Infertility Giggles.
Finding light in the heavy — a survivor's path through PCOS, IVF, loss, and the loud, healthy cry that finally answered years of silence.
Surviving requires
a stubborn kind of hope
It sounds like a strange name for a fertility blog, doesn't it? Infertility is a brutal, heavy word — it brings up memories of sterile clinic lights, heartbreak, and tears. But I chose this title because surviving this journey requires a unique kind of dark humor, a fiercely stubborn optimism, and the ultimate dream of one day hearing baby laughter fill a quiet home.
I am an infertility survivor. My path to motherhood wasn't just a medical hurdle — it was a battle for my life.
The medical puzzle,
and the cost of survival
My journey started with a confusing diagnosis of Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS). I am quite tall, and my genetics didn't quite fit the typical body type doctors were used to treating in standard clinical algorithms. Because of this, standard hormone dosages simply did not work for me — trying to find the right balance felt like a guessing game where my body was the puzzle.
When we finally moved to an IVF egg retrieval, my body over-responded violently. I developed severe Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS). Instead of recovering at home with a heating pad, I found myself fighting for my life in the ICU.
"I was just trying to create life, and suddenly, my own life was hanging in the balance. Yet, I survived it."
The most painful chapter
Infertility testing and treatments take your physical strength, but pregnancy loss takes your soul. In August 2021, I lost my fraternal twin pregnancy. There are no words for that kind of grief. It is the darkest, most painful chapter of my existence — to hold so much hope in your womb, only to have it vanish, leaves a scar that never fully fades.
"If you have looked at an ultrasound screen and seen a heartbeat stop, please know I hold space for you. I know that silence."
Placenta accreta
It took five rounds of IUI, one painful OHSS egg retrieval, and three emotionally exhausting embryo transfers to finally see a positive test that stayed. But my body wasn't done fighting.
During delivery, I faced severe, life-threatening blood loss due to Placenta Accreta — a dangerous condition where the placenta attaches too deeply to the uterine wall. Once again, a happy milestone turned into a medical emergency. I nearly bled to death, but once again, against all odds, I survived.
Welcoming my miracle
Meeting Fyodor Raphael
For years, my infertility journey was defined by a heavy, heartbreaking silence — the empty nurseries, the quiet negative tests, the hushed whispers of hope in the dark. Then came the moment that shattered it forever.
I will never forget the clinical brightness of the operating room, thick with anticipation and years of waiting. Laying on that table during the C-section, my heart pounded with a mix of intense nerves and fierce hope. Dr. Victoria Johnston leaned in, her hands expertly guiding my miracle into the world, then lifted him up over the surgical screen so I could see the face I had dreamed of through a thousand tear-stained nights.
"Your son is born loud and healthy!"
His very first cry tore through the operating room — a beautiful, piercing, chaotic sound that instantly washed away years of infertility grief.
And if that first cry was the ultimate relief, the first giggle I heard days later was the ultimate reward — a tiny, bubbling sound that felt like the universe finally letting out its breath.
Fyodor
Meaning "gift of God" — the name he carries into every room.
Tap to flip"Gift of God." Every room he enters carries that meaning with him.
Raphael
Meaning "God has healed" — every scar, answered.
Tap to flip"God has healed." Every scar from the journey, finally answered.
Truly, every loud cry and sweet giggle from him heals a piece of the past. To everyone still waiting in the silence: hold on. Your loud, healthy moment is worth every single step.