When I regained full consciousness I was told, they only retrieved 4 eggs… 4. So many drugs for only 4 eggs. We were told repeatedly that only about 1 in 4 eggs make for a viable pregnancy in the normal childbearing age population, with me being in my 40s odds were not looking good.

INTRODUCTION

It all started with a false positive pregnancy test in October 2020…ok, some background information would probably help. My husband and I had been married for about 5 years. We had both been married previously and had a blended family of 4 boys, he had 3, I had 1, and none “together.” When we got married we were both clear that we didn’t want more children and I knew that my husband had a vasectomy prior to us dating. Our boys ranged in age from 6-15 when we got married. We were BUSY and life was chaotic. Another baby was not on our wish list…AT ALL. Fast forward 5 years, and we had a 12 and 14 year old left in the house, life was good. Easy. Peaceful. And then that test…

My period had been a few days late which was HIGHLY unusual for me. My body was like clockwork and I just felt “off.” I had an old pregnancy test so I took it and it was POSITIVE. Cue the yelling from the bedroom for my husband to immediately come to the bedroom. I showed him and he turned a shade of pale I had never seen before. We were supposed to be leaving that afternoon for an out-of-town baseball tournament for our youngest son but my husband offered to run to Walgreens first for another test since the test I took had been pretty old and well, the whole vasectomy thing. The new test came back negative and my period showed up a few days later. Phew. Or so we thought.

That test had us both thinking, what if? Would it be so horrible to have another baby now? Could we do it? I mean, it could be awesome. I love being a mom. I love my husband. Hmmm. After a few comments over about a year back and forth about the fact that maybe we should have had a child together, I finally told my husband that I think I wanted a baby. Scary AF to say it out loud. But, he didn’t panic and said “ok let’s do it.” We both agreed that age was not on our side so we better get cracking.

CONSIDERING IVF + CHOOSING A CLINIC

I started immediately reaching out to two types of friends. 1) Friends that had babies around my age of 40ish 2) Friends that had been through IVF (since we knew that was our route with age and the vasectomy). All of the friends that had babies at an older age with large age gaps with older kids gave a loudly enthusiastic “DO IT!” My friends that had been through IVF gave me ALLLL the info, the good, the bad, and the ugly of the process. After those conversations, we moved quickly contacting clinics.

We learned quickly that having financial resources was key in the IVF process. All clinics we contacted had months long waiting lists if we were planning to run through insurance, but if we were “out-of-pocket-pay” we could get into a consult within the week. We were fortunate enough at the time to have the resources to pay out of pocket, so we did.

INITIAL CONSULTATION + CHALLENGES

Our first contact with our clinic was a telephone consultation in November 2021 where we were told costs, process, and likelihood of success. We moved ahead with the process which included my husband starting immediately on medication and me being put on birth control which I was NOT happy about. It was explained to me that the doctors had to know EXACT timing on everything with my cycle and birth control was the only way to do that.

After being on birth control for a bit, my first ultrasound was scheduled. A saline ultrasound. Basically, a balloon was inserted into my uterus and filled with saline to get a geographical look to determine if I had any issues that would make implanting an embryo difficult. It was, up to that point, the most heinous procedure I had experienced. Not fun. The results were also not what we had hoped for. My ovaries showed little activity since they were medically “geriatric.” Gotta love that term, but alas, the truth. After the procedure, the doctor advised us that our chances were less than 10% with my eggs and strongly recommended an egg donor or donor embryo. I was crushed but started looking into embryo adoption. It seemed like a neat idea. Families who had extra embryos would donate to a family in need of a viable embryo. I love adoption. I’m adopted via stepparent adoption. My mom is adopted. And I worked as an adoption social worker. My husband wasn’t sold yet, but I was open to the idea. A few days later the clinic coordinator called me to talk about the next steps and I let her know that I was frustrated with the doctor rushing us into pursuing other options without even trying to use my eggs first. She encouraged me to switch doctors within the clinic and I agreed to try again.

So, back I go to ANOTHER saline ultrasound. Not much had changed, ovaries were still looking sleepy, but other than that, my uterus looked good and I was a candidate for pregnancy. This doctor was also very clear that chances were low, but as long as I was ok with that, he was willing to go through the process with us. We agreed and they immediately handed us a detailed calendar with procedures, classes, and potential medication dates.

