Our Unconventional Journey to Parenthood

Prior to beginning my transition from female to male in 2015, I was eager to know the exact hormones would have on my ability to pursue children in the future. In an initial consultation with a doctor, I was met with the harsh response of, “Your eggs will be scrambled,” and a pamphlet on egg freezing options. The cold exchange left me distraught with the reality of my situation. I knew I couldn’t pursue egg freezing at that point in my life. I didn’t have the money or emotional wherewithal, and therefore, would have to worry about children at a later date.

My wife, Lauren, and I arrived at that later date in 2022. While we sat in the kitchen one afternoon discussing our options, I found myself wishing this picture looked different. I didn’t regret my decision not to freeze my eggs, but my mind was spiraling on account of the difficult journey we were surely about to embark on. My wife suddenly interrupted my thought spiral with one simple question, “James, are you sure you can’t contribute?” The prospect hit me like a ton of bricks. “Have you actually looked into it?” she pressed on.

Lauren and I promptly reached out to a physician my gynecologist had recommended. Our first appointment with Dr. Tracy Harrison at Reproductive Partners gave us all the hope we needed, and I will never forget her words. “Studies have shown that fertility outcomes for transgender men are in line with that of cisgender women,” she said. “We believe that elevated testosterone levels simply place the processes of ovulation and menstruation into hibernation.” My wife and I were elated with the information. I had preemptively skipped my testosterone shot the night before the appointment just in case. My wife and I didn’t have all the facts, but we were sure of one thing. If we were crazy enough to pursue this, I would have to come o􏰀 hormones.

We marched forward, and after about six weeks of skipped testosterone shots, an increase in fatigue, loss of appetite, and a distressing resurfacing of distant dysphoria, my testosterone levels resembled those of a typical cisgender woman. It was officially time to begin the “reciprocal IVF” cycle, and I was terrified. The plan was to retrieve my eggs, fertilize them with donor sperm, and hopefully end up with at least three healthy embryos. We would then implant each embryo into my wife and hopefully end up with a baby. Our child would be us with a little help. My egg, “Marco” (our nickname for the donor sperm), and my wife’s body to grow the beautiful being(s). We would then use my wife’s egg and the same donor for baby number two.

As many cisgender women know, the IVF cycle is not a fun one. It is at least two grueling weeks of self-administered injections into the stomach, almost daily ultrasounds and bloodwork, and an increased feeling of bloating that gets worse by the day. On the day of the “trigger,” the anxiety of the upcoming egg retrieval becomes hard to manage. What if they go in and there are no eggs? What if I’ve gone through all of this for nothing? As I drifted on into anesthesia bliss, I hoped for the best. Thankfully, I woke up forty-five minutes later to my wife’s smiling face and the three exclamatory words, “They got ten!” A feeling of joy took over my tired body. We had gone from “scrambled” to “ten.” Tears of relief streamed down my cheeks.

The next week and a half were more anxiety provoking than those prior. My body was crashing from the estrogen high, leaving me unbalanced and uncomfortable, and every two days a call from the embryologist came with an update. It seemed like a far-fetched science experiment, but with each piece of good news, the difficulty began to feel manageable. Our ten eggs turned into eight fertilized embryos, six of which ended up in the “viable” category. Two good, one fair, and three on the border of fair and poor. My wife and I screamed and embraced at the conclusion of each call. One step closer to our dream of a family.

Later that year, it was time to put science to the test. Dr. Harrison had us choose from the two “good” embryos, Blue Seven and Red Six. Blue Seven sounded more appealing for whatever reason, and a week or so later, Lauren was on 10mg of Valium with a catheter in her cervix. I watched from across the room as they carefully wheeled in a machine with Blue Seven in a petri dish. At the invitation from the embryologist, I peered through the microscope at the tiny cluster of cells. I smiled and sat back down while she suctioned the cells out. She then handed the catheter to the doctor, who “implanted” them in a particular part of Lauren’s uterus. One final push of air bubbles followed (a way for them to be sure the embryo was in) and that was that. Lauren was to take progesterone for the next two weeks while we waited to find out if the embryo had successfully implanted.

Unfortunately, yet fortunately from the perspective of the current day, the first embryo transfer did not result in pregnancy. Whether it was an issue at implant or with cell division after implant, we will never know. Either way, I feel grateful things happened as they did. The stress of the failure led us to pursue IUI instead of a second embryo transfer right away. IUI was less expensive, less taxing on Lauren’s body, and our intent was to always try for a baby with her egg and the same donor. The order just differed.

Thankfully, against the statistical odds, Lauren got pregnant from the first round of IUI with our only remaining vial of donor sperm from the IVF efforts. I will never forget the feeling of watching our son’s little heartbeat on the ultrasound during one of our first prenatal appointments. Matteo was born in July of 2023, and we spent the majority of that first year balancing an absurd combination of feelings. I have never felt so happy, stressed, tired, overwhelmed, anxious, and wondrous all at the same time. The love we feel for Matteo is indescribable, and without the failed transfer, he would not be here.

Once we somewhat settled into parenthood, we knew we were “ready” for another child. Matteo needed a sibling and Red Six had stayed present in our minds. Before we set an appointment for the second transfer, we pursued genetic testing to hopefully rule out the possibility of any issues affecting implant. We didn’t want to risk putting Lauren though an implant that would inevitably fail. The results indicated that Red Six, our most viable embryo, was genetically normal, while the others were not. This meant we had one shot at a child genetically linked to me. The pressure was immense leading up to that second embryo transfer in September 2024, but we knew we had to go for it.

In June of 2025, our sweet baby girl, Colette, was born. Holding her in our arms, sitting next to Matteo on that couch in the hospital, quickly confirmed that all the stress of this journey had been worth it. We now have two beautiful, healthy children that are a unique combination of us both (and Marco). Parenting is the hardest thing we have ever done, but magical in a way that is hard to explain. Our family is complete, and Lauren and I will be forever grateful for Reproductive Partners and their ability to bring our children to life, literally.

Colette (born 06/06/2025) & Matteo (born July 19, 2023)

If you’d like to learn more about James and Lauren’s story, click here. James discusses his fertility journey amidst many other topics that are relevant to the LGBTQ+ community in his book, ‘Spilling the T: Gender Transition, Beyond the Physical.’