The Club Nobody Wants to Join - Our Fertility Adventure

Barely a few weeks into dating, Rutger and I were already planning a weekend away. Everything between us felt so good right away. We even broached the subject of having children during the weekend. We both desperately wanted children and were both quick to share jokes about which type of car would make for a great family car in practical terms. 

A few years on, now living together and both graduated from university, we were ready for it. I got rid of my IUD and started monitoring my cycle in an app. And while the app nicely showed that my cycle was doing each month exactly what it was supposed to do, the reality was that each month my period also returned like clockwork at the expected time. 

After trying “by ourselves” for about a year, unfailingly accompanied by recurring disappointments, we discussed our options. By now we had gathered the necessary information and made several lifestyle changes, but all to no avail. So, after another disappointment and with a sense of reluctance, we made an appointment with our family doctor and were soon referred to a fertility clinic. At the clinic, Rutger and I were both examined, but no demonstrable medical cause for the lack of pregnancy was detected. There was nothing wrong with either the eggs or the sperm. In other words, it was simply a case of bad luck.

We started off with an IUI (intrauterine insemination) treatment. I was thrilled that I was now able to actively work towards finally (and hopefully) becoming pregnant. But after four rounds of oocyte stimulation, three rounds of IUI followed by as many menstruation periods, the conclusion was inevitable that any further attempts would not make sense. So, our next step was to be IVF (in vitro fertilization). 

This was a massive leap for me. Yes, it meant that you could actively work on getting pregnant again yourself (i.e., taking even more hormones and injections), but a considerable part of that process takes place elsewhere and is performed by medical professionals. Whereas with IUI you still play a role yourself in the moment suprême of fertilization, with IVF that act is reserved for an embryologist in a laboratory. 

We embarked on our IVF adventure during the corona pandemic, which meant that I had to do most of the checkups, ultrasounds and treatments on my own. Fortunately, we were able to share all aspects outside the clinic with each other and were able to openly talk about all issues. Still, we both experienced it differently. While I was proactive, coping with schedules, tablets, syringes and more, Rutger was often a passive spectator because of his role as a husband and the pandemic required him to stay at a distance. As a result, I found the aspects we couldn’t share to be a lonely struggle. 

We had also deliberately chosen not to share our trajectory with family and friends. After all, the bad news, whenever I had my period again always meant the start of a new cycle. We didn’t want to dwell too long on the sadness of an unsuccessful attempt, so we kept it to ourselves. I still stand by our decision, but this does not take away from the fact that I felt very isolated during this time. 

Three years ago, my fertility week began on Monday, November 1. After several failed IUI attempts and now two rounds of IVF with multiple failed transfers, we were beginning to lose heart. We still had one round of IVF outstanding and wanted to give this last round our best shot. My egg retrieval took place on Monday, November 1; the first day of fertility week. This felt like an extra bit of luck that we could well use. I stayed in bed for the rest of the week, devoting all my energy to that one goal: getting pregnant. The next day we heard that one fertilization had occurred, and the embryo was transferred the following day. Our last chance. Full of hope and dread, the waiting began.

For this entire week we focused on “fertility week.” I was reading posts and articles, followed experienced experts on social media and studied the Q&As of others on various forums. I also listened to episodes of the podcast “Willen jullie geen kinderen?” (Don’t You Want to Have Kids?). It gave me hope, hearing so many wonderful stories on the subject. But I also recognized the despair and feared that this dream might never come true for us. Would I be able to keep our embryo, our last chance, in me during this week and beyond?

After two nerve-wracking weeks filled with every possible emotion and symptom you can think of, I took a test. And after what seemed like an eternity, the test read: Pregnant 2-3! Incredibly, after more than three years of recurring bad news, the time had finally come for us to have a baby. 

Our daughter is now two years old, and Rutger and I are expecting our second child. To the outside world, we are an ordinary family, but to ourselves a family that has come a long way to reach this point. A family for which we are grateful every day. 

At times, it also seems like we belong to some kind of invisible club. A club nobody wants to be a member of, and a membership you wouldn’t wish on any other person either. But at the same time, a club where you can feel connected with your fellow club members. A special club where you are allowed to express all of the feelings and emotions that you are experiencing, and where sadness and love co-exist in close proximity. I am a proud club member.