It was around this time that I decided to tell my parents we had started the IVF process. My mom had been very vocal about the fact that she wanted my husband and I to have a baby for years before this. Now, being in the thick of it and actually wanting a baby, I knew I needed their support. I also didn’t want what had become jokes about us having a baby to somehow wind up hurtful or grief-laden. I remember sitting down and pretty much getting right to it. I didn’t want them needlessly worrying that I was ill or something was wrong with my marriage or kids. They were thrilled for us and had questions about the process we just couldn’t answer yet. But it felt amazing to have their support and love.

BEGINNING THE IVF PROCESS

The first step of our IVF process was sperm retrieval for my husband. Men who have had vasectomies can still provide sperm through an “aspiration” procedure. I’ll spare you the details but don’t worry, he was knocked out for the procedure. The results were great and we were told we had lots of swimmers to work with. Woo hoo.

We then had to take an “egg class,” which was really so much more than learning about eggs. It was a group class taught by an embryologist all about the IVF process that educated us about statistics, procedures, medication administration, and embryo development. The instructor was amazing and clearly loved her job as an embryologist. She told us the lab and her crew affectionately refer to themselves as “your first babysitters.” How cute is that! It was clear to me that this clinic crew was deeply committed to helping us all build our families. It was also very clear to us that our chances were indeed very, very low for success.

Shortly after the class, we began the egg retrieval process and I began a medication called Lupron that functioned to stop natural ovulation since they needed my ovaries to hang on to whatever eggs they were producing to have them all for the egg retrieval. Those injections weren’t terrible. It was a small needle I was able to self-administer on my abdomen. I did develop a mild rash at the injection site but other than that, it seemed easy peasy.

As we got closer to the egg retrieval date, I started another medication, Gonal F. This was to help my ovaries produce more mature eggs that could be retrieved. I was put on the max dose of this, due to my geriatric underachieving ovaries. This was a bigger needle but wasn’t terrible either.

The cumulative impact of IVF drugs started to take its toll on my energy and sleep. I began feeling quite bloated and uncomfortable in my own skin. This was one of the hardest parts of IVF, the fatigue and body changes I didn’t have much control over. Clothes didn’t fit me right anymore so I found myself at Target looking for oversized tees and came across a Dolly Parton graphic tee that said, “What would Dolly do?” It spoke to me. I love Dolly. Love her spirit and energy. I needed that positivity so I added it to the cart. Literally.

It was around this time I decided to tell two close friends about the process, I knew I would need emotional support and, me being the practical thinker, I knew we had a ton of medical appointments coming up and I would need help transporting my son over the next several months to baseball practice and other events. My friends met with me for breakfast, also worried like my parents that something was wrong with me, so I quickly let them know I was ok. I was nervous to tell my friends. I mean, it was by all accounts, NUTS. Our kids were 13 and 15 by this point. Life was easy. WTF were we thinking? I knew that my friendships could change. Would they be supportive? I thought so, but man, I was terrified. The look on my friends faces is something I will never forget. They both started tearing up with happiness and I immediately felt supportive and loved.

EGG RETRIEVAL + FERTILIZATION

Before I knew it, it was egg retrieval day. I arrived at the office on a Saturday morning, full of anxiety. I was told before the procedure that they expected to collect around 6 eggs. It was a low number compared to what I had been hearing from women getting eggs in the mid-twenties.

The egg retrieval process itself wasn’t terrible, given that I was under anesthesia. I arrived in my Dolly tee ready to conquer this retrieval. I remember very little of the operating room and waking up in a recliner type chair in recovery. I recall being sleepy and feeling moderately uncomfortable period like cramps. When I regained full consciousness I was told, they only retrieved 4 eggs, but they were all mature and candidates for fertilization. 4. I was pretty bummed. So many drugs for only 4 eggs. The egg class had told us repeatedly that only about 1 in 4 eggs make for a viable pregnancy in the normal childbearing age population, odds were not looking good.

