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  Infertile couples face a maze of hope, strain and science By Gary Rotstein, Post-Gazette Staff Writer
It's been 21 years since Louise Brown's conception in a test tube, 21 months since Dolly became the first cloned mammal and 21 weeks since the McCaughey septuplets' birth wowed the nation. Such "miracles" of reproduction arrive in waves increasingly close together. Each announcement begets another worldwide stir about extraordinary methods, research and technology designed to give infertile couples more help than Mother Nature provides on her own. But most such attention paints a distorted image of millions of Americans' struggles to match their forebears' ability to procreate. The most sensational methods and results of infertility treatment are more vital to tabloid journalists than to the average couple. Wanda and Fallaw Sowell of Squirrel Hill spent eight years trying to conceive -- both on their own and with doctors' help -- before realizing in vitro fertilization was their only hope for producing offspring. But unlike Louise Brown's parents, they rejected trying the high-tech, against-the-odds, $8,000-a-pop manipulation outside the womb and adopted a child. Donna Compel of Dormont, unable to become pregnant despite two attempts at in vitro, recoils at the prospect of any cloned copy of herself or her husband David, even if the technology were yet available. She and others prefer thinking of clones in science fiction novels, not their households. And Bonni and Joe Prince, a young Westmoreland County couple, can't imagine having seven children in one delivery, despite the anguish during their three-year marriage at the inability to produce a single infant with the help of fertility drugs. "You keep getting your hopes up, and then you're shot down. . . . It's like losing a baby every month," said Joe Prince, 24, describing the emotional toll on a couple whose story is far more representative of the infertility experience than is that of the McCaugheys in Iowa. Yet despite the rough ride, hundreds of thousands of couples place their faith in the multibillion-dollar U.S. infertility industry, which provides them choices and journeys previous generations never had. The majority of infertile couples who seek medical help eventually become pregnant, sometimes even after they've given up on the assistance. And for a few, the experience is as short and sweet as can be.
Deborah, in her early 30s, is among the lucky ones. The Upper St. Clair woman, who did not want her full name used, had trouble conceiving for a year with her husband until seeing an infertility specialist last fall. The doctor placed her on a fertility drug, Fertinex, to improve her ovulatory cycle. After two weeks of injecting the drug in her thigh, she conceived through an insemination procedure in which the doctor inserted her husband's sperm in her uterus. Deborah's expecting her first child July 1. "We were just amazed," she said, having prepared psychologically for a longer roller coaster of emotions. "It's important that people realize there are these opportunities out there, but you need to seek them out." If only all infertile couples had such stories. Others spend years experiencing drug injections, semen analysis, blood tests, ultrasound screenings and a slew of more intensive procedures that remove even a hint of romance from the baby-making process. After all that, they may produce nothing more to place in a nursery than an envelope containing a thick wad of medical bills. That's a harsh reality, especially for those baby boomers who've met their goals for education, careers and income, and assumed parenthood would be even easier to attain. "There are very few issues as repetitive, intense and sometimes painful early in marriage as infertility," observed Ronna Back, a social worker therapist for an obstetrics practice at Magee-Womens Hospital. "For many people, it is not a world they ever anticipated dealing with.
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