I’m a writer from a small town in Oklahoma who studied physics and political science at Stanford and traveled the world in my twenties (mostly the Middle East). My first book was published shortly before our wedding. I’m working on a novel now.
My husband is a Turkish guy (tall, dark, handsome, etc) whom I met while playing with a pick-up soccer group in New York City. He’s one of the calmest and kindest people I know, has a beautiful smile, and he’s amazing with kids. Our eleven collective nieces and nephews are crazy about him. He studied finance at a top university in Turkey, worked on Wall Street for a while (wasn’t a fan), and now he does freelance web development. We both still play soccer when we can.
We married when he was 30 and I was 33, and we fully expecting to have our first kid within the year.
Alas, shortly after the wedding, I was diagnosed with stage III endometriosis. The next two years involved many months of ‘trying naturally,’ two surgeries, one IUI (high-tech turkey baster), the dreaded transition to “Advanced Maternal Age” (i.e., the tender age of 35), three rounds of IVF and Istanbul that resulted in one heartbreaking miscarriage at 6 weeks in the fall of 2015, and a failed FET in the summer of 2016.
Now I’m 36 and my husband is 33 and we’re still stuck at square one.
At least we have a cat now, though. A stray grey tabby with four little white feet. He’s licking donut sugar off my husband’s plate right now, even though he knows he’s not supposed to be on the table. Hey, we all need a donut sometimes.
Here’s a longer version of Our Story. Here’s hoping the ending is better than the looooooong middle.