Samantha Busch - Fighting Infertility: Finding My Inner Warrior Through Trying to Conceive, IVF, and Miscarriage

To my husband, thank you for letting me talk about your sperm and our sex life to the world as casually as ordering fast food. I love you and cannot thank you enough for your love and your support during our crazy journey of trying to have children and writing a book. You are my true other half, the person who knows me best, my rock. I love doing life with you by my side and appreciate you every day.

Brexton, my heart bursts with how much I love you. You changed my world in the best possible way, and being your mother is the greatest gift from God. I am so proud and in awe of you as I watch you grow. I will always be your biggest fan, source of comfort, and fierce protector.

My girls, you both have changed me in the most fundamental ways, and I thank you for making me a stronger woman. You hold a piece of my heart in Heaven, and one day I will wrap you both in my arms and never let go.

To my mom, thank you for doing so many crossword puzzles over the years that you were able to come up with all the fancy words for my book. You are always my biggest supporter and best friend. No matter how old I get, I will always need you. With love and gratitude.

Thank you to the countless infertility warriors, many complete strangers, who at times were my biggest source of comfort when I felt most alone. You have given me the strength to find my voice to fight for this amazing community so that we are heard and understood, can forge a path for those to come, and can lift one another up. You are the strongest women I know!

Part I OUR STORY

I was twenty-eight weeks pregnant when my husband crashed a racecar headfirst into a wall at the Daytona International Speedway.

That morning, Id tried to roll over in the pitch blackness of our motorhome, my swollen, pregnant belly protesting at the motion. Momentarily disoriented, I knocked my glasses to the floor in a sleep-clumsy reach for the nightstand and tried to determine what it was that had woken me.

And then I heard it again, less than a minute later: a buzz, growing to a hum and finally a roar before slowly fading again to silence. Race engines. I remembered: we were at the Daytona International Speedway preparing for the first race weekend of the season. I must have slept late into the morningsomething I wont get to do too much longer, I thought, as I felt the babys first kicks of the day.

Our dog, Lucy, a tiny Pomeranian-Yorkie crossbreed, hopped up onto the pillow and started licking my face, excited for the day to start. Beside me, Kyle snored quietly, sleeping the kind of sleep only someone who isnt pregnant can enjoy. After kissing him sleepily on the cheek, I gently took his hand and placed it on my belly so he could wake to the babys kicking too. He stirred, yawned, kissed me sleepily on the cheek, and opened the shades in our room. Light poured into the space, revealing a bright but overcast day in northeast Florida.

Wow, we slept in for a change, he said. He was rightsleep was hard to come by lately as first-trimester morning sickness had been replaced by second-trimester insomnia. Most nights were spent catching a few minutes of sleep between endless hours of restless tossing and turning. I was glad to be starting this racing season fully rested for the first time in what felt like forever.

Slowly, we got out of bed and started our morning routines, and I wondered how different our mornings would soon become.

We sat across from each other at the dinette table and shared a healthy breakfast, with Kyle occasionally giving the swollen feet I placed in his lap a gentle rub between bites. Even though this would be my seventh year on the road with Kyle, I still got excited at the start of the season. I loved staying in our motorhome. Its a special place we designed together with incredible joy, from the paint and colors adorning the outside of the motorhome, which Kyle did, to my work on the interior, handpicking everything down to the stitching on the pillows. It was here that Kyle proposed to me, with one knee down on the just-right kitchen flooring we had chosen from hundreds of samples. This was a project we had painstakingly worked on together, and it felt like an extension of us. Spending time here is special, and we had built-in touches to make it even more so when the baby was born. The motorhome is bright and roomy and comfortable, with a modern feel and all the comforts of home. We already had a crib, which was currently being used as a pillow storage bin while waiting for the baby. There was a built-in child safety gate tucked away for the future, and baby locks on all the drawers and cabinets. I had already stocked it with diapers, creams, pacifiers, toys, and clothes. I might have been nesting.

This time of togetherness was even more meaningful on that dayDaytona is always the first race of a new season, and we had big expectations for the months ahead. It was also the last time we would start a season without a child. We had worked so hard for this baby, spending years of our lives trying and failing to conceive. It felt like this day was the start of a new phase for us, and we took a moment together to take it all in. All that was missing was our son, who at that moment was happily squirming in my belly as I finished our breakfast.

After we ate, Kyle was off with his team, and I was ready to exercise. I popped barre class in the DVD player and gently stretched, noticing how much different it felt than before I was pregnant. As I rolled my yoga mat out over the hardwood floors, sweet hints of my now-wilting Valentines flowers drifted across the room. With my feet squishing on the soft mat, I began to move. Exercising is my peaceful time, a personal place where I can be calm and centered and in the moment. During the racing seasonnine months of nonstop travel and tracks every weekend, constantly being pulled in a million different directionsthese moments matter. As I moved through the routine, I watched my growing belly in the mirrors decorating the room as they reflected how I felt: full, strong, and happy. Over the next several months, I often wished to come back to this moment. Before everything changed.

Walking onto the track was like the first day of school: seeing everyone again after a long off-season was exhilarating. Friends were congratulating me on the pregnancy, and I reveled in the attention. Kyle and I linked hands in prayer, joining the crowd in seeking safety and blessings for the season to come. It was a powerful moment, and as the National Anthem and flyover thundered through the track, contentment and pride surged in me. The baby, who had been kicking all morning, now slept quietly in the incredible noise of the massive arena, and Kyles arm around the small of my back felt like home.

By the time I got to my seat in the pit box, the day had turned beautifulwarm, with just a hint of the ocean in the air over the smells of the track. I cant pretend it doesnt make me nervous seeing the man I love driving around a track at 200 miles per hour just fractions of an inch from other drivers. That morning, I knew it was possible to wreck. I had seen plenty of crashes, huge pileups, and vicious rollovers. Before every race, Kyle and I pray for his safety and the safety of other drivers, asking for divine intervention to ward off this fate.