One of the ‘Lucky’ Ones
I’m part of the one in six, or according to some sources now, part of the one in five.
One of the ‘Lucky’ Ones
I never thought infertility would be a health challenge I’d face. I always told myself IVF was nuts, and why on earth would anyone do that to yourself? Until that was my only option.
I’m no stranger to chronic health conditions. I’ve been a type 1 diabetic since I was 26. My husband has also been type 1 diabetic since the age of 16. We struggle with various health challenges on the daily. And still, I didn’t think in a million years getting pregnant would be a challenge for us.
After four years of ‘not not trying’, we finally decided it was time to mention it to our doctors. We both brought it up at our next appointments and were each referred to fertility clinics. The call from his referral clinic came first - in February of 2020. And I naively thought ‘who cares which one we go to’, they’re going to test us, all will come back clear, and we’ll just have to get better at tracking my cycle. This clinic was an hour away from home…that will come back to bite me in the ass later. We were scheduled for a consult a few weeks later. We went in for the full testing work up, and pretty soon after, were told IVF would likely be our only path as there were 0 sperm cells found in my husband’s sample.
Luckily enough (I guess?), although my husband was not as pleased, he was scheduled for a PESA (percutaneous epidydimal sperm aspiration) a few months later and they were able to draw a few vials of semen with sperm cells.
That was in July of 2020. After this aspiration, my husband did not step foot in any clinic, for any appointment, again. I had not anticipated the loneliness I was going to feel walking the rest of that path alone.
In September, I was scheduled to begin egg retrieval preparations. I started the protocol, but about half way through the doctor realized the eggs were not growing at the rate required and the cycle was stopped. That was several thousand dollars down the drain…on top of the ‘cycle cancellation’ fee I was required to pay. In retrospect, I believe they put me on the incorrect protocol as a result of internal clinic miscommunication.
So we started again in October. This was a success. While you’re going through the process you know every number, every result, every detail….and now when I look back I can’t remember much. There were 11 mature eggs retrieved, which eventually resulted in 4 day 5 embryos with fairly strong ratings. I remember the doctor telling me that my blood pressure shot up so high they were worried. Super.
Following that, we started prepping for the FET process. Again, I can’t remember what drugs I was on and for how long. I’m insulin dependent so am used to needles in the stomach, but that PIO shot is no joke. Not to mention the progesterone suppository ruining all my underwear. The worst experience during this entire ordeal happened at this point. The doctor did what I later discovered through a google search was an ‘endometrial scratch’ was probably the worst medical experience I’ve ever had in my life. I was not told anything about what was about to happen. I had zero context and provided zero consent. And just kept hearing the doctor say ‘you’re tough, you’re a tough girl (barf), this is the hardest part’. I cried when he left the room, and could barely get dressed. It was by far the most traumatic experience of the entire process.
When I showed up for the transfer, I walked in alone, I prepped alone, and I laid on that cold table alone. My husband sat in the car in the parking lot and waited for me to come out. I think this is one of the hardest parts about going through all this during COVID. Not only is infertility isolating, but I couldn’t even have my support person with me. The one person who actually knew what I was going through.
During the transfer, it felt oddly…understaffed? Just my doctor and the embryologist in the room. It again, wasn’t until I look back on this situation, when I realized how messed up this was too. The ultrasound tech was nowhere to be found so they were just going to have a nurse who ‘had done this before’ to help guide the doctor in placing the embryo. WTF?
Overall, I found that to be a far less stressful part of the entire ordeal. I tested maybe 10 days later, because who waits for the blood test? It was positive. But I was super cautious. If there’s one thing infertility teaches you, it’s to prepare for the worst. Just assume nothing is going to work out and you’re going to be heartbroken.
Weeks passed, and our little bean stuck around. We were able to completely hide it from friends and family thanks to a pretty strict covid lockdown at that time. A blessing in disguise really. I needed to keep this hidden in case the worst happened.
We have chronic lifelong health conditions. We tried for years to get pregnant. We spent $40K. I had a difficult pregnancy - diabetes, high blood pressure, anemia requiring iron infusions, placenta previa ultimately leading to bed rest at 30 weeks. The previa never moved which meant that I had no choice but to deliver via c-section. And with all that, I know how lucky we were. I know we’re so incredibly blessed to have been able to safely welcome our daughter into the world. So many fellow infertiles aren’t this ‘lucky’.
Some of my key learnings from navigating a fertility journey include a profound understanding of isolation and emotional strain. The journey through infertility can be profoundly isolating, especially when your partner's involvement is limited, and the process is complicated by external factors like the COVID-19 pandemic. This isolation is compounded by the emotional and physical toll of undergoing procedures alone and dealing with unexpected, painful interventions without proper consent or support.
It’s emotionally taxing while also requiring significant financial burdens and medical challenges. Miscommunications or protocol errors can lead to costly setbacks, and the process often requires resilience in the face of repeated disappointments and physical discomfort.
And through this process, I learned to take on each day with cautious optimism and gratitude. Infertility teaches a unique form of cautious optimism, where hope is balanced with the expectation of potential setbacks. Despite the numerous challenges, there is profound gratitude for the successful outcomes, highlighting the value of perseverance and the understanding that many others may not be as fortunate.
Infertility sucks. Infertility care shouldn’t make it worse.
- Meaghan Kay
Medical Disclaimer:
The information provided in this blog is intended for general informational purposes only and should not be considered as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your healthcare provider or qualified medical professional with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read in this blog.