The Motherhood Series, Ep. 3: The IVF Process – The Road to Hope and Fear

After our IUI attempt failed, we were left with a decision we had hoped to avoid: IVF.

It was the next step in our journey, and it came with a wave of emotions neither of us was fully prepared for.

I always knew IVF might be part of our path, but arriving at that moment still hit me hard. It was a quiet, heavy realization. Despite all the consultations and discussions, nothing really prepares you for the moment you're handed a folder titled “IVF Teaching Packet” and told, “We’ll need 30 minutes to go over this.”

It wasn’t just about the injections or early morning monitoring appointments—it was the emotional weight of surrendering control. Of placing our dreams into the hands of science, timing, and chance. I felt both hopeful and hesitant, caught between excitement and fear. This was no longer just about getting pregnant; it was about enduring a process that would test us mentally, physically, and as a couple.

But once the decision was made, everything moved fast.

Preparing for IVF: Consultations, Testing, and a Crash Course in Medical Jargon

The first IVF consult felt surreal. We sat in a small office across from a fertility specialist, reviewing everything from hormone levels to sperm counts, timelines to financial commitments. There were forms to sign, tests to schedule, and injections to prepare for. It was a blur of acronyms AMH, AFC, FSH, HCG and more new vocabulary than I could process at once.

I had more blood drawn in one month than I’d had in years. Ultrasounds became routine. I was put on a strict medication protocol: birth control to regulate my cycle, followed by ovarian stimulation meds to help my ovaries produce multiple eggs. My nights quickly became a ritual of alcohol swabs, vials, and needles sometimes two or three injections back-to-back.

The IVF Plan: Paperwork, Protocols, and Pressure

After our unsuccessful IUI attempts, we were advised to pursue a fresh IVF cycle with ICSI (intracytoplasmic sperm injection) and a plan to freeze any remaining embryos.

The IVF nurse followed up with a detailed teaching packet—basically our roadmap. Inside were medication protocols, consent forms, timelines, and a lot of reminders that made everything feel official… and honestly, a bit overwhelming.

I was responsible for coordinating everything:

• Scheduling baseline appointments based on the first full day of my period

• Making sure my husband scheduled his semen analysis with cryopreservation (insurance often requires this for cycle approval)

• Signing all consents in time - everything from egg and sperm source to fertilization instructions

• Ordering medications through the specialty pharmacy and confirming their arrival

Even the pharmacy part had its own checklist: I had to call to schedule delivery, ensure insurance authorizations were in place, and check in with my nurse to confirm everything had arrived.

I also had to get a COVID PCR test on stimulation day #4 and email the results before egg retrieval.

Every little step had weight. Miss one thing, and the whole cycle could get delayed.

The IVF Cycle Begins

1. Ovarian Stimulation

Once my baseline ultrasound and bloodwork were done, I started daily hormone injections to stimulate my ovaries. I was nervous. The idea of injecting myself felt like crossing some invisible threshold—both physically and emotionally.

My hands shook the first time I held the syringe. It wasn’t about the needle; it was about everything it symbolized: effort, hope, vulnerability, and fear of failure.

2. Monitoring

During the stimulation phase, I went in frequently for monitoring—ultrasounds, bloodwork, and dose adjustments. Everything felt so fragile, like one hormone level out of range could derail the plan.

3. Egg Retrieval

Once my follicles were ready, we scheduled the egg retrieval. I remember feeling both nervous and weirdly calm—probably because the hardest emotional work had already been done. Afterward, I rested, waiting to hear how many eggs had fertilized.

4. Fertilization & ICSI

ICSI was performed, where a single sperm is injected into each mature egg. It’s honestly a modern miracle. We waited anxiously for the fertilization report and embryo updates.

5. Embryo Transfer

Once the best embryo was selected, it was transferred back into my uterus. The remaining embryos were frozen for future use. It was a surreal moment, quick and clinical.

The Emotional Side: Fear, Pressure, and Tiny Victories

The emotional weight of IVF is something I still struggle to put into words. Injecting myself daily was one thing, but managing the fear of failure was another. Every step came with so much pressure: Will my body respond? Will the eggs fertilize? Will the embryo implant?

Some nights, I cried while holding the syringe. Other nights, I was calm and clinical, like I’d finally found my rhythm. At a certain point, it didn’t even feel like a big deal to stick myself in the stomach anymore whether that’s good or bad, I’m not sure. Maybe it just became easier. The whole process turned into a strange mix of routine and resilience.

It was a rollercoaster of emotions of hope, grief, and cautious optimism all living side-by-side.

The Impact on Our Relationship

IVF isn’t just hard on your body, it tests your relationships too. It challenged our marriage. We had to schedule intimacy, navigate hormone-induced mood swings, and share the burden of decisions and disappointments. But it also brought us closer in ways I never expected. We became a team in the truest sense, holding each other up when one of us felt like collapsing.

Looking Back: What I Felt Then, and What I Know Now

Looking back, I see IVF as both overwhelming and empowering. It pushed me to the edge of what I thought I could handle and I survived. I learned how strong my body really is. I learned how resilient love can be. And I learned that even in the most clinical, sterile environments… hope can bloom.

If you’re reading this and preparing for your own IVF cycle, know this: it’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to feel everything including the fear, the frustration, the hope, the joy. This is hard. But you are not alone. And there are so many support groups out there, especially on Facebook with some amazingly supportive women!

In my next post, I’ll share the hardest part of IVF for me: the two-week wait was the longest, most uncertain 14 days of my life.

Until then, I’m sending you strength and a gentle reminder that your feelings are valid. You’re doing something incredibly brave, even though it sucks. ❤️