My Infertility Journey: Shots, Loss, IVF, and Finding Myself Again

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Mar 11

So who am I to tell you about infertility? Where do I even begin giving advice to someone walking through this kind of pain?

Well, I’m someone who’s been there.

While I may not have the most traumatic infertility story, I certainly don’t have the easiest success story either. My journey included years of infertility filled with grief, loss, injections, and a level of stress I never knew existed.

I begged the universe to let me get pregnant and stay pregnant.

I followed every infertility influencer.

I bought every supplement.

I followed every rule about food, drinks, exercise, and sex.

And none of it worked.

I broke.

My marriage almost broke.

I started weekly therapy—both individually and for our marriage. At my lowest point I remember thinking: F all the rules. There are women getting pregnant every day who aren’t doing any of this.

For years I lived inside the dreaded two-week wait every single month.

It almost broke me.

My hope in sharing this story is that somewhere inside it, you’ll recognize a feeling that’s familiar. Maybe the details of our journeys are different, but the emotions often overlap.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize you’re not alone, crazy, or “doing it wrong.”

The Beginning: Endometriosis and Early Warnings

My infertility journey started long before I was actually trying to conceive.

I was diagnosed with stage IV endometriosis at 25 years old after multiple surgeries. Even before family planning entered the picture, I was already surrounded by opinions about my body and my fertility.

Doctors told me pregnancy would be difficult.

Some also told me pregnancy might “fix” my endometriosis.

The messaging was confusing and contradictory. What a rollercoaster of information - and misinformation - before I was even ready to start family planning.

The “Let’s Just See What Happens” Phase

When my husband and I finally decided we were ready for a family, we took the classic approach:

Let’s just have fun and see what happens.

But the slippery slope into dread came rather quickly. That glimmer of sex, fun, and magical conception faded into dust bunnies under the couch slowly with each month passing without a miracle settling into my uterus.

Month after month passed without that magical movie moment of discovering I was pregnant in the grocery store and surprising my husband with a test.

Instead came:

ovulation tracking
fertility apps
late-night Google searches
and eventually the full rabbit hole of fertility myths

Meanwhile everyone around us seemed to be getting pregnant accidentally, on their honeymoon, or “without even trying.”

Our church’s young married couples group slowly transformed into a young families group.

And we were the only ones left behind.

Our First Fertility Appointment

Five minutes into our first fertility consultation, the doctor said:

“You should go straight to IVF. Even then your chances are slim.”

I was 26 years old and terrified of needles.

The delivery of that news felt cold and devastating. Instead of feeling hopeful, I felt like I had just been handed a life sentence.

I just couldn’t swallow devastating news like that. And I for sure, was not going to be doing THAT MANY shots with a SLIM chance of it working. With a silent “F you,” we walked out of that office

Tears. Anger. Clenched fists.

We were determined to find a second opinion that matched our optimism.

Enter IUI

As a new year approached, we were full of hope and excitement in a new fertility clinic. This new doctor offered so many more options and had much more optimism. They offered different opinions about my reproductive ability ,and after an extensive conversation that was both clinical and personal, we set our sights on intrauterine insemination (“IUI”). I was still not enthused about having to do a trigger shot, but if it meant getting pregnant, then I would suck it up for one tiny shot. I look back at that chapter in life and laugh about what an uninformed newbie I was. I had zero information given to me by my fertility clinic about what foods, activities, supplements, or lifestyle choices to add or avoid in my routine to optimize my chances. I was so new to this, and I didn’t know any of the lingo. At this point, I hadn’t followed anyone else's infertility journey. I didn’t know anyone who had gone through something like this or even knew they were going to be. I was on an island and wasn’t sure where to look for support, or even who to ask questions to besides my doctor.

So I started my journey, full of EARLY morning appointments to avoid using my minimal teaching-salary sick leave,, long drives, and so many emotions. It was hard to decide if I was filled with anxiety and fear, or hope and enthusiasm. In two very quick weeks, I learned how to read an ultrasound and learned so much about the reproductive system. I felt like my own personal Tamagotchi.

I was checking in on those follicles almost daily, supplying them with Clomid and water, and constantly having them in the back of my mind, wondering what was going on in there when I wasn’t checking with an ultrasound machine. Then, finally the dreaded shot. The tiny needle that gave me so much fear. So many tears were cried at the thought of having to inject myself with medication. What a privilege that I never had to do that before. I told myself that I needed to “suck it up,” thinking about my diabetic student who was so familiar with sticks and pricks , that they never once hesitated or even blinked. If a nine-year-old could do it, then so could I just this one time. JUST. ONE. TIME. That’s what I told myself, “I will only have to do this ONCE.” Because after this, I would be pregnant.

