How & Why I Chose To Be A Single Mother By Choice

By Kat CurtIn

Anyone who knows me knows that secrets are not my thing. In fact, I’m hard-pressed to think of anything in my life that not a single person knows. So it’s ironic that I’m starting my first article on the Fertility Tribe by divulging what is essentially my only real secret.

The secret is that for many years in my mid-twenties my birthday wish was “Please let me find the man I am going to marry” or “Please let this be the year I get married,” particularly during the years when I spent my birthdays blowing out candles across from men I was in love with and with whom I could see a future.

When someone would ask me what I’d wished for, I would always respond, “I can’t tell, or it won’t come true.” I’m not a superstitious person. The real reason I never shared this wish was that it felt so at odds with the very essence of myself. I am an extremely independent and goal-oriented person. I’m a planner by nature. When I want something, I don’t wish for it; I plan for it and make it happen. I live by this motto: “A goal without a plan is simply a wish.”

But when it came to dating, my approach was a bit different. Unlike my career and life goals, I wanted love to find me. I wanted it to develop naturally without the pressure of plans and expectations. I often felt weak wanting or needing a boyfriend assuming that if you built a full and exciting life you would naturally find your partner. There was only one problem with this approach and that was time -- or more specifically, my ‘biological clock’: each passing birthday put mounting pressure on finding a partner.

Here’s the thing: I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) during my senior year of college. I had a notably long number of months where I didn’t get my period. This wasn’t particularly unusual for me since my periods were consistently irregular. In fact, not having my period felt like one less thing to worry about. But as the missed periods added up to over six months, I began to realize something might be wrong.

Even so, I probably wouldn’t have done anything about it if it weren’t for a college roommate who filled me with fear from WebMD and insisted I go see a doctor. I was raised to believe that doctor visits were for truly urgent medical needs, and this didn’t seem that important. I had also never had a male OBGYN, and going to one for the first time felt a little scary. But through the power of peer pressure, I arrived at the doctor’s office that week. I explained my situation and the history of my irregular menstruation. The doctor told me he was going to do an ultrasound.

I frequently watched Baby Story at that time, so I imagined the kind of ultrasound I’d seen on the show--where they gel up your belly and roll the sensor over it. I was surprised, to say the least, when the doctor produced a large scope, covered it in a condom and lubricant and inserted it into my vagina. He pointed out my uterus on the monitor, telling me it looked good and then swung left and right and pointed out numerous cysts on the ovaries.

I had no idea what an ovary was supposed to look like on the ultrasound screen, so when I didn’t nod in agreement, he directed the pointer to the black parts of my ovaries and said “See how it appears like swiss cheese? Those black holes are the cysts.” That statement stayed with me for many years. In fact, it’s only in recent years that I can look at swiss cheese and not think of my ovaries.

Once I was dressed, I had a consultation with the doctor in his office and he told me that he was certain I had Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS), but that he would test my hormones in order to confirm the diagnosis. The doctor told me that PCOS likely was the cause of my absence of periods and the cysts on my ovaries. He asked me whether I was trying to get pregnant, and immediately I told him no since at that time I fully believed the common warnings given to young girls about sex and pregnancy: ‘It only takes one time to get pregnant’ and that an accidental pregnancy would derail my life goals. It never occurred to me that the fact that I wasn’t getting my period probably meant that I wasn’t ovulating or able to get pregnant, either.

The doctor said, “Great, we’ll put you on the birth control pill and you’ll be all set.” He explained he would follow up to confirm the diagnosis when my bloodwork was back. He told me to stay on the birth control until I was ready to think about having a baby and mentioned that other treatments might be needed at that point.

I left his office relieved to have dodged some of the more serious conditions I’d read about on the internet--cancer or mass infections that could require a hysterectomy. I was pleased that all I needed was birth control to manage the condition.

I always knew that I wanted to be a mother. So, even with the idea of having a baby being a plan for some time in the far future, I did feel a bit of concern about my “swiss cheese” ovaries and what they might mean for my future. But the doctor hadn’t seemed overly concerned, so I decided the whole issue was no big deal. I didn’t know at the time that this was the very beginning of what would later become an eight-year fertility journey, or that I would have far more doctor visits than I could ever imagine-- not to mention countless more internal ultrasounds.