I was told the lab would be fertilizing all of the eggs and we would get a call on the status of the embryos within 48 hours. Let me tell you, that call and the subsequent calls after that were EXCRUCIATINGLY painful to wait for. But the call did come, and I was told that 2 of the eggs were showing signs of positive fertilization. Another 2 days and we would know how many of the eggs made it to the “embryo” stage. I got that call while I was at a physical therapy appt with my older son. I was terrified, what if none made it? I didn’t want to go through the egg retrieval process again.

I could tell immediately by the tone of the embryologist on the phone that she had good news. She said, “We have one beautiful, perfect embryo.” She went on to tell me that the embryo “grade” was a 4AA, one of the two highest grades they can get. We then had to tell the lab if we wanted to test our embryo for genetic abnormalities. My husband and I had decided after taking the egg class that we would test our embryos. They would be able to tell us if our embryo was chromosomally normal and would have a chance for a viable pregnancy. The egg class was clear that testing for my age would greatly enhance our chances of a successful pregnancy. I didn’t want to take the emotional chance of implanting an untested embryo that, at my age, would likely result in no implantation or early miscarriage. Testing was not an easy decision as there was some risk associated with it, but it was a chance we decided to take. So, we had to wait AGAIN, but this time it was a WEEK. Ugh.

I remember my phone ringing and my heart beating so fast as I ran to my back bedroom to take the call privately. I picked up and felt a small sense of relief from the tone of the embryologist. She enthusiastically told me the results showed our embryo was normal and without genetic abnormalities. She also then asked, “Do you want to know the sex?” I yelled “NO!” And she laughed. Apparently, most people wanted to know! She said they would mask the results.

It was around this time that I lovingly nicknamed our embryo “teeny rockstar.” Teeny was the little embryo that could. There was also something in the back of my mind that reminded me of the episode of Friends when Phoebe was acting as a gestational carrier for her brother and she said “Hello Teeny Embryos!” I now had my own Teeny.

The lab asked if we were planning on doing another egg retrieval or moving forward transferring this embryo. My husband and I had decided to just go for the transfer. We had prepaid for 2 egg retrievals because, based on my age, it was predicted we would need at least two retrievals to get viable embryos. I didn’t want to wait any longer. The egg retrieval drug process had been grueling on my body and I really didn't want to do it again. I was told we would be placed on the transfer calendar waiting list. Great. More waiting. Boo.

EMBRYO TRANSFER + LOTS OF WAITING

A few weeks later, we were told an opening had unexpectedly popped up on the May transfer calendar. Holy crap. That meant, if all went well, I would be pregnant by the end of May 2022. Wow. Around this time, I found a Facebook group for May IVF transfers and connected on Instagram with some IVF moms. The discovery of this group of women was a mixed blessing. On one hand, it was refreshing to have so many women going through the same process, but on the other hand, holy crap. So much stress. So many heartbreaking stories of years and years of infertility, failed transfers, early miscarriage, late miscarriage, and stillbirth. I felt a little like a fraud in this group. I’d been through none of that. I didn’t have the same infertility issues, I wasn’t grappling with grief or anxiety, we just jumped right into IVF.

Starting the transfer drugs was an experience I was NOT prepared for. Holy crap. I was put on high dose estrogen patches on my abdomen and began what I had been told would be painful progesterone shots in the glutes. Painful was an understatement. Almost immediately I started feeling like a steaming pile of garbage. No energy. Hot all the time. So hot I could barely stand to be touched. Stomach and headaches. It was glorious. Compounding it all were the heinous progesterone shots that were incredibly painful that left me bloody, bruised, and somewhat welted. The shot was in oil which led to hard bumps under my skin. I had a hard time coping during this time and I began doubting my choices.

I have to add, as an aside, that during this time, I was away from my husband a few times and had to have two trusted friends give me these shots in the tush. Now THAT is friendship. Thank you again Casie and Jill!

Before we could transfer, I had two more ultrasounds to check on my uterine lining. There is apparently an ideal “thickness” for implantation. This was one of those barriers I had heard about, lining not being thick enough, or too thick and transfer day being delayed. Mine was 11.5, I asked the doctor, “Is that ok?” He said, “I only wish I could get all of my patients to an 11.5. It’s perfect.” Finally! Something my geriatric uterus was good at. High five uterus. High five.

