Infertility sucks.

"IVF felt like a part-time job."

by Valerie M. 

​I joined a club many years ago that I never wanted to join. Turns out it’s an elite group of women who have carried the weight of monthly disappointments, unwanted advice, sympathetic looks, triggering questions, and pain that often sneaks up on you. The first—and hardest—step was realizing we were among the one in eight infertile couples we pass on the streets daily. As I’ve walked through our family’s infertility journey, I’ve come to appreciate being part of this club and have found common ground with so many other women.

For years, we’d been trying all the things. We started with the conversations with my OB/GYN and their minimal attempts to help us out. Ladies, your OB really is not an expert on these things. We eventually took that next scary step to admit we needed to see a fertility specialist. 

We tried all of the other options, from the meds, to the turkey baster method (IUI), to adoption, and ultimately came to the point of either pursuing invitro fertilization (IVF), or not having kids. We took some time off between a few big seasons of trying and failing, before deciding if we wanted to try the next thing. All in all, our journey from “trying” to having the birth of our second child was about 10 years. 

Infertility is a sneaky thing. They say one in eight couples deals with it, so the odds are you’re interacting with someone everywhere you go who has dealt with it on some level. But, it’s one of those things you can’t “see,” and so you don’t even realize that someone is dealing with it. 

So many women walk through infertility silently and, on the outside, may look like we’ve got it all together. We search for answers online and quickly change the subject in triggering conversations. We learn to avoid certain circles at church or friend groups because the constant baby shower invites are too painful, and you start to find that you just can’t relate. You may sound sarcastic and heartless in conversations, but you’re really just protecting your mind from going places you know are too painful to go. 

You carry so many emotions, from hope mixed with fear to disappointment and strength, excitement and dread. You can easily swing from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other in a matter of seconds. And the extra hormones you’re literally pumping into your bloodstream don’t help matters either! 

It is a lot to carry—especially when you’re like us and move from thing to thing to “try” only to have them all be closed doors for you. 

The last door to knock on for us was IVF.

Thankfully, IVF was the option that worked for us, and while a scary move to make, it was a fairly smooth process for us once we made the move to pursue it. We ended up with five embryos that developed from the fertilization process. Two of those didn’t pass the genetic testing due to known causes of miscarriage. Our first egg retrieval and fertilization round worked, and each of our frozen embryo transfers resulted in two healthy kiddos. 

At times, IVF felt like a part-time job. There were more appointments than I could count, and the medication lists were daunting. And that was just the logistics. Add on the hormones, the mental load, giving yourself shots, and the emotional roller coaster you’re on. 

I would not wish this journey on anyone, but now on the other side with our two kiddos who are a day apart in age, yet at the same time also two years apart, I’ve come to appreciate a few things. 

In the 10 years of this path to parenthood, I dove deep into my work and ended up building a business that allowed me amazing flexibility when I did become a parent. I accomplished more professionally than I ever would have been able to do had I become a mother in my 20s. 

I also found a tribe of strangers who are now close friends. Anyone who has walked even part of this journey finds an instant connection with a fellow infertility warrior. I’ve been encouraged and blessed by more strangers and friends who have walked a similar path to parenthood. 

When I finally publicly shared about our journey, I was flooded with private messages and texts from people I hadn’t spoken to in decades, each asking questions or just sharing their own story or pain. I was starting to see how our journey, and willingness to share it, could support another person on this path. 

I learned to find some humor in the situation. When we decided to pursue IVF, I soaked up a ton of information to know what to expect and what questions to ask. In the process, I found a podcast called The Infertile Mafia, and I remember driving around in my car listening to episodes and laughing out loud. The banter around the process and procedures was infectious. I also discovered by listening to these two women talk that I was not alone in my emotions, my triggers, my frustrations, and my infertility experience. 

This journey also revealed how I could impact thousands of strangers worldwide with a podcast called IVF & Infertility Meditations. I started this podcast to process my own anxieties and mental health while preparing for our second embryo transfer. A few months in, I learned that I had literally thousands of downloads from people in over 60 countries, simply signals to me that the mental health side of infertility is a real concern and a way I can give back.

I am still brought to tears when I think about the pain we’ve felt over the years due to infertility. I still grieve this journey, even as I celebrate the two amazing kiddos we’ve been able to bring into our family. And I still get triggered by many things that triggered me before. So I share our story with a deep heaviness, knowing that many others are still in the thick of it and may not have resolutions. They still have longings not fulfilled, and they’re still walking tall and strong to the outside world. The path to parenthood is often difficult, and we can say we are all stronger for it.