Looking back now, I laugh at how naïve I was.

The Two Week Wait

The two-week wait felt like two lifetimes.

That Tamagotchi feeling was in full force, trying to make sure I did everything I could to grow that “maybe baby.” Like a kid at school sweating bullets wondering if their digital pet would die before the final bell, I would stress about what was happening inside my body every minute. The clinic strongly urged me NOT to take a home pregnancy test. They preferred a blood draw and a quantitative HCG to detect even the smallest amount. This way I wouldn’t be devastated by a false negative from an at-home pregnancy test. It seemed like a great idea until it meant waiting HOURS for the results. I swear time went backwards while waiting for that phone call to give me the best news of my life. I was filled with butterflies, that I was convinced were the baby that I could feel growing inside of me. Each passing hour sent me into a spiral, I convinced myself that every physical sensation was a sign of pregnancy and I was adamant that I was somehow already showing.

When the clinic called with results, I answered before the first ring finished.

“Unfortunately…”

That single word shattered everything.I was mentally in a tug-of-war between wanting to run away,giving up on my dreams of having kids, and wanting to drive to the clinic immediately to begin my next cycle.

In an instant I felt:

rage
shame
confusion
determination

I’m not sure I had ever felt such a surge of conflicting emotions all at once. I was infuriated and wanted to blame the clinic, that somehow they did it wrong. I was filled with shame and felt like a failure because my body couldn’t do “the woman’s job” of growing and bearing a child. I was so confused. I didn’t understand how it wouldn’t have been a successful cycle. I did everything “right,” while women who do everything “wrong” get pregnant by accident or when they don’t even want to. Mostly though, I was determined. Determined to do whatever I needed to do and center my whole life around my next cycle, because it would be a short-term sacrifice for long-term joy.

Life Revolved Around Fertility

The next months turned into a whole new version of “normal” routine:

A semi celebration at day 1 of my cycle because it meant I could call the clinic to and start “my final” cycle (since after all, I WOULD be pregnant this time)

4:00 AM wake-ups

driving to the clinic before commute traffic set in and breakfast at a close by coffee shop

ultrasounds

Rushing back to beat the first bell at school and teaching all day

then doing it again two days later

Each cycle followed the same pattern:

Hope.

Then heartbreak.

Renewed hope every time I was told that everything was looking textbook perfect and on track. A pattern of making sure our “at home practice” wouldn’t conflict with when the perfect sperm sample would be needed at the clinic. Like clockwork, trigger night would come and we would toast to this new journey, eat a little treat, and say a little prayer. And then the rollercoaster of emotions. The two week wait full of excitement, anxiety, happiness, and forward thinking. Cancelling plans because I might be pregnant. Pinterest boards of nurseries, babyshowers, and registries. Always ending the same way though- the little sigh on the other end of the line that was a shot straight to the heart as the words “I’m sorry Caitlin” would then follow.

I missed out on weddings in exotic locations because of the fear of Zika. I missed out on bachlorette parties and celebrations because I was “pregnant” and needed to take care of this long awaited miracle. Most importantly I missed out on a lot of living presently because I was stuck in the throws between the past and what didn’t work and the future of what would be when this finally worked. I forgot to be in the moment. I forgot to make the most of the life I was currently living.

There were so many tears shed. There was a lot of bingeing of all the things I “couldn’t” have while going through these IUI cycles and hoping to be pregnant. There was also a lot of big emotions with no one around me that seemed to understand. I remember clearly the moment I got the soul crushing phone call for our third cycle. This phone call was particularly excruciating because it included the bit about “maybe it’s time to consider other options.” This is because the rule of thumb is that after three IUI cycles not working, it’s a better idea to move to IVF. I was not ready for that suggestion mentally, emotionally, or even based on the current setting I was in. I was in the middle of a summer recreational swim meet. As a teacher, I needed a side hustle, so why not spend all summer at the pool with kids that I so desperately wanted to be having myself. In that moment it felt like the final nail in the coffin.

I wasn’t ready for what came next.

My First Panic Attack

The phone call delivering that recommendation happened while I was working at a summer swim meet.

Surrounded by by all these lucky people with their lucky children living their lucky lives.

In that moment I had my first panic attack. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t speak. I could not handle one more second of looking at these hundreds of happy people and enjoying their lives. I spent the better part of an hour curled up, hyperventilating, and bawling in the coaches office before using ninja-like skills to sneak out of the meet. I sunk into my bed, ordered a bunch of food, and let my mind spin about what was next for me.

