Be Your Own Advocate: Taking Control of Your Fertility Journey

So much of infertility is outside your control. It’s a medical condition that affects millions worldwide. But one of the very few things in your control, is to advocate for yourself. Not speaking up enough with our IVF specialists is one of my regrets during our journey. And advocating for yourself when people offer you “advice” is also crucial. It helps to protect your mental health. Whenever I was offered unsolicited advice, “You just need to relax”, I would privately get upset but in the moment, I stayed silent. It wasn’t until later on that I spoke up. 

When we first started IVF, my knowledge was limited. I trusted in the medical team, and I rarely asked questions. It wasn’t until our fourth cancelled IVF cycle (which I later learned was due to my thin endometrium lining), that a nurse remarked, “Your lining is a bit thin.”

This was during a monitoring scan. I had no idea why the lining was important, but her comment made me curious. I started to research, and I quickly learned that the endometrium lining is crucial to falling pregnant. As the wallpaper of the uterus, it becomes thicker with pregnancy so it’s ready to receive an embryo and support the placenta. 

Knowing this, we raised it with our IVF specialist. She dismissed it. She told us that plenty of people still get pregnant on a thin lining and that it wasn’t an issue. Not convinced, I continued to research, and I found out that with a lining under 6mm, it was extremely difficult to fall pregnant or sustain a pregnancy. A healthy lining is 10-12mm. My lining was measuring in the 4’s. We promptly booked a second opinion and I’ll be forever grateful we did. Our second IVF specialist immediately diagnosed me with a thin lining and told us that our best chance of having a baby was through gestational surrogacy. And thanks to his diagnosis, and gestational surrogacy, we now have our beautiful son.  

How to advocate for yourself

Arm yourself with knowledge

Online communities, blogs, books, and podcasts are invaluable in helping to expand your knowledge. And attending events like Wish for a Baby Australia, are extremely helpful. You’ll get plenty of invaluable information and you’ll have all the specialists under the one roof. 

Join a community

Talk to others going through infertility. Learn from their experiences. The #ttc community on Instagram is a great start. And you’ll meet other people going through the same journey as you at Wish for a Baby Australia.  

Come prepared to your appointments

Bring a checklist of questions. For example – What are the success rates (and for your age)? How many embryos make it to Blastocyst stage? What is egg donation? Sperm donation? What’s Pre-Genetic Screening (PGS)? There are so many questions you can ask. And at Wish for a Baby Australia, you can book a private appointment with an IVF specialist and ask all your questions. 

Take your time at your appointments

Don’t feel pressured to be rushed out the door. Go through your questions. And don’t stay silent if you don’t feel satisfied with an answer. Fertility treatment is one of the most emotional investments in your life. You have the right to take your time and to ask for clarification on anything you don’t understand.  

Get another opinion

Get a second or even third opinion if you think you need it. If we hadn’t got a second opinion, I’m not sure we would have ever had a child. 

Advocate for yourself when you’re offered unsolicited advice

Whenever someone would offer me ‘advice’ I would point out the facts: Infertility is a reproductive disease, a medical condition that impacts millions worldwide. And if I was feeling extra bold: “Relaxing is not a medical cure. Imagine telling someone who has cancer to ‘just relax’ and they would be cured. That would be hurtful and insulting. Infertility should be no different.”

Infertility and Mental Health: Coping with the Emotional Toll

*as featured in Wish for a Baby Australia

“It makes you think you can’t get pregnant because you are not worthy.”

“I felt sick and weighted with sadness and grief.”

“You feel emotionally destroyed. I describe it as getting to the end of the cycle and stepping off the cliff.” 

There are hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of comments like these ones from people battling infertility. You can feel the devastation, grief, and vulnerability. And I know this because I was one of them. Over six years, my husband and I had countless failed IVF cycles and three pregnancy losses. We did have our happy ending though. We were blessed with our beautiful son in 2019, born through international gestational surrogacy. 

According to the World Health Organisation, “Infertility is a disease. Between 48 million couples and 186 million individuals live with infertility globally”. And yet, it’s often a silent heartbreak. Silence is perhaps one of the reasons research has shown that women dealing with infertility suffer high depression and anxiety levels. In one particular study, it showed that infertile women experience psychological symptoms, such as depression and anxiety, at the same level as cancer and cardiac rehabilitation patients. 

