Eggcellent Mom Chronicles

Remember Facebook in its infancy? You needed a college email to join, and updating your status in the third person was the height of social media sophistication. I can still picture myself, a freshman at Michigan State, crafting carefully worded updates:

Renee feels thankful for supportive friends and family.

Renee is praying for a successful cycle.

Renee has 18 tiny follicles! 18!!!! A beautiful Jewish number! L’chaim!

Fast forward twenty years, and I’ve replaced those carefully curated updates with a very different kind of status: poked. A lot. Not in the flirty, early Facebook sense, but in the very literal, science-y sense. Twelve pokes in six days, to be exact. Each one a tiny jab of hope, a desperate plea for my body to cooperate.

I’ve traded the anticipation of a Facebook poke for the daily ritual of blood draws and ultrasounds. The wait for results is a different kind of agony, a silent countdown that stretches into an eternity. While the actual clinic visits are swift and efficient, the hours between leaving the office and receiving the call with the hormone update feel like days.

Today’s news wasn’t what I hoped for. The follicles, once a promising number, have stalled in their growth. The initial relief of a normal ovarian reserve has given way to the anxiety of this new hurdle. It’s a rollercoaster, and I’m hanging on for new life.

But I’m not giving up. I’m talking kindly to my ovaries, offering encouragement and positive affirmations. I’m a firm believer in the power of science, prayer, and a little bit of self-compassion. I know this journey is tough, but I’m determined to see it through. After all, I’ve already survived twelve pokes.