Naive. Tough. Independent. Out of these 3 adjectives I’d surely only pick two to describe myself…. until I started IVF. Many women struggle with infertility for years and turn to IVF for a chance that science can make their family dreams come true. For myself, that is not currently the case. A handful of failed long-term relationships, years of online dating disappointments, and a workaholic personality disorder left me single at 39. At 39, my fertility journey began, and it began alone.

As I sat there at the medication teaching, it was as if the nurse was teaching me how to fly a plane and asking me to take off at noon. OK, OK, I’m being a bit dramatic, but there were far too many steps for my overwhelmed brain to absorb. The nurse reassured me that she would email me step by step instructions as well as give me the code to an instructional video on their site; nonetheless a little voice inside of me couldn’t help but whisper, “I wish someone else was here to listen alongside me.” Little did I know that I would be haunted by those very same thoughts as the process continued to unfold. Being independent didn’t seem like such a slam dunk anymore.

Define shots. They go down easy after a few drinks then suddenly everything and anything seems possible in life until the killer migraine in the morning declares otherwise. Scratch that. Define shots. Injections given with a needle, just under the skin that can cause bruising and emotional outbursts (included but not limited to being upset over the amount of cheese the local fast-food joint put on your hot dog) given twice a day for the next 10 days. 

Define Menopur. Define Gonal-F. Medication that contains follicle-stimulating hormones (FSH) used in the development of multiple eggs for in vitro fertilization. Now conveniently combine the top 3 definitions and you have yourself a good time. I’ve never been afraid of a shot but preparing and giving myself 2-3 shots daily in the stomach almost etched out tough as one of the winning two adjectives. My day to day suddenly revolved around giving these shots to myself to the best of my ability every morning and every night.

As I neared the first finish line of completing the stim shots, every blood draw and sonogram appointment to monitor follicle growth became more stressful than the next. During an IVF cycle, the goal is to grow multiple follicles at once, something that does not occur in a natural cycle, so they can later be retrieved. At every appointment, I would track and write down the size of my follicles as if I had some control over their ability to reach a decent size and yield a mature egg. In reality, I had to place my faith in Dr. Y, science, and God’s plans. 

As I left my last appointment today before my egg retrieval on Monday, I glanced around at the waiting room full of couples.  It wasn’t the first and I knew that it wouldn’t be the last time on this journey to motherhood that I would find myself grieving. Grieving the loss of the possibility of a doting partner/father on the sidelines that I had long envisioned being an integral part of building a family. But I’d be a fool to not also recognize that MY reality does include an incredible doctor, a team of nurses, friends, and family all rooting for MY chance at motherhood and the miracle of life.