The next morning I woke up determined to try one more time. In our couples therapist’s office I pleaded my case that I would mentally break if I had to do IVF. I could not justify the cost, the time, or the brutality to my body of daily shots. Thinking back, I was just in denial and was stalling; as if praying harder this month would make it work. So with the hesitated looks from the fertility clinic team, they agreed to begin another IUI cycle. I could feel their judgement. I knew what they were thinking. How this still wouldn’t work and I should just give up and listen to them. But I didn’t care.

So the routine began. But this time, there was a holiday weekend. The clinic was closed on a day I should have gotten a follicle check. They adjusted the schedule slightly so I would be seen extra before the office closure and then again the day after. Everything was going “textbook perfect” as always so there was no need for concern. We were on track to trigger that day after the office was closed. But that’s not what happened. I walked in bright eyed and bushy tailed, and left broken and blaming the clinic. We had missed ovulation and it was too late. I was absolutely convinced that the clinic did this on purpose because they didn’t even want me to do another round. They were trying to prove their point. They wanted me to waste time and money. They wanted to break me in order to convince me to move to IVF. I downward spiraled in this conspiracy theory that they lined up my cycle with a holiday on purpose for a couple days. Went to therapy and fought with my husband. And then finally gave up and submitted to the idea of IVF.

When IVF Became Inevitable

Eventually I accepted that IVF was the next step.

The thought of daily injections made me sick to my stomach. For the next week I went through life in a fog because I was so consumed by the fear of needles and the deeper fear of going through this personal hell and still not have a baby. My fertility clinic was all about informed decisions and knowledge in the process. So my husband and I had hours of education videos and modules to go through that taught us every step of the process and was supposed to teach me how to be ok with stabbing myself in the stomach with a needle daily. I cried and hyperventilated all the way through. And again I had no one to talk to, no one who understood, no one that could provide the right type of support. Not even my husband because he was in the medical field so shots and the process was wasn’t scary to him, it was simple and easy. But he also wasn’t the one having to do it. He treated me like a patient and wanted me to just suck it up. He didn’t treat me like his wife.

I didn’t need a nurse or clinician.

I needed my husband.

IVF Abroad

An interesting thing happened right before we were supposed to pay our first deposit for IVF. A coworker of a family member overheard a bit of our story and told our family member about doing IVF abroad. That seemed insane to me but this person (who was also a nurse, which in my mind made them more credible about judging a medical facility) sang praises about this place.

We were really coming down to the wire with the process with my current clinic so I quickly made a consultation with this clinic abroad. I wanted to basically catch them in a lie or hear the red flags so that I could feel better about the outrageous amount of money I was about to pay to my current clinic. Instead of red flags, I was met with compassion, a truly individualized treatment plan, and “out of the box” type of thinking backed by amazing result statistics and high ratings. And as divine intervention would have it, they had one spot left that lined up with my current cycle I was supposed to start.

It was a whirlwind. It was met with hesitation and concern from family members that all believed there could be no better medical intervention or system than the US. But on a 10 hour drive home from vacation (yes, we also made this decision to switch while on vacation, which also felt suspicious to family) we scoured the internet to book flights, hotels, and way to get medications privately. It felt extra anxiety provoking because it was having to learn a whole new system and plan a trip all in a short amount of time. It was a very big decision and felt like a hasty one. But also felt right. Everything lined up so easily. And the staff where way more available and helpful than the clinic that I thought was supportive here in the states. And now I also had someone to ask questions to that had gone through this process and had multiple successes at this clinic in paradise.

Just having one person to talk to made a world of difference. Suddenly I wasn’t so alone. Finally somebody “got it.” Finally someone could calm my fears, bring real hope, and validate every emotion and thought that came with this process.

Since I was doing IVF abroad, I had a lot to figure out. I had to get my doctor to be on board to do my initial scans and bloodwork or I would have to find a clinic that would and pay out-of-pocket. I had to navigate how to get medication that my doctor wouldn’t supply or prescribe. I had to figure out how to do injections and how to time everything correctly.

A giant box of medications, syringes, pills, needles, and shots showed up. I had to sort them all, orgainze them based on when I would need them, and figure out how to mix my own medications. It was extremely overwhelming. I wasn’t a medical profession, I was a teacher. How the hell was I supposed to become an overnight expert and nurse for myself? Where was my science class on this? How would I do it?

Then to make matters worse, my husband was at work the first day I needed to start injections. My “expert” that knew how to mix medications and administer injections seamlessly was not going to be there to support me through my biggest fear. It was over an hour of tears, hyperventilating, ALMOST poking my skin with the needle and then chickening out, and calling anyone that might be available to help me get through this first one. I was shaking and inconsolable. I was alone and I was furious that THIS was my life. No one seemed to understand or care. Everyone else thought I was overreacting, being a baby about it, and just needed to suck it up. After FINALLY getting myself through that first injection, I curled up on the couch eating my feelings, using a heating pad on my belly, and crying at thought of my new reality.

