Our infertility journey begins (Book extract)

An extract from Chapter 2 of my debut book 'This is Infertility' where I talk candidly about IVF and what it means to me.

There’s no sugar coating it, IVF is hard. It can be gruelling and demanding. It can take multiple cycles, sometimes years, for it to work. You often need to be in it for the long haul. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint,” one friend had warned me early on.

If you are one of the lucky ones, you’ll get success within one or two transfer cycles. But I doubt you’ll feel lucky at the time. Relieved maybe but not lucky. If you’re undertaking IVF, you have most likely fought infertility for a while. So, whether your treatment takes you a couple of months or several years, it can all be incredibly difficult.

Chances are most people know someone who is going through fertility treatment: a friend, family member or work colleague. Today, it’s estimated that one in six couples worldwide battle infertility. One in six! According to the World Health Organisation, “Infertility is a disease” and “…between 48 million couples and 186 million individuals have infertility globally”.

And yet, it’s often a silent heartbreak. Silence is perhaps one of the reasons that research has shown women dealing with infertility suffer high depression and anxiety levels. One study by Kristin L. Rooney and Alice D. Domar showed that infertile women experience psychological symptoms, such as depression and anxiety, at the same level as cancer and cardiac rehabilitation patients. The study concluded by calling women undergoing treatment “infertility survivors”.

Reflecting on my own experience and talking to others who have struggled with infertility, the findings don’t surprise me. The old truisms of, “the more you put in, the more you get out” and “the harder I work, the luckier I seem to get” just don’t apply.

I had always been taught that if you work hard for something, you’re more likely to get it. Hard work equals reward. Then along came infertility. It doesn’t matter how hard you ‘work’ at it. So much of it is outside your control.

Looking back, the only thing in my control was being my own advocate. During the second half of our journey, I realised the importance of speaking up and challenging specialists when I needed to. It was my body, after all. So, I started to make sure I was always prepared for appointments and brought a checklist of questions. Besides being prepared, I also think it’s important to get a second and third opinion if you feel you need it. I regret not advocating from the start but better late than never.

The other thing I always grappled with is that there are no guarantees. Fertility treatment only guarantees the chance of having a baby. Knowing this can often make it impossible to stay positive and continue treatment.

And finally, IVF is a roller coaster of emotions. You can feel despair, anger and guilt. You’re often bracing yourself for something to go wrong. I seemed to have a permanently clenched jaw during our treatment. Somewhere along the way, my dentist gave me a mouthguard to stop me grinding my teeth at night. It didn’t really work. But you can also feel optimistic and full of elation. You can experience highs of adrenalin. Whenever we received positive news, such as having a high egg collection cycle, I always had a rush of adrenalin. Because it was hope. And hope is so powerful. It’s intoxicating.

But excitement one week and dread the next—working through those contrasting emotions, often for years—is mentally and physically exhausting.

You can buy my new book 'This is Infertility' here.

Infertile AF podcast episode

Loved chatting to Ali @InfertileAF recently about my infertility journey.

You can listen to the episode here.

From @InfertileAF:

“On the latest episode, I’m talking to @straight.up.infertility Kirsten McLennan, the author of ‘This is Infertility’, which tells the story of her six year journey through IVF and surrogacy.

Kirsten’s son Spencer was born through gestational surrogacy in 2019 in Utah. But it was a long, long road to get there.

Kirsten and I talk about all of the significant challenges and setbacks they went through, their very real experiences with IVF and surrogacy, how she went through treatment in Australia, Canada and the United States and so much more ❤️”

Baby showers

Here's an extract about baby showers from Chapter 4 of my new book 'This is Infertility'.

A few days after our second transfer, I started bleeding. Dread. And once again the universe had its timing. I started bleeding an hour before a close friend’s baby shower. One hour before. I’m not a superstitious person, but I’ll admit, the timing was uncanny. I felt like I was someone’s punch line.

A quick sidebar about baby showers. Don’t go. Unless it’s a good friend’s shower. And even then, see how you feel at the time or where you’re at with your treatment. If it’s a work colleague, acquaintance, distant relative…don’t go! As one friend asked me, “Why would you put yourself through that?”

If you’re not close to the person, I doubt they’ll miss you being there. If you do go, strap yourself in for at least two hours celebrating the one thing you don’t have. Those two hours will be full of excited squeals and ‘fun’ guessing games about the baby’s birth weight, the due date, the gender. You’ll be surrounded by the one thing you yearn for and would do anything to have. The one thing you are fighting so hard for. I realised early on that this can be excruciating. Then one day, I just stopped going and had to trust it would be okay. It was. With my close friends, I always went. My good friends don’t need to be the centre of attention. Their baby showers were always intimate and beautiful. They also had an innate ability to make sure I was okay.

Back to the bleed. Convinced it was my period, I accepted defeat. I nervously went off to the baby shower, a knot in my stomach. But being around my friends made me feel better. I quietly told one friend what had happened, and she clung to me like my life raft, never leaving my side. She had suffered her own infertility challenges over the years, so she understood. Trying to think optimistically, I pictured my own baby shower and knew this baby was worth fighting for.

You can buy my book here.