After that initial doctor visit in college, I started researching and educating myself about PCOS. I learned that PCOS is one of the most common causes of infertility. PCOS is a hormonal disorder that, in my case, causes an excess of male hormone (androgen) levels, infrequent or absent menstrual periods, and ovaries that develop numerous small collections of fluid (follicles) and fail to regularly release eggs.

I was lucky to be diagnosed early, so by the time I was ready to start thinking about having children I had spent a significant amount of time researching and watching the struggles of other PCOS women via online forums. I knew what might lie ahead for me, and I accepted that the PCOS diagnosis was a reality that I could not change. Based on my age, however, the quality of my eggs remained within my control.

None of this stopped me from putting myself out there, dating, and having relationships. When I was 29, I had a particularly bad breakup. I was shaken that I had ended up in such a mess of a relationship, and it was even harder because he was a single father with sole custody of his young son. I had taken a very active role in his child’s life--I really enjoyed instantly becoming a family. After the breakup I was heartbroken, but I also realized that I had dodged a bullet.

As I reflected, I started to wonder whether my desire for a baby might be clouding my dating judgment. I started to think that the two could perhaps be decoupled. I decided that I needed to start planning and considering becoming a mother by myself.

I had been told by medical doctors that the decline in egg quality becomes most significant and sharp after age 35. That became my mental deadline. With the new path of single motherhood to explore, my wish was starting to feel more like a goal with a plan.

And as the old saying goes, it’s when you’re not looking that you find love. I was sharing my grand plan and excitement with a new guy friend of mine. I didn’t think of him as a potential partner. I was out of that game, not ready to date and since this friend was significantly older, divorced and with teenage kids, I figured he was not in the market to get back on the baby train. He was focused on paying for his upcoming college expenses for his kids, and I was running the numbers on the cost of diapers and daycare in NYC to see whether I could make my dream come true and swing being a single mother.

Regardless, we spent a lot of time together that year, and as we talked about our past and our goals for the future, he adamantly insisted that he loved being a husband and a father and would love to do it again. After six months I finally believed him, and we started dating with a plan to move in together once his lease was up, get engaged and start trying to conceive. Fast forward one year, we celebrated my 31st birthday as a bona fide couple with not only a shared wish, but a goal, and a plan in place to achieve that goal.

I blew out the candles with a wish for what I had really wanted all along “‘Please let me have a baby.” I finally felt like everything was coming together, and if someone had asked me what I wished for that year I might have told them, but I knew that after all of our talks my boyfriend already knew.

But as the reality of baby-making came into the forefront, it (unfortunately) turned out that he wasn’t as ready to be a father again like he might have thought. We called off our engagement, and with a year of TTC naturally with the only intervention being initial baseline panels with an endocrinologist I was ready to seriously explore single motherhood and fertility treatment.

Having always known that I wanted to be a mother--coupled with the common fertility challenges of PCOS- I felt I had to act now. I knew that I could come to accept not being able to have a biological child if I had done everything in my power to try. I knew in my heart of hearts that if I waited to find Mr. Right and we started TTC and weren’t successful, I would always wonder if part of the failure was due to poor egg quality, which naturally and inevitably declines with age. I knew I might regret not having tried sooner. My priority was to be a mother. And when I thought about it, I realized that the real reason why I’d been so stressed about finding a partner was that I wanted to start a family.

Single at 32, I knew that my desire to have a baby sooner than later would put a strain on dating and new relationships. I had learned you need a lot of time to get to know someone, especially if you want to determine whether you’re compatible enough and both ready enough for the lifelong commitment of raising a child together. I didn’t want to settle. It was clear to me that by decoupling the baby from the relationship I had the best chance of becoming a mother and developing a healthy romantic relationship when the time was right.

I started talking to my friends and family about my ideas. The response was largely favorable, although I did get some pushback and was warned by at least one close person that after I had a baby no man would want to date me.

I hate to admit this sentiment did give me pause, but I was confident that any man that didn’t want to date me as my best self--as a mother--wasn’t the man for me. I knew that if I had to choose, I could live without ever getting married, but I couldn’t live without being a mother. So, I dove into my plan.

Photographed by Nancy Bulma Fields @bybulma, Styled by Jamie Ortega @jamie__ortega, Hair & Makeup by Andi Ellerby @andibeauty

I started reading articles, stories, and memoirs of other people like me which I learned are commonly referred to as Single Mothers by Choice or SMCs. I bought at least 20 books, including Single Mothers by Choice by Jane Matts, the woman who founded Single Mothers by Choice®, an organization for females at all stages of single motherhood--from thinking, to trying, from pregnant, to mother. I joined the organization and attended my first NYC meeting. I sat with the other ‘thinkers’, already knowing deep down this was for me and that I’d soon be sitting with the “tryers,” if I had my way.

