/GYN to schedule an appointment. She wasn’t sure how far along she was, but for about a week leading up to the surgery, her breasts felt so sore that she wore two sports bras to bed. She also noticed her sense of smell had grown more sensitive. “Anytime I walked outside, I could smell all of the dog poop in the backyard,” she says.
Angela recounts what happens next.
On seeking early pregnancy care
Because my period was irregular and I had no idea when I got pregnant, my doctor told me to come in for an ultrasound and blood work. All of the lab work came back fine. But on the ultrasound, there was no sign of pregnancy and they told me that was probably because it was too early. They suggested I get a high-resolution ultrasound. The first available appointment was a week later.
Waiting for it, I felt a lot of anguish and fear that I wouldn’t really be pregnant, but I also had a lot of hope. My husband was talking to my belly. I went out and bought a set of onesies. I wasn’t working due to my pain levels and mobility, so I had every day to sit and ponder.
But as soon as I lay down for the ultrasound and the image appeared on the screen, I knew something was wrong. It looked like there was a ring of fire in my abdomen and when I asked the tech what it was, she said it was increased blood flow. It honestly looked like the sun when it’s setting and it turns that very bright, hot orange red. The tech couldn’t say anything else, but I knew the baby wasn’t where it was supposed to be. She left to get the doctor and then he came in to break the news to us. He said I had an ectopic pregnancy — when the fetus develops outside the uterus — and that it needed to be resolved as soon as possible because of its size.
Then they gave me and my husband some time alone in the room. We were a hot mess and they brought us tissues. After a little while, I pulled myself together enough to call my OB/GYN. She told us we needed to get to the ER right away.
On having a medically necessary abortion
Once we got to the hospital, we had to wait about eight hours to have the procedure. I was really pissed that they kept referring to the pregnancy as a mass. I was like No, you don’t understand. I know this is not a viable pregnancy and there’s no living being in there, but that is the hope of my first child right there. I asked them to please call it a baby.
While we were waiting, we began calling family and emailing friends. There were a lot of people grieving with us. One of my very conservative friends urged me to ask the doctors for a pregnancy transplant where they would take the mass of cells and transplant them into my uterus. I had to tell him that’s not a thing.
Finally it was time to get these two shots of methotrexate — one in each butt cheek. The medication is commonly used to treat ectopic pregnancy; it stops the cells from growing. As the nurses were discharging me from the ER, they went over some of the side effects and mentioned that there was a one percent chance that it wouldn’t work. They told me I’d know that was happening if I experienced dizziness and pain in my lower abdomen.
On recovering from the abortion at home
For the first few days, I didn’t have any side effects from the medicine — no spotting, no bleeding. I still felt very much pregnant. I had to go back to the doctor’s office every other day for them to check my human chorionic gonadotropin levels, which is the pregnancy hormone. The numbers were decreasing, but not as fast as the doctors were hoping. Still, they seemed fine with the progress — even though it was slow — so I wasn’t super worried.
But about six days after the methotrexate shots, I felt a painful pop like a gas bubble. We’d had hamburgers and popcorn for dinner, so I thought it was just gas. I was popping Gas-X and Tums.
I told my husband I wasn’t feeling good and I was a little nervous. He laid his head on my stomach and kept saying, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” I decided to go to the bathroom to see if that helped. I sat down on the toilet and immediately passed out.
Somehow I didn’t hurt myself. I came to a few moments later and told my husband we needed to go to the hospital. He was running around grabbing chargers, deodorant, and toothpaste because we weren’t sure how long we were going to be there.
On going to the hospital
By the time we got to the hospital I was doubled over in excruciating pain. I was dizzy. I was pale. I was sweating through my clothes.
The person at the front desk asked, “What can I help you with?” And that’s when I realized I was having a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. I don’t remember much after that other than going into the ER examination room, pulling off my clothes and being shocked at how wet they were, and also the utter pain relief from the morphine they gave me. Then they rushed me in for emergency surgery.
Afterward, I learned that I had been bleeding profusely and had been minutes from death. My fallopian tube was like a fire hose. The surgeon had to hold it while they got another surgeon in to help because it was bleeding that much. I lost my left fallopian tube during the operation.
If they catch a ruptured ectopic pregnancy early enough, it can be a laparoscopic procedure, but mine warranted basically a C-section. The only difference was that they didn’t have to cut into the uterus.
On her tumultuous health journey after surgery
I spent four days in the hospital and then it was about six to eight weeks of recovery at home. It was pretty rough. My post-surgical pathology report said that I’d been nine weeks pregnant. The pregnancy ruptured because I had been too far along for the methotrexate to work.
But on a positive note, once I hit the eight-week mark and my incision healed, my doctor said I could get back surgery. I finally had back surgery in October 2014 and that was incredible. I felt like I got my life back — well, to some degree.