My husband came home and had to just stay in work mode. He treated me like a pediactric patient that needed coaxing, bribing, and a treat after being so “brave.” It was so distant and cold. It caused some fights. I finally told him I wanted my HUSBAND and not a healthcare provider. I needed him to understand ME and my FEELINGS and to look passed the fact that it was “a simple injections and so easy.” He slightly understood but also at times would get stern about me freaking out, and then would follow it up with sweets to calm me down.

The process was wild. We had to do injections on the car ride to the airport, we have to do injections IN the airport. We had to do them on the plane. It felt SO weird to have to pack and go through TSA with all these needles and medications. I felt like I was going to be judged or extra screened. And yet no one batted an eye or cared. I had a whole speech ready to tell the TSA agents and the flight attendants. But they just wiped the medications, tested it, and didn’t need or even want my explanation. It opened my eyes to a whole new world. I had never noticed SHARPS containers in public bathrooms or places before this. I was so worried about how and where I would do my injections and then dispose of the needles. It was easier than I imagined and that truly helped calm my nerves.

Finding Community

This was also the first time I started being slightly open about my experience. I was going to need two and a half weeks off of work and right before Fall break. Knowing that leave was probably going to be denied (because you’re not supposed to take time off attached to a break), I decided to tell my Principal exactly why I needed to be gone for that long and why it was right before another two weeks off of school. The immediate support and love was palpable. She opened up about her journey that resulted in choosing to be childless. She said she would make sure the leave wasn’t denied. And she was a wonderful administrator that planned a surprise luncheon for me before our normal staff meeting. It felt a little bit betraying because it meant she told “my business” to everyone else. But again the love and community I had was surreal. Suddenly a staff room of stories about struggles and journeys to motherhood. A whole book of letters of encouragement and prayers to take with me on our trip. Where was all of this as I was drowning in loneliness and self deprication? I was so worried about judgement and unwanted advice or opinions that I went through my feelings alone. But this luncheon was my first glimpse and lesson into transparency helping bring community.

This must be how famous athletes feel right before a big game. So full of pride and hope, coupled with fear and pressure to succeed. The hard part with “everyone” know was that now everyone wanted updates and wanted to “be on the journey” with us. After so long of being so isolated in the journey, I was happy to share. But it did make our first trip and journey feel slightly performative.

The First First Experience

Arriving at this new clinic was incredible. They hugged us to welcome us. I didn’t feel like a number. I felt seen. I felt loved. And I felt like this staff truly believed in the miracles that must be performed to create our family. This clinic also had holistic wellness timed with the medical side. Our first appointment at the clinic was actually for a massage to release all the tension and stress of long plane flights and carrying suitcases. Like who does that? What fertility doctor thinks about THAT?! Then we met with the doctor who genuinely cared about us beyond the ivf process and asked about our lives outside fertility. She laid out a plan that showed how holistic treatments lined up with egg retrieval, sperm sample collection, embryo transfer, and afterwards. The smiles, empathy, and confidence of this doctor and the whole clinic had us on cloud nine. Walking down the boardwalk along the beach back to our all inclusive resort from the clinic was euphoric. The draining, dreadful, daunting process suddenly felt bearable. It boosted our confidence. It made us feel closer as a couple. It made us relax (like everyone told us to do in order to get pregnant). It also helped that our two week vacation, spa treatments, and IVF was costing us $5,000 less than just the IVF procedures in the states. So we were having a vacation, going to the spa, doing IVF, AND saving money… what a win for sure.

These two weeks were… dare I say, blissful. We ate all sorts of fresh seafood (and I am NOT a seafood person… it was THAT good and fresh). We had drinks at the beach (the nurse even ordered I do that after egg retrieval!). And we saw sea turtles (it felt very symbolic for us). The hotel we were at were used to having couples there doing treatment at the clinic and so they were also insanely supportive. The bartender made a a special tea after egg retrieval and the kitchen made french fries for me even when the kitchen was closed. The wait staff had crackers and bread ready for me the second we sat down for meals because I was so nauseous all the time. We felt so cared for, and all by strangers who just happened to know why we were there.

The bartender was such a special woman. She was always two steps ahead with drinks for my husband and mocktails for me. She had the special tea. And she introduced us to an amazing couple. She knew another couple was staying at the resort and was also going to the clinic. The bartender played matchmaker and made sure that my husband and I would end up down by the bar at the same time as them. And what a match made in heaven.

