From Rock Bottom to a Shooting Star: My Honest IVF Journey and Pregnancy Announcement

For two years, my fertility journey has been the most gruelling, heart-wrenching and soul-stretching chapter of my life.

I’ve been poked, prodded, scanned, and injected more times than I can count. I’ve sat in cold waiting rooms with my heart pounding in my chest. I’ve Googled symptoms at 2am until my eyes burned. And I’ve cried in carparks, in showers, in my car, into my dog’s fur… you name it.

But today, I get to write a blog I honestly didn’t know if I’d ever get to write.

This is the story of my first IVF transfer, my second transfer, the heartbreak in between — and the moment I found out I was pregnant.

The First Transfer: From Excitement to Heartbreak

By the time we got to our first transfer date, I was like a kid counting down to Christmas. I’d done the mindset work, I’d made peace with IVF, and I’d decided — this was going to work. First round. First time.

The embryologist called with “unicorn results.” Almost all our embryos were top quality. Triple-A grade. I had no idea what that meant at the time, but the way they said it made me feel like I’d won the embryo lottery.

Paul took the day off work. We planned it like a little celebration — transfer in the morning, buy our first ever baby item, lunch together. I’d never bought anything baby-related before. I didn’t want to jinx it. But this felt different.

When we arrived, the embryologist said, “You’re not going to believe this — your embryo is already hatching.” Easter had just passed, so naturally I dubbed it my little Easter egg. My heart swelled. This had to be the one.

What I didn’t expect was the trauma that followed.

Because of previous surgeries, my cervix had closed. They couldn’t get through. What should have been a quick, painless procedure turned into excruciating pain that left me in shock, crying, shaking, and bleeding.

We still went to buy the baby item — a tiny lion-print swaddle that Paul picked out. But the drive home was quiet. My body hurt. My spirit hurt more.

Five days later, I caved and tested early. Negative. I tested again and again, clinging to hope. Maybe it’s too soon? Maybe the hormone isn’t high enough yet?

By day ten, with my best friend beside me, I tested again. Still negative. I called my mum in tears. It hadn’t worked.

The Second Transfer: Surrender

I wasn’t sure I had it in me to try again. The first transfer had been so physically and emotionally brutal. But we decided we’d give it one more go before taking a break.

This time, I approached it differently. The clinic gave me Valium. I booked hypnotherapy and kinesiology. I messaged my friends and asked each of them to choose one song for my “transfer playlist” — something to fill the room with love and good energy.

When transfer day came, I was calm. My favourite doctor was there, which instantly made me feel safe. I put on my headphones, closed my eyes, and let the playlist wash over me.

Just as they were doing the transfer, the song “Feels Like Home” started to play. My doctor put her hand on my leg and said, “You’re about to see a little shooting star.”

And we did. Paul described watching the embryo appear on the screen like a tiny comet finding its way home. They even gave us a printout of it nestled in my uterus.

This time, I let go. I didn’t Google every symptom. I didn’t obsess over every twinge. Paul whisked me off camping, away from reception, away from pregnancy tests. We drank wine by the fire and talked about life.

The Moment We Found Out

Seven days later, Paul handed me a digital pregnancy test and told me to “go find a bush” (camping life). I couldn’t bring myself to turn it over, so we set it on the table between us, staring at the fire until the timer went off.

I flipped it over.

PREGNANT.

For a second, all the air left my body. Then Paul started sobbing — two years of holding it all in, finally spilling out. I was in his arms, both of us crying, while our dog jumped around us in excitement. Our playlist was still softly playing in the background.

We stayed in that moment for as long as we could, just holding each other, whispering, “We did it.”

Telling the Family

The next day, my parents came to visit. Paul wore a “Dad” cap. I wore a “Mum” cap. Our dog had a “Big Bro” bandana. My dad took one look at me, kissed my belly, and said, “I knew it.” Mum cried. We all cried.

I also hand-delivered cards to my best friends that read: “Only the best of friends… get to be aunties.” Their reactions — tears, squeals, disbelief — were pure magic.

What I’ve Learned

IVF is not just a medical process. It’s an emotional, physical, and spiritual marathon. It’s hope and heartbreak and surrender and miracles.

If you’re on this journey, know that you’re not alone. People are holding hope for you in ways you don’t even realise. And when your moment comes, it will be worth every single needle, tear, and prayer.

I’m now 11 weeks pregnant, due on my birthday, and still wrapping my head around the fact that after all this time, I get to say these words: I’m going to be a mum.

To hear the full, unfiltered version, the highs, the lows, the playlist, and the exact moment we found out. You can listen to the latest episode of The Mind School Podcast.

🎧 Listen here: