IVF stim cycle #2: When love feels like it’s behind a paywall

Sometimes the only mentally healthy choice is chocolate in multiple forms.

The waiting game

In the last update, I’d just taken the trigger shot and was gearing up for egg collection.
Seven eggs collected. Five fertilised. A hopeful Friday.

By day five, when embryos are usually ready for biopsy (the PGT-A test, which checks chromosomes before transfer), the phone rang. It was upbeat, positive, but the news left me feeling uncertain.

“We’re at day five,” the scientist said, “but none are ready for PGT-A testing. Two are developing nicely, so let’s give them another day.”

Then came the question:

“Would you be open to freezing embryos untested?”

It happens. Sometimes day 5 embryos look promising but don’t quite meet the grading threshold for testing. Day 6 embryos can still grow into healthy, happy babies – they’re just not “top tier” in the lab’s eyes.

Still, I felt that familiar pang of worry.
The last time we had a day-6 straggler, it didn’t pass PGT-A testing.
Does this mean we might not have any embryos this cycle at all?

“Not necessarily,” she reassured me.
“If you’re open to freezing untested, you can do the usual genetic screening later – just like an unassisted conception, where you don’t know the results up front.”

It was the same test we did with Lark – the NIPT, that magical blood test that told us she was genetically healthy… and also that she was a little girl.
Oh, my heart.

So, we waited another day.

The Outcome

This is my second stim cycle, trying for baby number two.
The first round collected five eggs and ended with one embryo, but it didn’t take.

This time around? Seven eggs collected, five fertilised, and… a question mark. Then…

Drumroll, please.

The scientist was cheerful, but not the kind of cheer that comes naturally, like sunshine after rain.
It was the kind you put on with a yellow raincoat – splashing through puddles with a brave smile, thankful to be dry, but still aware it’s not great weather.

“One made it to a grade suitable for biopsy,” she said.
5BB… something something something.

I nodded, pretending to follow, but my heart already knew.
The last time I heard those words, I felt hope. Excitement. Relief.
This time, after a failed round of IVF, all I felt was disappointment. Despair. Grief.

I asked a few questions, tried to sound upbeat. But inside, I was thinking:
One? Only one? What’s the point?

The System

IVF is costly – not just financially.
It’s taxing on your body, your relationships, your career, and your sanity.
There’s nothing easy about it. The hormone rollercoaster. The constant push and pull of hope and heartbreak, of trying so hard for something that offers no guarantee.

It feels as though all the miracle-baby news headlines gloss over the hard bits – the hormones, the tears, the quiet devastation – and set impossible expectations for the rest of us. For me, the first cycle was 75 days from the first injection to the dreaded not pregnant result. It’s a long, arduous wait.

And I started to wonder: If this isn’t meant to be, why am I trying to force it?

I want Lark to know what it’s like to have a little sibling. For her to not feel alone when her older parents are no longer around.
But if roadblocks keep appearing, maybe this is a sign saying that hard work and determination aren’t always part of how life is made.

So, I did what anyone does in a crisis of faith — I Googled:
“How many people give up on IVF without a baby?”

The answer shocked me: around 30% of women give up after an unsuccessful cycle.

The headline from UNSW Sydney:

“Women now have clearer statistics on whether IVF is likely to work.”

It read:

“Overall, for women starting IVF, 33% have a baby as a result of their first cycle, increasing to 54–77% by the eighth cycle.”

The eighth cycle?
What exactly does that mean – the eighth embryo transfer? Or the eighth cycle with multiple embryos from that stim cycle transferred?

And suddenly, I felt angry.
Really angry.

How could we have come this far – through two stim cycles, a frozen embryo transfer, endless scans, surgeries, injections, tears — without someone explaining that research shows success might not come until the eighth try?

As I sat there seething, the phone rang.
It was the IVF clinic as if they could sense the fury radiating through the atmosphere.

“Come in for bloods,” they said. “Just in case the doctor starts you again today.”

The True Cost of Hope

The True Cost of Hope
IVF cycle: $4,900 approx. (out of pocket after medicare rebate – the upfront cost is much higher)
Medications: $700 approx. the first time, $120 approx. the second (thanks to this being deemed a PBS issue)
Hospital fees: $1,300
PGT-A testing: $1,100
Car Parking: At least $9 every appointment (seems trivial, but it adds up)
Total: ~$7,300–$8,000 per round.

Add a few thousand for Asherman’s Syndrome surgery (incl. hospital fees, anethetist, hysteroscopy, appointments) every six months, and you’ve got yourself a monster marathon of expenses.

So, how do I do this in a sensible way?
Because there’s a real chance we could spend all this money – and still end up with nothing to show for it, apart from the emotional baggage of shattered dreams.

Then there’s that stat again:
54–77% of women have a baby by the eighth cycle.

Eight cycles.
That’s potentially at least $64,000 – and still no guarantee of a baby.

Am I really going to put myself through this?

The Journey

I finally understand why they call it a journey.
Because it’s not one round, or even two. It’s often a long, winding road through hope, heartbreak, and debt – until you either get your baby or reach the other kind of ending:

“At least now you know.”

Fuck me.
What a cluster-fuck.

It feels… exploitative. Paying for the possibility of love.

And I know – I have a choice.
I know it’s up to me.
But right now, it feels like love itself has been put behind a paywall.

I’m not hopeful or grounded.

I can’t give you a happy ending to this post because right now, I can’t see the wood for the trees.

All I see is an uphill battle – bills, needles, blood tests, disappointment.
Or the other choice: disappointment from giving up on a dream.

Both choices are shit, and I won’t pretend they’re not.

Life isn’t a movie with a guaranteed happy ending – no matter how much Hollywood, or hope, tries to tell us otherwise.

The Push

We decided to hit the road and escape from it all, booked a little onsen place in the Blue Mountains and packed a cooler bag, three iceblocks and leftover Gonal-F just in case we'd have to start all over again tonight.
RaRa and I ran through every possible scenario, trying to find the least painful version of the next step.
We worked out that it would be better to have at least two or three embryos ready to transfer before doing the Asherman’s surgery – that way, we could use “younger eggs” and go through multiple transfers for the cost of one surgery, instead of repeating hysteroscopies every few months.

As we drove to the Blue Mountains – me in a full-blown grump that only chocolate milk and a Golden Gaytime could placate – another call came.

“I’ve spoken to your doctor,” the nurse said, “and she wants to start you again today while we wait for your PGT-A results.”

And so it begins.
Stim cycle round three.

Real life, real talk

Editing this a few days later, I feel calmer now. RaRa and I making a sensible decision and accepting what works for us helped alot. There’s a kind of strange peace in accepting that this story might not unfold on my timeline – but it’s still ours.
And for now, that has to be enough.