The wife was a teacher. The husband was insane about his Fanatasy Football team (and it was football season). And they were the sweetest people. It was an instant connection on so many levels. We found people that knew how we felt, knew the process, and knew the phrases and “advice” to avoid. This couple also helped me get connected to a whole support group for the clinic we were going to. We ended up meeting quite a few families and having a great time at coffee dates, farmers markets meet ups, and Fish Fry Friday. But this one special couple. Man did they MAKE this trip! The men went to the local sports bar to watch football at midnight (because that’s whent he game was on where we were!). The women swapped stories about teaching, family, and this whole process. And all of us just had so much fun.We saw horses bathing in the sea at sunrise which was just purely magical. We were taking shots straight out of the bottle at the beach bar like it was our first college spring break trip. We were jumping on trampolines in the ocean and releasing our inner child. We made a deep connected friendship. Our world opened up so much by having community with them. Someone to vent to, ask questions and talk about options to, hype each other up in the down times, celebrate the wins, and just be present in the moment. If nothing else from this IVF journey, at least we had this. No matter the outcome of IVF we were walking away with our hearts filled and lifelong friends.

I honestly almost forgot that we were in this beautiful place because of the misery and struggle of infertility. But the day finally arrived. After days of daily calls to update us on the progress of embryos (and man the anticpation of waiting around for that call daily was so hard!), it was time for embryo transfer. I had an acupucture appointment right before and there was zero relaxation happened. First of all because my bladder was going to BURST (you need a full bladder for transfer and so the spa knows this and makes you chug a bunch of water before your appointment). But also because I was like a kid waiting up for Santa. The excitement, the desire to know if this was REAL or not, and the anticipation of the outcome. It felt like the LONGEST hour of acupuncture. By the time I was laying back for transfer, I didn’t know what would explode first- my bladder or my heart that felt like it was working triple time.

The magic of watching embryo transfer it quite indescribable. The wave of emotion when you see that tiny little blip of fluid that contains the embryo is probably as close to a holy experience that I can imagine. It was instant happy tears, and I have never cried happy tears before. My husband even got teary and I don’t think I had ever seen him cry before. I got the chills in the best way. And then suddenly so filled with joy. The doctor and the whole clinic congratulated us and hugged us. We were embraced with so much love and support with such confidence and faith in the outcome. Even the bartender had congratulations confetti for us when we returned. This was the happiest I had felt since my wedding day and everything in the world just seemed brighter, warmer, and beautiful. We spent those last few days living in that bliss and joy. Smiles didn’t leave our faces, even in our sleep I swear. Even all the travel back home somehow felt blissful (except for when maybe I felt like puking every couple minutes when I would catch a new wiff of something in the airport).

The Highest High… and the Lowest Low

Then the dreaded two week wait. It was even harder because everyone knew where we were and what we were doing. So everyone was all waiting on updates and trying to ask with out asking. If I got a dollar for everytime someone asked me “how are you feeling?” I would be able to pay for IVF every month for the rest of my life! I stayed as busy as I could. Poured myself into lesson planning and catching up on grading since I “couldn’t workout” and was trying to follow all the “rules”. But also I was sick and nauseous daily. Every smell made me want to vomit. Was it the hormone medication? Was it pregnancy? Was it me going crazy and about to have a phantom pregnancy? I shoved it into the back of my mind every second a wild thought would pop into my head. But every morning I would BEG for eggs on toast and then would be repulsed the second my husband served eggs on toast.

Finally I could not wait any longer. I HAD to know if this was real or if I was going insane. I took an at home pregnancy test two days earlier than I was supposed to. While mid pee, my husband was pep talking me and reminding me that I was testing early and that this was not the first pee of the day. He reminded me that it could be a false negative. But before he could even finish that pep talk, two extremely solid lines were shining so bright on that stick that I’m sure it was sending out a bat signal and announcing it to the world. My husband said “let’s not tell anyone until our appointment” but I had already sent the pregnant emoji to my in real life Myspace Top 8.

I wasted NO time. I called my clinic right away and my OBGYN. I was a newbie to the whole timeline of when conception was with IVF, I overestimated how pregnant I was, and my OBGYN was telling me to come in soon. When I went in I was only 5 weeks, and we were LUCKY to see anything. But my HCG quantitative was so extremely high that the doctor also wanted to check for multiples or ectopic. My nurse practitioner had also done IVF and had an ectopic from IVF and therefore was very cautious.

Seeing two little flutters of heartbeats was another breath taking moment. These two little miracles and the most perfect sound of an ultrasound heart beat monitor. I thought this moment would never come, but we were here. All the pain and all the tears and all the shots were worth it. We had our success.