Reflecting on my own experience, the findings don’t surprise me. One thing I always struggled with was that everything felt outside my control. And that fertility treatment only guaranteed ‘the chance’ of having a baby. I also often felt sadness, anger, jealously and guilt. But whenever we received positive news, I always had a rush of excitement and adrenalin. Excitement one week and dread the next - working through those contrasting emotions, for years, was mentally exhausting. 

Many of us know that infertility is painful and often it’s all consuming. So it’s little surprise that it can take a significant toll you on your mental health. During our infertility journey, here’s what helped me: 

Say no.

Baby showers, gender reveal parties, first birthdays…These events can be torture. For me, baby showers always meant one thing: being surrounded by excited squeals and endless reminders of the one thing I didn’t have and desperately wanted. The one thing I was fighting so hard for. With my very good friends, I often went. But outside of those close friends, I didn’t go. If you are not close to the person, I doubt they will miss you. They’ll have plenty of other people there to celebrate with them. And if you are close to them, as a good friend, they should understand. 

Farewell social media.

After our second pregnancy loss, I deactivated my Facebook account. I hadn’t joined Instagram yet. My Facebook news stream was dominated with pregnancy announcements and baby photos. I would spend too much time scrolling through social media, feeling dreadful. Restricting my social media was liberating. 

Advocate for yourself.

We’ve all heard it before, “You just need to relax.” It still amazes me that so people, with no medical expertise, continue to offer unsolicited advice. Comments like these are ridiculous and hurtful. It took me a while at first, but whenever someone would offer me “advice” I would point out the facts: Infertility is a reproductive disease, a medical condition that impacts millions worldwide. And if I was feeling extra bold: “I’m not sure how relaxed women in war torn countries are. These women fall pregnant every day” or “Relaxing is not a medical cure. Imagine telling someone who has cancer to ‘just relax’ and they would be cured. That would be hurtful and insulting. Infertility should be no different.”

Therapy.

I found therapy extremely helpful. My therapist used a mix of Cognitive Behaviour Therapy and hypnosis. Given the impact infertility can have on relationships, I also know of many people who have found couple’s therapy a lifesaver. 

Self-care.

Do some things just for you, things you love doing. If I ever I need a self-care kick, I go for a long walk, binge a reality TV show, read a good book, or have a massage.

It’s OK to not be OK.

I think it’s imperative to acknowledge that infertility is incredibly painful. You will feel so many emotions like anger, jealously, and guilt…and that’s ok. It’s human to feel this way. Be kind to yourself. 

Connect with others.

Infertility can be lonely, but it doesn’t have to be. There are many people experiencing infertility. Find those people, talk to them, and lean on them for support. The #ttc community on Instagram is a good start. There are also some amazing resources like IVF babble. And of course, there are events like Wish for a Baby Australia where you’ll get the opportunity to meet others who are going through the same journey as you.   

My Surrogacy Journey: A Story of Hope and Resilience

Last year I had the pleasure of speaking at Wish for a Baby in Sydney. It was a fantastic event, and I loved meeting so many wonderful and inspiring people. A highlight for me was sharing my IVF and surrogacy journey. I remember looking out onto the audience and seeing a few people crying, while others nodded along as I spoke. So I knew my infertility story resonated with so many. 

My infertility journey is not a particularly unique one. As you read my story, I’m sure there will be parts you can relate to, parts you’ve experienced yourself. Over the years, many people have told me how overwhelming, all consuming, painful, and isolating infertility is. I remember those feelings as if it was yesterday. And the one thing that always helped me was to talk to others going through the same thing. 

If you’re thinking about attending Wish for a Baby Australia in May, you’ll hear from people like me who will share their personal fertility stories. You’ll also get the opportunity to hear from, and meet, specialists in all areas of fertility. There’s an incredible line up speakers this year and it’s amazing having so many fertility experts together under the one roof. 

I’ll be at the Melbourne event, at the IVFbabble booth. I hope you stop by and say hello. I’m happy to talk to you about my surrogacy and IVF experience. And if you can’t make it on the day, you can direct message me anytime through my Instagram @straight.up.infertility. 

