One of our anonymous followers, struggling with her own fertility challenges while taking care of her own patients in her obstetric practice, discusses her feelings in this heartbreaking post.

“It started with month after month of trying to get pregnant. Each hint or touch of a slight abdominal bloat, each twing of the belly, each run to the bathroom to check for blood, each day that your period did NOT come despite you knowing it was not supposed to yet, followed by the ultimate defeat each and every month.

It was akin to a roller coaster of emotions that engineers manufactured to absolutely ensure that no participant would want to partake in its ride ever again. 12 months of trying, 12 months of feeling like a scab overlying a wound, continuously being ripped away to start bleeding again; leaving a deeper cut than you started with. The next step was the office of the REI (Reproductive endocrinologist).

One round of workup's. One IUI. My second child was born. Leaving the hospital with my child in tow felt like a triumphant Olympian standing on the stage holding the ultimate prize. First place. The sweat, the tears, the extreme exhaustion from nights being unable to sleep. It was worth it. Then came the trial for the third. Only six months of trying this time around. Those scars were too fresh to make the same mistake again. 2 failed IUI's. A repeat work up. The dreaded diagnosis of premature ovarian insufficiency. The overwhelming decision to pursue IVF. Just upon making that monumental decision, COVID.

The re-opening of the clinic months later and the resurgence of hope. An IVF cycle which only yielded minimal eggs despite my age of 30. A real understanding now of the severity of my diagnosis. A decision to pursue another cycle in hopes of banking more embryos for a larger future family. Another cycle. A fresh transfer. SUCCESS. A fear for weeks that this was just too good to be true.

A maternal instinct, intuition, premonition. At 9 weeks a devastating miscarriage. A resolve to try again. A wait for the pregnancy hormone to dissolve, to disappear and clear your body to prepare for the next round. A decision to pursue a new IVF cycle as this past fresh embryo was not one of many saved. A delay in start due to lab closures for the holidays.

A new fresh beginning. A new cycle. A decision to transfer a PGD tested frozen embryo. The hopes that change in strategy would yield a better result. A FAIL. A decision to try and do the same again. Finally, SUCCESS. A positive first test. Names picked out for your child. Dreams running abound. Attempts to keep your excitement and enthusiasm at bay all the while knowing this MUST be the end to the story. Finally a happy ending. The phone call. The bhcg (Pregnancy hormone) dropped. It's a chemical pregnancy. It's over. All this, while doing the calling that I believe picked me in life. The job of an OBGYN. The job of holding the hands of patients while you diagnose their third miscarriage. The job of trying to impart hope to the couple attempting to conceive, wishing them luck on their journey with my referral to the REI. The job of encouraging and reassuring the 28 week mother, anxious about some results she recently received about her pregnancy.

The job of listening with a caring ear when patients complain about the aches, discomforts and usual anxieties regarding pregnancy. The job of answering never ending calls, texts and messages from friends, family and community leaders about early pregnancy symptoms, postpartum bleeding and blues, halachic inquires about best next steps . The job of delivering healthy children to beaming parents all the while doing the herculean task of squashing your own bleeding internal wounds. The feeling that your heart is pumping inside you but you don’t actually feel alive. The job of learning to completely dissociate your thoughts and emotions in your personal life; the job of asking yourself to be inhumane, so you can be compassionate and humane for your patients.

And the day that those two sides collide. The day I could no longer hand over that baby without a tear on my face due to my own pain. The day that I could not face another patient complaining about her back and hip discomfort without a monumental attempt not to scream "I WISH I WERE YOU."

The day I asked for a day off, to cancel my entire patient panel because I could not handle another day.

That was the day I gave up.

That was the day I called the IVF center and requested all my embryos be destroyed as this journey was taking away pieces of me. The day I made a choice...either live in the world of IVF or start to learn to re-emerge and live in the world of the living.

That is today.

Happy infertility awareness week.”