A Life Rooted in Family, Gratitude, and Love
Personal Story – Trang Hoang
My name is Trang Hoang. I’m 44 years old and a devoted mother to two joyful boys, ages 4 and 2. My husband and I both work part-time as bookkeepers — a shift we made from our previous careers to prioritize raising our children with love, intention, and presence. We alternate schedules so that one of us is always home. Our children may not have material abundance, but they are surrounded by bedtime stories, songs, laughter, and love.
Still, there’s a quiet ache in my heart — the longing for one more child to complete our family. Recently, after visiting a fertility clinic, I heard the words that still echo inside me:
“Your numbers are low, and time is limited.”
I broke down in tears. I had two healthy pregnancies. I thought I was still fertile. But my AMH is 0.3, and my doctor said that if we want another child, we must act now — and IVF is our only hope.
To some, trying for a third child may feel indulgent. But to me, it is deeply personal. My father passed away at the age of 45, when I was just 15. He left behind four children and a young widow — my mother. That sudden loss shaped me. It taught me to treasure life, to cherish family. At 44, nearly the age he was when he passed, I feel that echo more than ever. Completing our family with another child would honor his memory and the values he instilled in me — ambition, patience, diligence, and the courage to go the extra mile to fulfill your purpose.
My early life was marked by unimaginable hardship. At age 7, my family fled Vietnam’s communist regime and spent four years in a refugee camp in Thailand. Life was harsh — overcrowded, hungry, rigid. There were days we had nothing but rice soup made with water and salt. I remember my mother skipping meals so we could eat. We slept on the ground on plastic sheets or inside thatched shelters. When we finally arrived in the United States, stepping off the plane felt like walking on gold. My parents carried with them only a suitcase and an unshakable belief that freedom, education, and opportunity would bring a better life.
It was an epiphany, even as a child, to realize that bringing us here wasn’t just about escaping hardship — it was about giving us a chance at a future. And in giving us each other — four siblings — my father made sure we would always have someone to lean on after him. That gift, and the courage it took to secure it, are his enduring legacies.
IVF is not just a medical path for us — it’s an emotional and spiritual one. It’s our only remaining chance. But the journey here has not been easy. Friends and extended family often don’t understand why we’re trying again, or why we’d endure this financially and emotionally grueling process when we already have two children. What they don’t see is the fire in my heart — a dream that won’t fade.
This is not about convenience or lifestyle. IVF is a sacrifice of time, effort, energy, and hope. It is physically demanding, emotionally draining, and mentally exhausting. But it is also the only light left on the road to completing our family — the light we continue walking toward, even as it grows dimmer.
We live simply and intentionally. We’ve cut out non-essentials. We think twice before every dollar spent. And yet, our home is full of warmth and joy — park days, homemade birthday cakes, Vietnamese traditions, and songs sung together after dinner. We pour our hearts into raising our boys with resilience, love, and sacrifice — the values my husband and I learned from our own parents. I hope our children learn from this journey that no dream is too fragile if you fight for it — and that family, above all, is worth fighting for.
This grant is more than financial assistance. It is the only light left guiding us toward a hope that is fading with time. IVF is not an easy path — but it is our only one. To be chosen would give us the strength to move forward, together, with hope.
We are not seeking perfection or abundance — only the chance to grow our love just a little more. We want to give our children the gift of another sibling — someone to laugh with, grow with, and lean on long after we’re gone. That would be our greatest legacy.
With heartfelt gratitude,
Trang Hoang