Let me just say… I learned SO fast that I am terrible at keeping secrets about myself. Especially when it comes to good news. Great at hiding pain, terrible at hiding good news. I may as well have gotten the words “IT’S TWINS” tattooed across my forehead. And because it was twins, and I was on so many meds, including prednisone, I was “showing” so early. It was probably just prednisone bloat, but to me it was a FULL on bump. It was almost too crazy to believe. I even said at one point “I just can’t believe it. I just don’t FEEL pregnant anymore. Maybe this was all a dream.” My husband and best friend assured me it was just because my hormones were leveling out, my body was doing it’s job, and it had just been a few weeks since I saw those wonderful babies. I would be revived with all the feelings when I saw them again at the next ultrasound.

My partner teacher and I always coordinated Halloween costumes. And we had planned on being pregnant together. We had a whole plan. She held up on her end of the bargain, but I was behind. But FINALLY. Finally it was my turn. We had a CUTE partner costume when she was pregnant. And this time it was my turn. But we had to be subtle and smooth. Because it was early and I wasn’t “supposed” to tell anyone yet. We were bacon and eggs and I was TWO sunny side up eggs. All my coworkers knew. The smiles during the costume parade told me that all picked up what I was putting down. But I didn’t actually say anything and no one actually asked.

The next day we had a staff meeting and I had to leave early for my next routine ultrasound. The twins would finally be more than little specs and we would see those little sea monkey looking aliens of babies that are just the most beautiful and precious entities in the world. So when I was about to make my exit, a coworker asked where I was going. That was my moment in the spotlight. Beaming so proud and gleeful, I said I had my second ultrasound to attend to check on our twins. The room erupted in cheers and clapping. Tears and hugs all around. I felt like I won an academy award. I was being honored for being a fertile goddess growing two little miracles. Another core memory or “one of the happiest days of my life” in the books.

That wait in the lobby felt extra long. Both my husband and I were just so excited to see the growth. We were taking bets on what the heart rates would be. We were busy talking about names and looking at twin crib configurations on Pinterest. We got called back and in this room, we didn’t have a clear view of the ultrasound. The midwife was asking how I had been feeling and if I had been having symptoms. I poured out all the details of how strong my symptoms had been and that I was loving every second of being sick due to pregnancy.

But then the midwife grew quiet. She said she was going to check on the high definition ultrasound room for us and was going to also grab the nurse practitioner. My giggles came to an abrupt halt. My husband squeezed my hand a little bit and reassured me that those crazy twins were just hiding so we needed the high def to see their beauty.

Time slowed down and every sound in the entire building heightened in my ears. I could hear every footstep, every click of a pen, every breath of every person in the office. Two asurdedly long minutes later, we were moved into the high definition ultrasound room and had two midwives and the NP in the room. Fake plastic smiles and “catching up” on the IVF and pregnancy journey thus far. All trying to distract me from staring at the screen showing nothing going on on the screen. With that invasive ultrasound wand still inside me, the nurse practitioner just whispered “I’m sorry…” and I just gasped.

Miscarriage

The grief was indescribable.

Time completely stopped. The midwife told us to take as long as we needed and I held my breath until all the professionals left the room. Now cue the true academy award winning moment. The sobs and the breakdown that came from me in that moment while ultrasound jelly was still reminding me of the horrific news I was just told was worthy of a “best performance” award. I am certain the entire town heard my crying and hyperventilating. The look on my husbands face was a mixture “I will be your rock and carry you through this, this doesn’t scare me” and “I have seen a ghost of someone that has been through warfare.” Suddenly their lives flashed through my eyes and I analyzed every moment that could have been the moment I lost them. I regretted not calling that day I said I didn’t feel pregagnt anymore. I yelled at my husband for not rushing me to the ER that night I had a suddenly pain that made me shoot straight up in bed but we had passed it off as round ligament pain. And then I started shutting down and wrapping my head around the fact that I was going to have to walk out of this room and out of this office. I knew that everyone would be staring and whispering. Everyone would know I was carrying dead babies in my belly. I felt like MISCARRIAGE was branded on across my chest and I would have to walk through a sea of happily pregnant people waiting for me to stop holding up the lineup of ultrasounds for the day.

The walk to the car felt ten miles long. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t see through my tears. I did not know how I was going to survive the day. And then we had to sit in commute traffic home. Plenty of time to call the family and have to retell the traumatic story to everyone. I distinctly remember the first song that played in the car on the ride home. I had never heard it before, but it was Hunter Hayes song “Dear God” and the lyrics were a knife straight to the heart

I know this ain't for nothin'

There's nothin' you don't make

I know you got your reasons

This shit's just hard to take

I don't mean to criticize you

I know I'm hard to teach

I know you tell me there's nothin' wrong with me

Yeah, but why does my life have to hurt so much?