I already had a ‘family fund’ saved, because, through all those years of birthday wishes, I hadn’t just been wishing; I had been preparing for the day when I likely would need fertility treatments to help me achieve my motherhood goal.

The company I was working for at the time didn’t have any fertility benefits, so I was prepared to pay for everything out of pocket. This also gave me the flexibility to choose any fertility clinic and doctor. I did my research, selected four clinics to do initial consults with, and then for the first time realized that the wait to get in with some doctors could be months!

One doctor who was highly recommended had an opening in his schedule due to a cancellation, so I ran around gathering up my entire medical history. I amassed an absurdly large pile of paperwork that I somehow managed to compile, scan, and send off to the doctor in question.

I treated the 24-hour pre-appointment deadline for the medical history like any other crazy work deadline (or maybe even more important than a work deadline!), running around the city to multiple doctors’ offices from my past and paying fees to expedite processing.

I showed up at the appointment and was pleased to see that the doctor had read through the whole stack of paperwork and had highlights and little notes in his doctor chicken-scratch throughout. He didn’t ask a single question that was already in my record. In fact, he wanted to repeat some of my previous tests in order to get a more updated view, and he wanted to conduct some fertility-specific tests to assess my egg reserve and hormone levels. I was impressed to see that he already had formulated a plan to start me on a medicated IUI cycle with Clomid, an oral medication commonly used to treat infertility by stimulating an increase in the amount of hormones to support ovulation. Since I didn’t have a regular cycle and wasn’t getting my period or ovulating, I could really start any day of my choosing.

After visiting that doctor and two other clinics, I felt ready to move forward with my initial choice. I obtained the list of prerequisite tests and went to have the fertility-specific ones conducted at his clinic. I completed the rest with my in-network doctor. The results were good, and I was thrilled to discover that I had been cleared to begin. I knew I wanted to be an SMC, and the final step before starting treatment was to choose a sperm donor.

Unfortunately, the birthday tradition of unspoken secret wishes continued with that same ‘Please let me have a baby’ sent out to the universe for an additional seven years. In this case, it was only the fact that I chose this as my birthday wish that was a secret, though, because I was never embarrassed about wanting to be a mother as I had been about wanting to be married.

On the contrary, considering becoming a mother by myself felt empowering and strong. Every single person I’ve had gathered around those birthday candles with me for the past years knew my deep desire to be a mother. And maybe there is a bit of truth to keeping your birthday wish secret especially if you really want it to come true, so why tempt fate?

As the years passed and I experienced one disappointment after another, my yearly birthday wish began to carry so much pain that even with my empowered attitude I felt weak and worried that all the planning in the world might not be enough to turn this wish into an achievable goal.

My path to motherhood included many emotional and medical hurdles. While my journey was a difficult one, it led me to discover the importance of patient advocacy, knowledge, and resilience. Most importantly, I found that by building and leveraging a powerful support system and community of women I was able to ride the emotional highs and lows of the experience and find joy in my journey.

I’m excited to share my story with a series of articles throughout 2020. Stay tuned for my next piece about choosing a sperm donor, managing PCOS, and my first forays into fertility treatment.

Kat Curtin is a single mother by choice (SMC) who became an unofficial expert on all things fertility, loss, and pregnancy during her eight-year journey to becoming a mother to her four-month-old daughter, Nora Grace Curtin. Kat is passionate about helping other women find and walk their path to motherhood. She has been a member of Single Mother By Choice® for over six years and recently became the organization’s NYC chapter leader. Kat holds a bachelor’s degree from Georgetown University and an MBA from NYU Stern School of Business. She is in the process of becoming a certified health coach through the Integrative Women’s Health Institute’s coaching and optimal fertility programs. Kat’s favorite time of day is when she and Nora share their early morning beverages – chai tea for Kat and breast milk, delivered from her surrogate in CO via FedEx, for her daughter. Nora’s joy at this hour is slowly working to turn Kat from a dedicated night owl to a cheerful morning bird. Kat and Nora reside in Manhattan and have started documenting their life together on Instagram and Facebook.

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