Over the past few years, my life has been a series of highs and lows, all revolving around my children. Four years ago, my husband and I began trying to grow our family. We were blissfully naïve, believing it would happen easily. We had no idea it might not. Months of trying, two miscarriages, and countless negative pregnancy tests later, we realized it was time to seek medical help.
Infertility is terrifying. It’s a gut-wrenching diagnosis filled with uncertainty, dashed hopes, and dreams that feel just out of reach. The first months with my doctor were overwhelming—I had no idea what all the tests meant, what my levels indicated, or how to cope with the rollercoaster of hope, exhaustion, and disappointment. We tried four IUIs, each one ending in heartbreak, before moving toward IVF. At that point, I was diagnosed with “unknown infertility.” But the bloodwork required before starting IVF revealed an even bigger challenge.
I was in the school copy room—teaching kindergarten—when my doctor called. That moment is etched into my memory forever. He told me I carried the premutation for Fragile X Syndrome and needed to see a genetic counselor. There was a real chance I might not be able to have biological children. I dropped to my knees, speechless, sobbing in a way I didn’t know was possible. Words I never expected to hear filled me with confusion and fear.
That summer, my husband and I educated ourselves, exploring every option. The doctor suggested we continue IVF, though my chances of stimulating my ovaries were uncertain due to Premature Ovarian Failure linked to Fragile X. IVF is grueling. Daily injections, constant appointments, and the emotional toll make it nearly unbearable—but the dream of holding our own child kept us going.
After the injections came egg retrieval, followed by genetic screening for Fragile X and other chromosomal abnormalities. Seven eggs were retrieved; three developed into embryos. Two were healthy. We were overjoyed—never expecting even one to survive. But our first embryo transfer failed. The second, a month later, also failed. I felt shattered, all hope slipping away. Yet, after a few weeks, we decided to try again.
This next round yielded only a single healthy embryo. With cautious optimism, we transferred it, and two weeks later, I saw the two pink lines on a pregnancy test. Joy unlike any I’d ever felt swept over us. Every sacrifice, every painful injection, every tear had been worth it. That one little embryo became our son, our greatest joy.
Even after success, infertility leaves scars. Fears linger, and triggers remain. I became sensitive to complaints about “how hard pregnancy is” or “how long it took to conceive.” Infertility changes you forever—it leaves an imprint on your heart.
When our son was six months old, we revisited our doctor to discuss IVF for a second child. My ovarian reserve was diminishing, so we moved quickly. This round gave us three embryos—the most we’d ever had. One was transferred, and to our amazement, it split: we were expecting identical twin girls. Joy turned to nervous anticipation as we learned they were a rare type and a high-risk pregnancy.
At sixteen weeks, our world shattered. During a high-risk checkup, we were told our daughters’ brains hadn’t developed. Despite all genetic screening and careful planning, we had lost them. The grief was indescribable. Pregnancy loss is rarely discussed, yet it impacts every corner of your life. One day, you are planning a nursery; the next, it is all gone. I had to face parents of my students, explain gently to five-year-olds, and walk through hallways where well-meaning strangers reached for my belly—now empty. Writing about my girls, sharing my experience, and connecting with others who’ve endured similar loss became a way to honor them and process the heartbreak. Almost a year later, I still think of them every single day.
After losing our twins, fear and uncertainty made it hard to consider trying again. Yet, my body doesn’t cooperate like other women my age, and waiting was not an option. With caution and hope, we embarked on a fourth and final IVF round.
Now, I am 21 weeks pregnant with our rainbow baby girl. This pregnancy is closely monitored, emotionally intense, and challenging, but our little girl is healthy, and I am filled with cautious joy. Every day is a mixture of fear, guilt, and excitement. I take it week by week, imagining the moment I will finally hold her in April.
Infertility and loss have changed me profoundly. People often tell me how strong I am—but I wasn’t given a choice. I wanted a family, so I did everything I had to do to make it happen. I pushed through unimaginable obstacles, heartache, and fear because I believed in the end goal. To anyone walking this path: your feelings are valid, your journey is honored, and you are not alone. You can make it through.