And why can't I find any peace or love?

And why do I feel like I'm not enough?

Dear God, are you sure that you don't, that you don't mess up?

My life hurt so much. I couldn’t understand the reasons. These words rang in my head over and over for the two hours I sat in the shower crying. I begged God to take this back. To perform the miracle and bring them back. I promised I would do whatever it took and I would never ask for anything again. I was praying this was all just a dream. I would wake up tomorrow as happy as ever again. What did I do so wrong? Why did I deserve this? Why couldn’t I just be happy and just be normal?

To add insult to injury my fertility clinic wanted me to get a second opnion. Apparently they were on that disbelief train with me and didn’t want me to lose hope yet. I wasn’t sure how to get a second opinion but I called the clinic where we started our IUI and IVF journey asking for an ultrasound. They said they don’t just do random ultrasound for someone that is not an active patient and I blurted out “I need to know if my babies are dead”... suddenly they had an appointment available first thing the next day.

I didn’t sleep at all that night and the next morning I sat in the waiting room with an unwashed, tear stained face, and hairs turning gray from the stress of waiting for our appointment. I had never noticed how all the ads and pictures in fertility clinics are so full of smiles and sunshine. Meanwhile I felt like a hurricane of negativity, sadness, and greif plagueing the office. Before the doctor could even confirm the devastating news, I was already interrupting asking what was the soonest something could be done about this.

I had no signs of miscarriage whatsoever and the thought of just sitting around waiting for that to happen felt unbearable. I wanted it done and over with now. I wanted them to perform a procedure right there. I wanted them to just fix it. But I didn’t get to have the nightmare over as soon as possible. I had to wait 5 days for a D&C. Five days felt like a life in prison sentence. Having to walk, talk, breathe, and just exist while knowing there were two babies inside me that were no longer here and would never grow. Would never be in my arms. Would never smile at me or know me. I also had an insane fear of miscarrying on my own. Since I wanted to know why this happened. I wanted to make sure this wouldn’t happen again. So I needed a pathology report to tell me that I wasn’t the problem, that there was something so wrong with both babies that would warrant paying for genetic testing on our remaining embryos. I did not want to miss out on knowing the issue. I felt frozen for the entire five days. Afraid that if I even sneezed I would begin bleeding and miscarry. I didn’t want to go through that horror. I was already in so much heartbreak that I could not imagine having to fully witness this tragic loss.

What a weird state of mind you’re in when going in for a scheduled D&C. Driving to the hospital at the same time that everyone is happily, or unhappily, commuting to work or jetting off for their next life adventure. It felt disrespectful to have a “good” morning in preparation for the appointment. I felt unworthy of having a hearty breakfast or even a bougie cup of coffee. Being happy on this day seemed like it would be like dancing on a grave at a funeral or wearing white to someone else’s wedding. But time also had to be filled somehow. I still needed to eat, I still loved my husband and couldn’t help but smiling when looking at him, and our wait at the hospital was long so we filled it with games and silly social media videos. Ironically my doctor was stuck at a birth, too busy helping someone start the best day of their lives to end the worst day of ours. The worst part of the day was then my doctor walking in on us laughing while playing Heads Up. I was mortified knowing he heard us enjoying our time when this was also a rock bottom day for us. He must have know that we felt caught and he reassured he understood the need to find any glimmer on such a dismal day. With that last sentence I was given a little night night juice and it was over.

It was recommended to wait a few months to let the body “get back to normal” before trying again. So the next few months felt like Groundhog Day where every day I woke up trying to reinvent myself and rewrite our story. New week, new me mentality. Like I could somehow “fix” myself in such a short amount of time and suddenly have it “all together.” This is when I started looking up all the “cures” for infertility. Each week a new obsession, plan, diet, supplement regimen, workout routine. Something was bound to make it suddenly click and I would have a “baby friendly” and “inviting” body. My body was a temple and I would make it the BEST place for a baby to grow.

More IVF, More Loss

After the miscarriage we kept trying. Similar to my IUI “normal”, there became a new normal for IVF. Where I used to hyperventilate over every shot and needed bribing, I now was doing it half asleep while sipping my coffee. My life revolved around when my scans were, where I would be when I need to do an injection, and how my plans would fit into my “pregnanyc prep” routine. We would fly out to the clinic a few days before transfer, find a new tourist activity and accommodations spot every time we were there, and flew home feeling pregnant. And every single time, only one line would come up on that pregnancy test. And then I would be devastated and hate myself, hate the world, hate my husband, and hate my doctors for a week. It was such a cycle that desensitized me more and more each time. It produced a hopelessness that it would never be my time and I would never get what my heart desired most.

