The IVF Diaries: A Man’s View Of A Woman’s World
Part 5
The End Of The Beginning
On Friday, the 29th of September, 2023, at 11:27 am, we welcomed Zigi Reuben Harrod, our very own little miracle, into the world.
His namesake and great-grandfather, a Holocaust survivor, paving the way for a lesson in encountering, embracing, and, ultimately, overcoming a hardship and pain we, too, experienced in finally meeting our son.
Rather poignantly, I don’t believe it any coincidence that Zigi Shipper’s passing in January of 2023 — his end — arriving a mere two days before our final IVF round — and Zigi Harrod’s beginning — started.
Our son’s celebrated arrival put a timestamp — but, importantly, not closure — on the heavy cloud of the infertility journey that had consumed our lives for the past few years.
Each morning, afternoon, evening, and morning again, spent fixating on everything fertility, ranging from deciphering the order of injections for that particular day, to the desperation at watching friends, one by one, fall pregnant, to the heartache at having to start all over again after each negative pregnancy test, to the crippling mental health struggles, to the constant questioning as to whether you’d ever get there.
This chapter of our story has closed for now but will never be forgotten.
The lessons we’ve learnt, the difficulties we encountered, and the joy we finally experienced all contributing to a new outlook on life, relationships, and, importantly, fertility. They’ll forever be engraved in our hearts.
Luckily, we’re now the epitome of the much-eulogised trait ‘resilient’, too. What a time to be alive.
Dermot Kennedy, in his song Better Days — a track we had on repeat, full volume, for three years solid and one we adopted as our infertility anthem — put it best when he said:
“I know you’ve been hurtin’
Waitin’ on a train that just won’t come
The rain, it ain’t permanent
And soon, we’ll be dancin’ in the sun
We’ll be dancin’ in the sun.Your story’s gonna change
Just wait for better days
You’ve seen too much of pain
Now, you don’t even know
That your story’s gonna change
Just wait for better days
I promise you, I won’t let go.”
Zigi was our long-awaited train.
At times, it seemed like he’d never arrive, that our efforts, desires, and constant praying would all be in vain. That maybe, just maybe, a baby wasn’t written into our life plan.
Fortunately — and this applies to all wishes in life — I firmly believe that train — whatever train it may well be — will eventually arrive. You won’t know when, how, or where, but should you keep persevering — and keep sticking those injections in your butt — it will appear.
Whether you’re starting out on your IVF journey, balls-deep in your eighth round with little sign of success, or seriously considering packing it all in, I implore you to keep waiting. To keep trying. To hold onto every ounce of hope and strength you have remaining.
Emma, Zigi, and I are now dancing in the sun, and I know you’ll join us one day.
The words you’ve read in this — extremely long and convoluted — article are only a snapshot of what an infertility journey encompasses. The 30-second training montage that condenses the — literal — blood, sweat, and tears into an easily-digestible snapshot of an interminable journey.
I’ll, unfortunately, never fully be able to get you to understand.
Yet, having delved into the behind-the-scenes footage — blood, sex, injections, and heartbreak in all their glory — I only hope you have a slightly better comprehension of what it embodies. That you now realise the tumultuous journey it takes to get pregnant for some; that it’s not a walk in the park, nor a foolproof scientific procedure instantly leading to a baby.
It’s crucial we work to remove the stigma and secrecy from infertility and use that openness to help those who need it the most. Please, take note. Learn. Listen. Ask questions. Vow to do better. Send this article to people you know — whether they’re aware or unaware of what it means to struggle to fall pregnant, whether they care or not.
I know the next person navigating the tricky world of infertility needs you: it’s a lonely world that needs to be made less lonely.
The IVF world is a woman’s world. It’s rickety foundations there to support and knock down women in equal measure. The mental and physical ramifications, at times, often life-changing; the whole process a journey that simply can’t be conquered alone.
Men aren’t the ones going to every appointment, enduring every blood test, weathering ever-fluctuating hormone levels, bleeding, bloating, and injecting — nor putting their bodies through war every egg collection and embryo transfer. They’re not the ones having Dildo-cams shoved up their vagina every few days.
Women go through it all and some.
Unfortunately, without us — without that support act — our partners would crumble. As little as we physically do, we’re still required to be there. We’re the tiny screw often holding the whole operation together, knowing that one small step out of line will cause the whole machine to come crashing down.
We’re needed to help decode the instruction manual on a new set of injections, we’re needed to swiftly take our wives through the McDonald’s Drive Thru following am embryo transfer, we’re needed to do the household chores we never knew existed, and we’re needed to ejaculate into a cup every few months.
We’re also needed to be there mentally, too.
We don’t need to seek solutions every time, nor always provide rational responses, but we’re required to be present. To validate feelings, understand points of view, and guide our girlfriends, wives, and partners through periods of rock bottom. We’re needed to help pick up the pieces from mental breakdowns, raging emotional collapses, and shattered hopes.
While, clearly, IVF is a women’s world, it’s important to appreciate that both members on the infertility guest list need a helping hand when struggling to enter the private, tightly-locked pregnancy club.
And, of course, if you navigate this whole arduous plight on your own, you deserve the world and more.
Women and men need that extra helping hand when fighting to reach their destination. And I can only hope you’re now primed to be that person; that friend, sounding board, they so desperately need.
Fortunately, this particular story bears a happy ending.
In the short few weeks spent with us, Zigi has already brought us more joy, love, absurd number of nappy changes — and fucking sterilised bottles — than we ever could have pined for.
The journey to get here was, at times, soul-crushing, but I now know why it was worth it.
I also now know why they say, ‘Nothing worth having in life is easy’.
Will we have a different relationship with our son because of what we experienced? I don’t know. I do know, however, that the rollercoaster we rode to get here, the meandering twists and turns of grief, optimism, and elation, will shape our beliefs and understanding of what it means to be a parent. One that I will truly never take for granted; one that I will truly treasure.
Life’s most frustrating problem?
Failing to get pregnant.
Life’s most joyous problem?
Watching your son smile as he quietly lies there, oblivious to all that’s preceded his long-awaited arrival, shitting on you for the third time that hour.
