My Fertility Journey: Part 3
If you missed Part One or Part Two you can read them HERE.
My Fertility Journey Part Three
When I woke up from surgery, all I could think about was one thing: how many eggs did they get? Justin would always tell the story to our friends and family, laughing as he recalled how I kept asking the same question over and over. I was on so many drugs, lost in a fog, but he’d calmly answer, “24” and I’d ask again, desperate for an answer. It became a little joke between us—one that, in hindsight, reflected just how deeply I feared the outcome.
For weeks, I’d been taking shots and going through procedures, all leading up to that one moment. If we didn’t get any eggs, we’d have to start over. It makes sense now why I kept asking the same question—I needed to know that this wasn’t all for nothing, that there was hope.
After retrieval, our eggs were fertilized in the lab using ICSI, and I remember the mix of hope and uncertainty as I learned that we ended up with 14 embryos. Ten of them underwent genetic testing, and seven survived—a glimmer of luck that I couldn’t help but feel profoundly grateful for, even though I knew so many friends weren’t as fortunate.
I didn’t opt for a fresh transfer because genetic testing was part of our plan. Instead, I chose to return to work, giving myself time to breathe and heal. I scheduled my transfer for Christmas break so that I could prepare physically—and just as importantly, mentally—for the next crucial step.
The two weeks leading up to the transfer were a whirlwind. I had to do shots and ultrasounds to prepare my body, all while juggling teaching. I’d find time in between recess or on my quick lunch break—sometimes barely managing to keep it together. It wasn’t ideal, but I couldn’t wait until summer. I needed to do this now.
A week before Christmas, we traveled to Colorado for the transfer. The procedure wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable. I remember them wheeling in the big machine, the one with the microscope, showing us our tiny embryo, the one that was about to be implanted. I was filled with so many emotions—happy, excited, nervous, anxious, all tangled together. After the transfer, I had to rest for a couple of days. It was physically exhausting, but it gave me time to process.
I’ve always struggled with anxiety, but nothing could prepare me for the overwhelming fear I felt after that transfer. Every little twitch in my body made me wonder if I’d ruined it. If I stood up too fast, or moved wrong, I thought I was somehow sabotaging everything. I spent hours Googling every possible symptom, convinced I had done something to prevent the embryo from implanting. You have to wait two weeks to know if the transfer was successful, and it felt like the longest two weeks of my life. I was so tempted to take a pregnancy test, but I knew that would only feed my anxiety—and deep down, I wasn’t sure I’d believe the result anyway.
Finally, the day came. I went in for blood work, needing an HCG level above 50 to confirm pregnancy. We drove back to my cabin, where my whole family was for Christmas break. I waited, heart racing, for that call. When it came, I could barely breathe. Was I pregnant? Could this be our first baby together? The nurse told me my HCG level was close to 50—maybe pregnant, but they’d need to retest in two days. If the number went down, it meant the transfer hadn’t worked.
Two days later, the call came. My levels had dropped. The transfer hadn’t worked. I was devastated. I don’t know which was harder to face—the fact that I wasn’t pregnant, or knowing that I’d have to go through the whole process again. The shots, the procedures, the emotional rollercoaster—it was all so much. Could I possibly do it again?
Every pregnancy announcement I saw felt like a dagger to my heart. I couldn’t talk about babies. I couldn’t even look at them. I was lost in that place of wondering if I would ever get pregnant. I had always assumed I would—nothing had been wrong with me. We were doing IVF because of Justin’s cancer, and I thought for sure my body would be able to carry this.
But doubt crept in. I questioned everything about myself—my body, my worth. Was something wrong with me? Why was this so hard?
After a lot of reflection, we decided to take a break from trying. The constant rollercoaster of IVF, mixed with my job and everything else, was too much. I needed a mental break—away from doctors’ appointments and the constant anxiety that came with each step. I just needed time to breathe.