Pretty soon after the ectopic pregnancy, I started having gastrointestinal problems. I was really sick and going to the bathroom like 20 times a day. There was so much blood and mucus. I was having accidents. I saw a gastroenterologist who kept scheduling me for colonoscopies and then canceling them because he was out of the office. Eventually I found another doctor who got the colonoscopy done and diagnosed me with ulcerative colitis, a form of chronic inflammatory bowel disease that results in severe irritation and inflammation in the lining of the large intestine. I was allergic to the first medication he put me on, and then he put me on a really high dose of steroids and left me on it for nine months. When I’d call his office begging for other treatment options, I would never hear back.
On investigating whether she could still conceive a baby
Despite all of my health problems, I still really wanted to be a mom. So I went to my OB/GYN, who ordered fertility testing.The testing included an ultrasound on my uterus and a hysterosalpingogram, which is basically an X-ray that’s done with a special dye to test for blockages on my remaining fallopian tube. That was a super traumatic test because it was so painful. If I had known how painful it was going to be, I would have had my husband come with me. It was excruciating — very similar to when my other fallopian tube ruptured. That test was probably my first instance of medical PTSD.
The next day, I received the test results. It showed that my other tube was completely blocked and I had no chance of conceiving naturally. I was utterly devastated.
I really started struggling with depression. I’ve been on medication for depression since I was 18 and it had always been well-controlled, but the ectopic pregnancy and the infertility changed that. The grief just tore me apart. There was just so much anger at God for ripping that lifelong dream away from me and I was kind of spiraling. And I was so angry at other people for getting what I had longed for, especially the people who didn’t even want kids.
Around this time, my husband and I also started feeling alienated from our church family. Conservative Christians don’t really know what to do with grief, anger, and depression because you’re supposed to be happy and just pray about it. I spent so much time yelling, screaming, and praying to God.
On considering IVF
My husband and I talked about IVF. We really dived into the ethics behind IVF and we were on the fence about it in regards to the embryos. There was something about creating life, but knowing you may not bring all of those lives to fulfillment. It felt like we were playing God. Also, my body was already in the depths of chronic illnesses, and I’d heard how hard IVF drugs can be on the body.
There were also so many ridiculous roadblocks with insurance and doctor referrals. It got to a point where I was like, I can’t do this anymore. We weren’t even doing IVF yet and it was too much for me. You know when a fly gets trapped in your house and it keeps banging itself against the window? That’s what I felt like. I was trying to get through the window, but it was just not progressing.
I felt so depressed, because once we decided against IVF, it really hit me that I’d never have my own babies. I had dreamed of holding a baby with my husband’s blue eyes since I first started dating him. Realizing I would never have that was heartbreaking.
On starting to think about adoption
In the conservative Christian world, which we were then part of, adoption is looked upon highly because when you become a Christian, you’re adopted by God. So, adoption is considered something we should live out in real life. Christians love to adopt because God adopted us and it’s our gift to other people.
When I was growing up, my mom worked in child welfare and seeing her work had made me want to adopt. But I didn’t want to be a foster parent — I felt that would be way too hard for me.
On exploring the idea of adoption
Once we told people we were thinking about adoption, we had the full support of our church community and my side of the family. People were so excited and eager to help that we started a GoFundMe. For every $10 donation, we said we’d write the person’s name on the back of this children’s puzzle and when it was completed, we’d hang it in the baby’s nursery.
We didn’t face any roadblocks, per se, but my husband and I couldn’t seem to summon the motivation to get the paperwork done and schedule the home visit. Eventually we filled out the paperwork, but didn’t send it in. There was no sense of urgency. And I felt icky — like I was asking people for money so I could buy a baby.
We decided we wanted to adopt transracially because — and this sounds awful — we were told adopting transracially was cheaper and easier to do because there were so many babies. We were open to whoever wanted to match with us and we were told over and over to expect it to be a Black baby because there was an abundance of them. So I was like all right, let’s do it.
At some point, somebody told me about a Facebook group for people interested in transracial adoption. I joined it and my world was shook. There was so much I didn’t know and so many ethical factors I’d never considered. In the Facebook group, people talked a lot about the welfare of the birth families and how birth mothers are not treated with respect, care, kindness, or love. I decided if we were going to adopt, it was going to be an open adoption. I wanted our theoretical baby to have a big, welcoming family. I didn’t want to exclude the baby from this other side of their family.
We met with a couple of different Christian adoption agencies and none of them took the welfare of the birth mother into account; I find Evangelical Christians to be very much pro-baby and not very pro-mom. We asked all of the agencies about their plan of care for the birth parents during and after the adoption, but they didn’t have one. The more we learned, the more uneasy I got because it felt like a for-profit business.