Each round we tried to make sure to bring SOME form of enjoyment during the process. Each round we tried to maximize the vacation side of the process so that if nothing else, at least we had fun and had a vacation. We made tons of memories. We joked about just having a timeshare at this point because we were practically living abroad at the clinic. We saw this part of the word at every season and experienced high tourist season, stormy season, slow season. We watched Love it or List it 24/7 (because apparently HGTV is one of the only networks that were available to us in English) and CONVINCED ourselves the show was rigged and no one would EVER list it (we woke from a dead sleep the ONE time we heard “list it” and that is still almost a core memory for us). Our last round abroad we even did a cruise that stopped where our clinic was. We felt like we had to start living beyond infertility because we were so numb, so hurt, and so exhausted by the brutally negative experience of IVF.

One miscarriage, three failed rounds, and nine embryos later I felt completed dead inside. Everyone else I knew was on their second or third baby. My head was flooded with all of the “advice” and opinions I was getting from people. The quiet moments at night became unbearable as I would begin to tailspin about all the negative beliefs I had about myself that were growing. I truly believed:

I DERSERVED this punishment.

I wasn’t meant to be a mother because I would be a terrible one.

My body is broken

I am not enough.

I am a failure.

My husband deserves better and deserves someone that can give him a baby.

The world would be better off without me.

Hitting Rock Bottom

These dark and horrible feelings and thoughts consumed me. By hitting rock bottom, we knew it was best to take a break. It had been four years of trying to conceive and almost three years of infertility treatment. Nothing was working and all that was happening was a rapid decline in mental health, marriage satisfaction, and connections to community. We decided to take an entire year off of fertility treatment to focus on ourselves. It felt like a lifetime but we knew that if we didn’t make this tough decision, we might not make it through to the outcome we wanted- a family.

The universe decided to be helpful for us and shut down the world with a pandemic at the same time we were taking a break. The world stopped with us, and therefore we didn’t feel like we were missing out on much. During this break I still consulted with four different doctors- 3 fertility doctors and 1 immunology doctor, to try to create the PERFECT plan. I refused to do IVF again unless I could get as close to a guarantee as possible. After taking a full notebook of notes and read every article I could find about IVF, endometriosis , pregnancy prep, vitamins, supplements, and nutrition, I finally set things aside. I had a plan, I knew what was next, and now I needed breathe.

Our marriage, our mental health, and our lives depended on it.

The Year That Saved Us

We took an entire year off fertility treatment. I had to try to make peace with maybe never having children. I spent a year learning about myself and my passions.

During that year we focused on:

rebuilding our marriage
reconnecting with ourselves
imagining a life that might not include children

Our tragedy broke us to make us. We became closer than ever. We traveled. Created new traditions. Found joy again.

For the first time in years, infertility was not the center of our lives. We came to a place of peace and we actually game planned how to still have those special moments that felt like “family with kids” moments even if we didn’t have kids.

The Missing Piece

During that year we also pursued additional testing.

Eventually we discovered a chromosomal issue that could not be detected in embryos.t wasn’t necessarily shown to cause misscariage or problems with conceiving, but also seemed to be the last missing piece of the puzzle that was the barrier as to why we didnt get pregnant.

It explained years of heartbreak.

The solution meant pursuing something we had never imagined before:

Using an egg donor.

Choosing a Different Path

Finding a donor felt surreal—like shopping for a miracle. Finding the right match genetically, finding someone that looked like me, finding someone that checked our “boxes” of what would create our perfect baby. It was wild to feel like I was using infertility’s version of Tinder. And then the flood of more questions and opinions from others because of the added extra layer of our child not being “mine” genetically. It was a lot and it was overwhelming.

But it was also hopeful.

We moved forward with one final round. We did our last round here in the states with donor eggs. From 7 eggs we only got one beauitful embryo. We didn’t know that news until after transfer- the other two embryos that were hopeful to mature, failed. We went on a little staycation afterwards that really felt like it gave us all the signs that this was meant to be. And it had to be, because this one embryo transferred was THE only one.

And eventually…

I got a miracle baby that stuck! That pregnancy was extremely full of ups and downs, false alarms, and a lot of lessons (but that’s a different story for a different time).

What’s even crazier was in the midst of the chaotic and life altering time of postpartum AND grad school… we learned we spontaneously conceived a TRUE miracle. One that should not have been possible. But again… another story for another time about having 2 under 2 while in grad school as a first responder spouse…