The truth about trying-to-conceive is that nothing ever goes how you envision. My husband and I have been on this journey for six years. We did our obligatory year of trying naturally, to no avail. We spent the next three years working with a naturopath trying to get to the root of our infertility. We tirelessly recorded basal body temps, tracked cervical mucus, and found the optimal dates to conceive naturally each cycle. A year in, we added medication to timed intercourse.
My body didn’t react, and we were slowly losing hope. Friends were getting married and having babies all around us. After three years with our naturopath, and four years into our fertility journey, we decided that a visit to a reproductive endocrinologist was our next move. Our initial consultation resulted in us learning that IUI was not going to work for us, and that we should jump right to IVF. Scared and nervous, we jumped in, feet first.
Our egg retrieval resulted in two Day 5 embryos. Hope was once again fleeting. Two days later, I was hospitalized with severe ovarian hyperstimulation. Because of all my body had been through, we decided to wait a few months before we did our first embryo transfer. On a hot and sticky August day, we transferred one beautiful embryo, and we hoped. I spent the next two weeks relaxing and doing everything in my power to optimize our chances. We were more upset than expected when we learned our transfer was unsuccessful.
At this time, we took a much-needed break to focus on our marriage. Once we were ready to transfer our remaining embryo, we experienced multiple hurdles. One cycle, my labs were out of whack. The next cycle, our timing was off. The next cycle, COVID-19 hit, and our clinic closed. This hurt most of all as we couldn’t look forward to the next cycle because we didn’t know when that would be.
After seven months, we got the go ahead to transfer! We transferred our last embryo and again, hoped for the best. Two weeks later, the phone call from our clinic came and “Congratulations, you’re pregnant,” was the best thing I had ever heard. For the first time in our journey, these were tears of joy.
My first trimester went smoothly, aside from some morning sickness. At 13 weeks, just days before Christmas, I suffered a miscarriage. In our journey, there had been no devastation worse and in that moment, all hope seemed to fade. We had exhausted all of our embryos and were back at square one. To grieve and move forward, my husband and I jumped back in and scheduled our next egg retrieval. While we don’t yet physically have a child with us, we march on, and we still hope.