On changing her mind about foster parenting
We were sitting at the dinner table at my parents’ house and I was talking to my mom about how long it was taking us to get the adoption started. I was complaining, but looking back, we hadn’t really taken any of the necessary steps to get things moving. We had this pile of paper sitting in our living room.
My mom asked why we hadn’t considered foster care. And I sat there and thought about it and eventually did get to the point where I thought, Why aren’t we doing foster care?
I had feared getting attached to a child and then losing them, but now I had a new mindset. We wanted to have a child in our home, and we wanted to be able to care for that child holistically, which meant caring for the child’s birth family, too.
I realized that what I wanted fit into the foster care model more than it did the adoption model. I looked at my mom and said, “You know, I don’t know why we haven’t considered foster care.” And I sat on that for a day or two because my husband is generally a very go-with-the-flow kind of person, but I didn’t know if he could be swayed from the adoption idea.
We were laying in bed one night just about to sleep and I said, “I think all the reasons why we want to adopt are actually reasons why we need to do foster care,” and he said, “Okay.” And that was it.
On starting the foster-care process
The process took some time because we had to move. We lived in a two-bedroom apartment in a third-floor walkup and the building was very old and not well kept. One of the ceiling fans had fallen out. The windows were falling out of the pane. It was not a good place to raise a family. We started looking into buying a small condo, but that didn’t pan out. Then, the day we learned the condo sale wasn’t going through, we found a listing on Craigslist for a beautiful apartment. We went to go see it and I was like, This is our home. We signed the least then and there. After we moved in and got settled, we met with an agency to start the licensing process. When you do foster care, the agency conducts a home study that includes an in-depth interview about your childhood and your ideals about parenting. They also make sure you have a space set up for the age range you’ve noted you can take on. We were open to any child between 0 and 4 years old, so we’d bought a crib and age-appropriate toys. When we dissolved our plans to adopt, we asked the people who had given us money through the GoFundMe if they wanted it back. Everyone said to keep it and use it to provide for the foster babies we’d have.
We got licensed in November 2017, but it took a long time to get a placement. At one point we thought we would be getting a baby — a little boy — but the placement fell through.
On becoming foster parents to a son
I was in the hospital days before our first son, Kendrick, came to us because of my ulcerative colitis. I was distraught, worried that our agency wouldn’t place a baby with us if they found out I’d been sick.
But when we got the call, I was at home and getting ready to jump in the shower. The agency said they had a 3-month-old little baby boy who needed a home and I was like “Yeah! Bring him over!” That afternoon, baby Kendrick showed up on our doorstep with a whole team of people — the caseworker who went and retrieved him, our case supervisor and somebody else. We signed a bunch of paperwork. That’s when we learned that everyone there knew next to nothing about this little baby. So there was definitely a learning curve.
Kendrick didn’t have any clothes or diapers that fit him. So after everyone left, we loaded our little family into the car for the first time and went to Target. I was like, Oh my gosh, I’m shopping for diapers and formula. We spent a couple of hundred bucks. Then once word got out to our family and friends, people set up a meal train and were donating toys and clothes.
As young as he was, it was apparent that Kendrick had been through a lot of trauma. He was not at all like any of the little kids I’d taken care of as a nanny. He was not cuddly. When he would play, he preferred being on the play mat by himself rather than having me with him. During midnight feedings, he wouldn’t cuddle in my arms. The more we learned about his story, the more it all made sense. But he was just perfect. He just kind of fit seamlessly right in.
On fostering a second child
About ten months later, we got a call that a baby had just been born and would be in the NICU for a while. But she wanted to know if he would be interested in taking him after that.
She told me his name and it immediately sounded familiar. It was very similar to the other baby we had almost fostered about a year before Kendrick came.
When my husband got home, I was like, “Hey, you know how when we started foster care we said we’d take in as many kids as we possibly can and give them a safe home for as long as they need it?” I told him there was a new baby boy named Brandon who needed a home and that the birth parents’ parental rights would be terminated immediately. We would be starting the adoption process right away. And Brad was like, “Okay.”
We told the agency we needed 24 hours to decide and 24 hours later on the dot they called back. I asked if they could tell me if Brandon was the brother of the other child we had learned about before we took in Kendrick. And they were like, “Yes, how did you know?” I got chills. I had spent months praying for this other child. I felt that we had to say yes to this baby, because his story was already so finely woven into our own story.
Once we said yes, it took a couple of days to get clearance for us to go visit him in the hospital. We found babysitters for Kendrick so I could go visit Brandon in the NICU every couple of days.
He finally got discharged the day after Christmas and it was the wildest experience. I walked into the hospital, got him dressed in a little reindeer fleece onesie, and the nurses packed up a whole bunch of supplies, like the swaddle sack they were using for him and a little crocheted hat that the volunteers had made for NICU babies. I vividly remember driving home on Lake Shore Drive thinking, I have another woman’s baby in my car right now. Like, this is really weird to me.