Before I knew it, May 25 had arrived and it was transfer day. I was more nervous than I anticipated, but my Dolly tee was giving me the vibes I needed to stay positive and calm. The nervousness quickly gave way to unbearable uncomfortableness with my bladder due to the fact that I needed to have a full bladder for the transfer. The clinic was running late that day of course. My eyes literally were watering because I had to pee so badly. We finally made it back and all I could think was please let this be over soon!

The doctor came in and was going over paperwork with us and started reading my name and husband's name back to us to double check everything and then he said “Transferring one genetically normal male embryo.” Um, what? Male? I looked at my husband and I said “Did he just say what I think he said?” My husband said quietly to the doctor “Um Doc, we didn't want to know.” Cue panic and shame on the doctor’s face. “The lab didn’t block the results. I am so sorry!” Well, in our family of 4 boys, we really weren’t surprised, it made sense for us. The transfer itself is surprisingly fast given the months of medications, procedures, and waiting. It seemed like it would be more complicated. My husband said he intently watched the ultrasound screen and was able to see the moment Teeny was placed in my uterus. I then sprinted to the bathroom to finally pee. Such a glamorous process it was.

We then were told I would come back in two weeks for blood work to determine whether or not the transfer was successful or not and if it was, I would come back in another 48 hours to determine if my hormone numbers were increasing appropriately. I was told by my medical team and by all of my friends, DO NOT TAKE home pregnancy tests during that 2-week-wait or “TWW” as they call it in the IVF world. I listened to them and did not test. I learned quickly that I was an anomaly, as the Facebook group I had joined showed me that most women were testing nearly daily and agonizing over whether or not they saw faint pink or blue lines and how dark they were. I was not about that personal agony. I’d rather live in somewhat emotional naivete believing I was pregnant until proven otherwise (PUPO).

I didn’t feel any different than I had leading up to the transfer, and I was told any pregnancy “symptoms” I could experience like sore breasts, fatigue, nausea, and headaches could be attributed to the mass amount of hormones I was taking. That was until I got an intense craving for pizza. I don’t even really like pizza. But I insisted and my husband and I joked that only pregnancy would explain my “needing” to have pizza.

PREGNANCY TESTING + ULTRASOUND RESULTS

Finally, the TWW was over and I was able to have my blood drawn for the test. I was lucky and I got the call back from the lab within a few hours. “You are officially pregnant!” I was told my HGH number was 157, a “solid” number. I was told I had to come back a few days later and test again. No such luck on a quick call back this time, I got a call at 4:58PM from the lab. “Sorry, we’ve had your test all day but got busy!” Omg. Seriously people?! I’ve been dying over here. They told me everything looked great and my number was up to 667. I was to come in 5 weeks later for a final confirmation via ultrasound. MORE WAITING!!!

I recall binge watching a lot of crime and reality TV during this time to keep my mind off things. I spent a lot of time on the couch with my dogs because that steaming pile of garbage feeling was only intensifying. I was told that it was probably a good sign of a strong pregnancy.

The ultrasound date did eventually come around. This appointment had me THE MOST nervous of all. I was invested in the teeny human I was told was growing. But what if he was gone? I had heard all the horror stories of early and “missed” miscarriages. I laid down and braced myself. The doctor was amazing and quickly pointed to a flash on the screen. “That is your baby’s heartbeat. You can breathe.” He said he always was quick to let parents know all was ok. The ultrasound tech that had been there for all of my MANY appointments and ultrasounds peeked around the doctor and said, “I knew it. I had a good feeling about you guys!” We got to hear the baby’s heartbeat, gave us a due date of February 10, 2023, and told us they would print some pictures for us and to meet them outside of the exam room.

Once outside we were greeted by the loudest cheers and clapping. All of the clinic employees lined the hall to congratulate us on our “graduation” from the clinic. I hugged the ultrasound technician who I had become rather attached to. It all hit me at once. I was pregnant, we were having a baby. And it all started with a false positive pregnancy test.

Special thanks to Robyn, Kylie, Brooke, Jill S, Fallon, Casie, Jill G, Jennifer, Aiko, Shea, Kelly, Hilliary, Jamie, and Amanda for talking, supporting me, and advising me throughout this process. Love to you all.

Disclaimer: This article is based on personal experience only with IVF. Every individual's journey is unique, and outcomes may vary. It's important to consult with medical professionals for personalized advice and guidance.