For many, the decision of whether to become a parent seems like a simple, natural choice. Yet for some, infertility presents an unforeseen challenge, casting doubt on the possibility of ever becoming a mother.
As a young woman, I always assumed that having children would come easily, but the reality proved much more complicated. Month after month, anticipation gave way to anxiety and, eventually, despair, as I began to suspect fertility issues were to blame.
A diagnosis of male-factor infertility led to the recommendation of Intracytoplasmic Sperm Injection (ICSI), a specialized form of in vitro fertilization (IVF). ICSI involves injecting a single sperm directly into an egg, making it my only option.
From that moment on, my journey through IVF began—a physically and emotionally exhausting process. IVF is grueling, demanding both body and mind. The hormonal treatments took a toll, leaving me bloated, fatigued, and emotionally drained. Yet, amidst the emotional turmoil, there was always hope. Daily injections, mood swings, and intense longing became part of my routine. After an uncomfortable egg retrieval procedure, we had 10 fertilized eggs, resulting in four healthy embryos or “blastocysts.”
At just 27 years old, the chances of pregnancy were high, so only one embryo was transferred. Nine months later, my son, Beau, was born. Yet, it wasn’t until after his birth that I began to think about the three remaining embryos—preserved in cryopreservation, waiting for another chance at life.
Looking at Beau, I couldn’t help but feel that his existence was a result of a specific decision made by the embryologist. It triggered a strange and deep longing to meet the other potential children that those embryos could become. But despite my emotional connection, I didn’t want three more children.
Then, against all odds, I became pregnant naturally just 10 months after Beau’s birth. When I saw the positive pregnancy test, my heart soared with joy, quickly followed by a pang of regret—my embryos had lost their chance. A few months later, my second son, Bailey, was born, and while I cherished him deeply, the embryos still lingered in my thoughts.
Years passed, but the reminders of those embryos, and the ongoing bills to store them, kept them present in my mind. I couldn’t shake the fixation. The idea of those embryos sitting in a freezer, unused, became unbearable. Despite knowing that nature offers no guarantees, the thought of what might have been haunted me.
At three years old, Bailey’s birth had cemented my family, but I still couldn’t shake the thought of the frozen embryos. After much emotional turmoil, I decided to transfer one of the remaining embryos, hoping that the process would resolve my inner conflict. If none survived the thawing process, the issue would be over. But as fate would have it, the first embryo thawed successfully, leading to the birth of my daughter, Lee Rose.
Within minutes of her arrival, emotions flooded over me. I had once thought about donating the embryos to another couple, but the reality of doing so was much more complex than I had imagined. The thought of having a biological child living somewhere else triggered intense panic attacks, though there were times when the idea of helping another couple became a source of joy.
As my life took new turns—my marriage ended, for example—the option to carry another embryo was no longer in my hands. The choice became whether to donate the embryos to others or dispose of them. However, in Australia, embryo donation for research is rarely an option, further complicating my decisions.
In Queensland, the window for donating embryos is limited to 10 years after fertilization, which I have now surpassed. At the time of my first IVF cycle, the notion of dealing with remaining embryos seemed distant, overshadowed by the immediate focus on conception. Most people don’t consider what happens to unused embryos until later, when it’s often too late to make certain choices.
Ultimately, decisions regarding remaining embryos are deeply personal and often guided by individual values. While some people may see it as a straightforward decision, for me, it has been fraught with emotional complexity.
Now, more than 16 years later, my two remaining embryos remain frozen at the fertility center. As my children grow older, I know what I must do, even if it’s still an emotional mountain to climb. The choice looms, and despite all the uncertainty, I am finally ready to face it head-on.
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