But we came home and our boys met for the first time. Kendrick was only 11 months at the time, so Brandon was like a cool new toy to him. Brandon was also thoroughly sniffed and licked by our two elderly Spaniel mixes.
On life with two babies
Having two boys both under age 2 was a wild time. I don’t regret the decision at all, but logically it was not the right decision to make. I would not go back and do it all over again, but I can look back on it with fondness and laugh sometimes. I enrolled both of the boys in early intervention because I was starting to have concerns about milestones that Kendrick was missing. Pretty quickly, life got packed with so many therapies. But we made it work and slid into a routine. We ended up adopting Brandon the day before the courts shut down for COVID in March 2020.
On her boys’ connections to their extended family
We still believe in the connection of the birth family and we want to do our best to maintain those connections while also keeping our family safe. It’s such a tricky balance. Both of our boys come from pretty significant trauma and we’re dealing with the effects of that. Brandon’s older siblings have all been adopted and we get together with those families every couple of months. Kendrick is also in touch with one of his older brothers.
When we set out to become foster parents, we weren’t set on fostering kids we would adopt. We just wanted to give these kids a home until they could go back to their families. But it just so happens that both of our boys will not be returning to their birth families. Nothing is certain in foster care, but we’ve been reassured by many people that our oldest will not be returning and will be staying with us.
On navigating transracial adoption
I have a small but mighty online group of transracial foster and adoptive mamas who help me navigate our life. Instagram and TikTok have honestly been magical spaces for me to learn and find support. There is so much information on both of those platforms that you can learn from with discernment. I have a few friends in this situation in real life, too. And my best friend, who doesn’t have kids, has also done a lot of work to learn about antiracism so she can support us and our boys. I’ve also read books on transracial adoption and Brad and I take continuing education courses to keep our foster care license active. Some of those classes have been about caring for transracial placements. I’m always looking for avenues to learn more though.
Our boys knew from very early on that they grew in another mommy’s belly and that their mommies had a different skin color and hair than I do. We’ve explained melanin to them — it’s a pretty scientific concept, but they grasped it. The boys do not hesitate to tell people that they have different mommies — the mommy they grew in as babies and me.
My extended family is very conservative and very Republican and they are not exactly a safe space for my boys and my family to be around. You know, when you have Trump-loving, gun-toting people around little Black boys, it’s not a good mix. When the boys were younger, we went to a Fourth of July party with relatives and some of their friends. My older son was 2 years old and walked up to an unattended scooter and a white lady came up and said, “I don’t know whose kid this is, but he shouldn’t be touching this.” I said, “Ma’am, he’s 2!” But both grandmas are phenomenal, especially my mother-in-law. When we’re together, my mother-in-law is very capable and willing to take on the boys so Brad and I can get a break. My mom has mobility issues, so her interactions are very nurturing, but not as adventurous. Otherwise we’re pretty isolated from family. We don’t go to church anymore, so it’s just the four of us and our two dogs.
On her well-being and life today
Brad and I are both in therapy and we have tools to help us deal with how hard life is every day. I have medication that helps me do that, too. I’m the main caregiver and that’s really done a number on my nervous system. Our boys have a lot of outbursts and meltdowns. Three out of the four human beings here have various mental-health issues, so it’s a struggle every day.
I’m trying to care for these boys in a way that nurtures them and also breaks the cycle of parenting that we grew up with, which involved spanking and other harsh punishments. My parents’ way of parenting would not be effective for my boys. Not to mention spanking is prohibited in foster care. We are affectionate with the boys and with each other because we want them to have solid ideas of what a healthy relationship looks like. We also make a very conscious choice to apologize. We try our best to gentle parent, but it’s so hard. There are still a lot of big feelings and big behaviors. We are basically just crisis parenting, jumping from one fire to another.
Kendrick, who is 6, goes to a therapeutic school now and Brandon, who is 5, just started kindergarten at a public school. They are both in schools where they are not the minority and are surrounded by racial mirrors. We don’t want to move because we want to keep both boys connected to their roots and their families when it’s safe and appropriate. If we moved away, I fear those connections would be completely severed. We also can’t move out of the city while our oldest is still in foster care.
We try to get out and do something on the weekends. Like last weekend, we went to a little farm and hung out there for a couple of hours. The boys tend to manage that okay, but there’s always fallout afterward with exhaustion and overstimulation.
I no longer work outside of the home. Managing their school schedules, medication schedules, therapies, and doctors’ appointments is a full-time job. Thankfully we have a huge network of therapists, medical providers, teachers and an amazing babysitter. But there’s no way to sugarcoat it: We’re exhausted.
The names of the subjects have been changed to protect their identities.
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