What is my story?

I’m a proud IVF and surrogacy Mum and a strong advocate for infertility awareness. I’m also an IVFbabble ambassador, a global fertility online community and platform. And I’m the author of This is Infertility; the story of my six-year IVF and surrogacy journey and everything I learned along the way. 

Our infertility journey was a long one, which I’m sure many of you can relate to. It took us six years, several failed IVF cycles, three miscarriages and a selfless surrogate to bring our beautiful son Spencer into the world. 

Soon after my husband Ryan and I married, we decided to try for a family. Being in our early thirties, we thought it would be easy. But after about a year, we knew something wasn’t right. And so, we started IVF. It was a roller coaster of emotions. Some weeks I felt despair, anger, and guilt: Why can’t I do the one thing women are supposed to be able to do? Other weeks, I was optimistic and full of adrenalin. Working through those contrasting emotions, for years, was often exhausting. 

After several failed and cancelled IVF cycles and a miscarriage, we changed to an implantation specialist who diagnosed me with having a thin endometrium lining. As the wallpaper of the uterus, the lining is crucial to becoming pregnant and sustaining a pregnancy. At our appointment, he told us: Thin linings are rare, usually genetic, and difficult to fix. He then told us surrogacy was our best chance of having a baby. But not ready to close the door on being pregnant myself, we pushed ahead with a transfer on a thin lining and became pregnant. The high was enormous. 

Sadly, at our first scan at 7.5 weeks, we had the devastating news our baby’s heartbeat was too slow. Two days later at our follow-up scan, she had passed. We were absolutely crushed. Shortly after a D&C procedure, our specialist called with the biopsy results. The baby had been genetically normal. The baby was a girl. I wish I hadn’t found out the gender. It made the loss more real and heartbreaking. The overriding takeaway though, was this loss confirmed that the issue was me. It was really hard to accept. But with the support of my family and friends and a wonderful counsellor, I was able to work through the grief of never being able to carry my own baby and to accept our next chapter: Surrogacy.

With surrogacy a more difficult process in Australia, we started in Canada with Julie, a selfless woman who felt compelled to help us. It was a long flight for the transfer but it was such an important milestone. But what happened next still haunts me. The day of the transfer, our specialist told us the shocking news that the container of embryos we had transported was empty. With a pounding heart and almost breathless, I kept asking him: “What do you mean by empty? Who can we call?” But there was no one to call. The embryos were gone. We knew that there's a standard protocol for transporting embryos, so what happened to us was extremely rare. 

This was one of lowest points during our journey. It was at this time I saw a psychologist who used hypnotherapy and cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). She recommended that instead of fixating on what I didn’t have, to focus on what I did. And to try, as hard as it was, to not let the infertility consume me. Yes, it was a significant part of my life, but I shouldn’t let it be my identity. There is no question that adopting the CBT techniques helped me to cope. 

We pursued surrogacy next in the United States, our last hurrah. We had an instant bond with our beautiful surrogate Leigha and her husband Josh. I will always be in awe of surrogates. How someone who doesn’t know you, hears your story, and feels compelled to help you. Our first transfer sadly failed but our second transfer worked. We heard the heartbeat at our 8-week scan, and we all felt at peace. But at our 10-week scan, we learned the heartbreaking news our baby had passed. 

At this point I resigned myself to think we would never have a child. I wanted to scream and cry and be done with the whole thing. With every set back, I had faith. But this time the fight had vanished. I was struggling to move past the fact we were here again. But we had some good embryos left and our surrogate Leigha was determined to keep going. Ryan encouraged me, repeating everything our doctor had said about how the miscarriage was rare (sub chronic hematoma) and unlikely to happen again. 

We decided to try one last time. Leigha felt anxious but she charged into the final transfer giving it her all. Nine months later, our beautiful son Spencer was born. Today Spencer is five years old, and he is the love of our lives. 

I know how devastating and painful infertility can be. But for anyone struggling with infertility, you are not alone. There are many people out there experiencing infertility. Find those people. Talk to them. Lean on them. Surround yourself with love and support. Don’t suffer in silence.