“We may need to consider using an egg donor.” Those words hit me like a ton of bricks. I sat in the doctor’s office, having placed my trust and financial resources into this specialist for an entire year, while my husband waited outside in the car due to Covid-19 restrictions. I had to face this shocking news alone.
After completing my second IVF cycle, only one embryo had made it to genetic testing, but it returned abnormal. From the time I learned about conception, I was taught that pregnancy was something to be avoided. I started birth control at 13 and cycled on and off it for 11 years. When my husband and I were ready for a baby, I tossed aside my pills, expecting to be pregnant within a month. That’s the narrative we’re often fed: “It only takes one time,” my doctor assured me. Yet here I was, countless attempts later, with no success.
We do have a wonderful little boy who took six months to conceive with a little help from my friend: Clomid. When we began trying for a second child, I learned about my Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR), secondary infertility, and my husband’s low morphology. This diagnosis was the hardest pill to swallow. Every woman I know harbors the same anxiety: what if something is wrong with my eggs? I’ve always struggled with anxiety, and while I probably should be in therapy, finding time has proven difficult. As we pursued our first pregnancy, negative thoughts plagued me: “It’s your fault,” “You waited too long,” and “You were on birth control too long.” I never imagined this would be my reality.
Learning I had DOR felt like a knife to the gut. It essentially means my egg supply is alarmingly low. While getting pregnant isn’t impossible, it significantly complicates the process, and I’m depleting my eggs faster than I should at my age. My AMH level was comparable to someone in their mid-30s or early 40s, while I was only 27—barely in my prime. This issue had gone undetected when I conceived my son at 24. I started taking all recommended supplements and vitamins, determined to defy the odds.
Ladies, please have your AMH checked! Even if you’re not planning to have children immediately, knowing your status could save you heartache later. I had no signs or symptoms of DOR; my periods were always regular.
Before meeting with my Reproductive Endocrinologist, we tried conceiving naturally for seven months. By month eight, I reached out to my OB for Clomid. After just one cycle, I was ecstatic to find out I was pregnant. I started envisioning our life with a second child. Tragically, two weeks later, I miscarried.
Though devastated, I regained my resolve. Two more months passed with the same friend helping me, but again, nothing happened. This prompted us to see a fertility specialist, where I received the daunting diagnosis.
We started with IUIs, covered by my insurance. Each month, I took Clomid, attended monitoring appointments, and received Ovidrel injections to trigger ovulation. After each insemination, I felt a surge of optimism, convinced this was our month. However, after multiple attempts, we began contemplating IVF, a route I hadn’t initially considered.
On the day I was set to start medication, I went for an early morning appointment, only to learn I was pregnant—though my doctor warned that the levels were low and likely not a viable pregnancy. He was right; three weeks later, I miscarried again.
Frustrated and resolved, I knew IVF was my next step. We signed the necessary paperwork, paid the costs, and began the medication. Two weeks later, I underwent retrieval, waking up to learn only seven eggs had been collected. This was disappointing, but also typical for someone with my condition. A week later, we learned none of the embryos had developed properly. I was heartbroken yet determined to continue.
We immediately commenced our second round of IVF. The routine of needles, bloodwork, and appointments became my new normal. On retrieval day, my doctor reported he had managed to collect eight eggs—one more than last time. However, only one embryo made it to the blastocyst stage and was tested. I felt a mix of relief and realism, knowing the odds were against us. Unfortunately, we later learned that this embryo was also abnormal.
This news hit hard, akin to experiencing another miscarriage. Each fertilized embryo felt like our potential child, a small piece of us combined in a dish. I felt robbed each time I woke up after retrieval, empty-handed. IVF was never promised to be successful, and after receiving the same disappointing result twice, I began to feel hopeless.
After seeking a second opinion, new tests were conducted, including an HSN and biopsy, which ultimately found no endometriosis but identified a polyp that required removal. The recommendation was for laparoscopic and hysteroscopic surgery—something my first doctor had mentioned, but I hadn’t been ready for. I always wondered if something was wrong internally.
I agreed to the surgery, and afterward, I learned that while the polyp wasn’t present, they found stage 2 and 3 endometriosis that they removed. I had no prior symptoms, and even the biopsy had returned negative. Without the surgery, I would have remained unaware of this condition.
With both of us facing reproductive issues, we feel as if our options—and our finances—are dwindling. All we can do is hope for that unexpected baby, the kind we’ve only seen on TV. I am incredibly grateful for my beautiful son; he gives my life purpose. All I’ve ever wanted was to provide him with a sibling, but if that isn’t in the cards, I will devote myself to ensuring he’s happy. He may be spoiled and headstrong, but he will feel our love and know how hard we tried to give him a built-in best friend. Although we have one IVF cycle left covered by insurance, we’re hesitant to proceed given our previous outcomes.
It’s an ongoing internal struggle to appreciate what I have while yearning for more. Sometimes, I feel guilty for calling myself infertile when I’ve been fortunate enough to have one child. Yet at other times, it feels as if everyone else is moving forward while I’m still waiting for the next chapter of my story to unfold. I dream of a bustling household with two children, filled with laughter and toys, and the chaos of sibling interactions. I want it all.
I am frustrated with my body for not functioning as it should. I can shower my son with gifts and take him on fantastic vacations, but I can’t give him a sibling. The journey to have another baby feels endless, and we will never truly feel complete. We will continue to fight.
This article was originally published on April 14, 2021.
For more insights and resources, check out this excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.
If you’re interested in exploring options for starting or expanding your family, consider visiting Make a Mom’s Artificial Insemination Kit page.
For more information about our experiences, you can read another related post here.
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Summary
Jessica Thompson shares her deeply personal journey of facing Diminished Ovarian Reserve and her husband’s low morphology while trying to conceive their second child. Despite the struggles, including multiple IVF cycles and the emotional toll of miscarriages, she remains hopeful and determined to give her son a sibling. The piece highlights the importance of awareness about fertility issues and encourages women to get their AMH levels checked early on.
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