My IVF Miracle
Infertility is said to affect 10-15% of couples, but it’s not easy to talk about. One mom shares her honest and moving account of the most personal of journeys.
By Anonymous
When someone tells you that you might not be able to have a child of your own, your heart breaks. Going through fertility treatment was literally the hardest thing I have ever done. The emotional trauma, the fear, the anxiety, the waiting, the disappointment over and over, the sense of failure, the inability to think about anything else: that is what stays with you even after you succeed.
I didn’t think that I would have trouble getting pregnant. Even though I told my husband that we shouldn’t wait too long to start trying because, well, you never know, deep down I didn’t really think we’d struggle. And then we did.
At first, we were pretty chilled about it, but three months passed of trying naturally, then six months, and then nine months without any luck. After one very long year, we went in to get tested.
When someone tells you that you might not be able to have a child of your own, your heart breaks.
Fertility testing
The blood tests and ultrasound weren’t bad, but the HSG test was, for me, the worst procedure I went through on my fertility journey. The test lets the doctor make sure your fallopian tubes are not blocked and your eggs have no trouble coming down to get fertilized.
You start off by lying on a (cold) x-ray table. They open your vagina and insert a long cannula into your cervix so that they can put in the iodine contrast media to see how fluid moves throughout and take x-rays. Apparently, I have a small cervix and they had to try smaller and smaller cannulas. I kept hearing “so small, so small” in Thai over and over. The feeling of vulnerability and violation, more than the pain, had tears streaming down my cheeks and me shaking like a leaf.
For my husband, the tests were also intimidating—a request for a sperm sample on demand…need I say more?
It was just my luck that the results came back on my birthday: we were going to have trouble, maybe even going straight to IVF. I was devastated. To me, IVF meant super-expensive and a last resort. I didn’t know if I could get my husband on board. I didn’t think we could afford it.
I got mad at God, at the universe, at every pregnant person I knew. I researched the heck out of fertility statistics, treatments, success rates, options for adoption, etc. I told my mom. I cried, a lot. I was grieving for a child I thought I could never have.
Infertility is mostly just bad luck. Thirty percent of the time, the problem lies with the man, 30% with the woman, and the other 40% is both or unknown. There are major insecurities on both sides: the person without the problem trying to assure the other person that they didn’t blame them (AND really trying hard to mean it); the person with the problem feeling like dirt. If both have a problem, both feel like dirt. If it’s unknown, you don’t even know where to start! Lose-lose-lose-lose. This would strain any relationship, and it took us open conversations and time to come to terms with things.
We made some lifestyle changes, tried to get into a positive mindset. After retests, we decided to try more conservative treatments before going on to the very expensive, intense, and dreaded IVF.
Starting treatment
If trying naturally was stressful, that had nothing on trying while undergoing treatment. You couldn't help but hope that the treatment was helping your chances, and you’re constantly reminded of it as you take medicine every night, use progesterone suppositories twice a day, and go in for regular trans-vaginal ultrasounds. (Goodbye vanity.)
I cried, a lot. I was grieving for a child I thought I could never have.
The first few months, we tried medicated timed intercourse, where I took hormones to produce each month two or three eggs instead of one. A typical month went like this:
- Get your period, go see the doctor
- Ultrasound
- Start medications
- After a week or so, see doctor again for another ultrasound
- How many viable follicles (egg sacs) do you have?
- When will you ovulate?
- Plan for when it’s most likely for you to be fertile
- Try
- Continue taking medications
- Try not to lose your sanity waiting for two weeks to take a home pregnancy test
- Get a big fat negative; cry
- Get your period; cry again
- Repeat
After no luck for a few months, we were on to the next step: intrauterine insemination. Also referred to (by me) as the ‘turkey baster method’, it’s where the doctor tracks my cycle and, when I’m at my most fertile, deposits a highly concentrated solution containing my husband’s sperm so that hopefully one of my eggs will fertilize.
We tried this twice. It didn’t work.
I wasn’t doing very well with Project Baby, and we both needed a break.
I had already gone through more than 30 trans-vaginal ultrasounds, taken hormones every day for months, and gone through month after month of getting my hopes up to have them dashed. So, when our doctor asked us about moving on to ICSI, a more precise method of IVF, I looked at him and said: “Yes, it’s just money. Let’s do it.”
Onto the real deal: ICSI
ICSI is the real deal. Gone are the oral medications and in come the injections. I had 18 injections in 10 days in my tummy. Instead of two or three eggs, the hormones tricked my body into making 12.
To extract the eggs, I had to go under general anesthesia. Using ultrasound as a guide, my doctor injected a needle into my ovaries to suction out, one by one, fluid from the 12 follicles that contained my 12 eggs. The same day, hubby provided sperm, and the laboratory selected the best looking ones. ICSI took a single, handsome sperm and injected it directly into my egg. They did this with all the eggs. Once the sperm and egg fertilized, we had an embryo. Science is pretty amazing.
We had to wait until Day 5 to see how many embryos were viable to be transferred back to my body. On Day 1, seven of our embryos were looking good. I was ecstatic. Statistically, 50-60% would make it to Day 5. I crossed my fingers for at least four.
Then Day 5 came and the nurse said, “Well, there’s one. Call back tomorrow. We’re going to give four another day.”
My heart sank. Only one embryo. From 12 eggs. I didn’t know it was possible to do so poorly at this stage in the process. The chances of one embryo working were minimal. And if/when we do it next time, I realized for the first time, it was possible to get zero.
I called the next day, and sure enough, we had one embryo. One shot. One very long shot. This was supposed to be my best option. I went to a very dark place.
My husband sat me down and convinced me to try with our one embryo and then put ‘Project Baby’ on hold for a while. He was worried about me. I was worried about me. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to keep going. I didn’t want to waste time. But, at the same time, I knew he was right. I wasn’t doing very well with Project Baby, and we both needed a break.
The truth is, I don’t know if I am strong enough to go through IVF again.
So, the next cycle rolled around and I did my best to stay positive. The transfer was a simpler process, a lot like IUI, except this time, we got to see our little embryo on a large screen before the nurse very carefully carried it over to the doctor to inject. I have a picture of our embryo and a picture of the moment (spoiler alert) she was injected in my uterus.
Ten agonizing days passed. I took a home pregnancy test, and to my shock, amazement, and joy, it was a big, FAT, positive!
A few tips for talking to others
When you meet someone, remember that you do not know his or her story. A simple question like “You don’t want kids?” could cut someone deeper than you know.
If you do know that someone is struggling to get pregnant, or even going through IVF:
- Avoid making suggestions on what they should and shouldn’t do to get pregnant. I can guarantee that they have done a ton of research and already know any tip you may have heard.
- Don’t say things like, “Next time it will work” or “This is your month” because you don’t know that.
- Just be there for them. Let them start and lead the conversations. They may or may not want to talk about it—don’t take it personally.
Even now, when people ask me if I’m going to have a second, I get so weary. I would love to have two kids; I don’t know if it’s possible. And the truth is, I don’t know if I am strong enough to go through IVF again.
My daughter is a miracle. She is a blessing. I thank God for her every single day.
Further reading
Photos by Elena Έλενα Kontogianni Κοντογιάννη and anurag Singh via Pixabay.
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