I arrive at the fertility clinic just before 7 a.m. for the morning rush of women making their way from the elevator to the clinic, eager to sign in for their daily blood tests, ultrasounds, and consultations with doctors. It’s a frenetic scene that feels overwhelming.
In an effort to ease my nerves, I head in the opposite direction, signing up for blood work first, knowing it’s the fastest line. I have a history of fainting during blood draws if I don’t lie down, but with so many women waiting, I decide to try sitting up like everyone else. Just as the nurse is about to insert the needle, I pause. “Wait! I think I need to lie back. Sorry!” She graciously adjusts my chair, and I can’t help but smile when she points to a red button on the wall.
“Don’t worry if you faint,” she reassures me. “That’s the fainting button. If you pass out, I just push it, and another nurse will come running.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
“Really,” she laughs, and the humor in the situation lightens my mood.
I then move to the ultrasound waiting room, where my number, 34, is called. This isn’t just any ultrasound; it’s a transvaginal one. As I watch the nurse guide us into various exam rooms, I realize she has seen 34 vaginas before 9 a.m.! I chuckle to myself, wondering how many times she’s seen mine. Has it been 6? 7? 10? I hope there’s nothing about mine that makes it stand out.
“What if my vagina doesn’t look like everyone else’s?” I confide to my partner, Jake, later in the doctor’s office. “What if it’s particularly unattractive?”
“You’re fine,” he replies, and I find his reassurance oddly romantic.
After our appointment with the doctor, we transition to a session with the nurse, who explains how Jake will administer my hormone shots in preparation for my egg retrieval—a process known as stimulation, or “stims” in fertility lingo. The nurse is incredibly patient, carefully guiding us through the steps. Jake takes diligent notes while I lift my dress for the nurse to show him where to inject me, feeling a bit more vulnerable than I’d like. The thought of how much this process costs—about $4,000—adds to my anxiety.
The hormones are making me feel, well, hormonal. I’m crampy, my backside is sore, and I have a relentless headache. To distract myself, I binge-watch a show on Netflix, feeling overwhelmed with emotion as I watch the characters’ journeys. I find myself tearing up, thinking about new beginnings and the future. As I cry into my cat’s fur, I feel a pang of longing for the future I want but don’t yet have—a family of my own.
Reflecting on my mother’s battle with cancer, I remember how gracefully she faced her struggles. She remained strong and humorous until the very end, and I wish to emulate that same poise. But in my current state, I feel far from elegant. My tears and the chaos of my emotions feel anything but dignified. I worry that I’m not honoring her legacy of strength and resilience.
“Seriously? I fought cancer, and you’re struggling with this?” I can almost hear her say as I sob into my hands.
My 12-year-old niece, Mia, reminds me of what truly matters when I see her at a family dinner. Sensing my anxiety, she takes my hand and says, “You’re alive, Aunt Wendy. Just enjoy it.”
Her words resonate deeply within me. I think about all the blessings in my life—my loving nieces, my supportive family, and my incredible friends who check in on me every day. I feel grateful for Jake, who is patient and loving, taking the time to reassure me during these trying moments.
These tests and treatments will become part of our shared story, just like everything else we’ve faced together—my mother’s illness, our leaky roof, and even the time our cat needed emergency care. Someday, we’ll look back and laugh about all of this. “Remember when you had to inject me in my backside?” I’ll tease Jake, as our future child rolls their eyes at the ridiculousness of it all.
As I navigate this challenging journey, I’m learning to embrace the moments of gratitude and joy that still exist amid the chaos. If you’re on a similar path, know there’s a community out there, and you’re not alone. For more insights and support, check out this informative post on intra-cervical insemination and consider resources like this excellent guide on IUI. And if you’re looking to boost fertility naturally, here’s a great product to check out.
In summary, while the IVF process is filled with challenges and emotional turmoil, it’s also an opportunity to discover gratitude and joy in the little things. Cherishing these moments can make the journey feel a little lighter and more hopeful.