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My husband and I went through infertility for about four years. After trying Letrozole for a few cycles, we finally got pregnant, but it turned out to be an ectopic pregnancy in April 2020. It was a tough experience because the pregnancy lingered for almost six weeks without being located, and the process of letting it go was incredibly difficult. In the fall of 2020, I had surgery after an HSG suggested a possible blockage. During the surgery, they removed my right fallopian tube, which is likely where our baby had tried to grow.
At the beginning of 2021, we tried two rounds of IUI, both of which were unsuccessful. That’s when we decided to take a break from treatments. After taking some time to regroup and prepare, we started IVF in 2022. Our first cycle gave us seven embryos. We did our first frozen embryo transfer (FET) at the end of April. Even though I got a positive pregnancy test, it ended in a chemical pregnancy around five weeks. We went through more tests, and then our second FET in August resulted in our rainbow baby, Elyanna Amavi, who was born in April 2023.
Our daughter and the whole journey we went through inspired me to start advocating for fertility awareness on Instagram @RainbowBabyEly. I’ve been doing advocacy work for a little over a year now, and I’ve also teamed up with a local nonprofit, The Gift of Love & Hope, where we focus on raising financial and emotional support for Manitobans struggling with infertility.
I found myself almost “interviewing” my inner circle to identify who I felt safest with and most supported by. It took months of sorting through relationships, navigating a lot of emotions, and eventually building a small group of people who truly made me feel seen, heard, and understood. This process was incredibly difficult because, for most of our journey, I felt the need to isolate myself to avoid negative or uncomfortable comments.
While I knew there were people online who could relate to my experience, I wanted to connect with people I personally knew. But it often felt like I was the only one going through this, which was both challenging and frustrating.
I came to realize that my fertility journey wasn’t just about having a baby, it was about healing from so many other aspects of my life. It felt like this experience was preparing me and making space for the kind of motherhood I had always envisioned.
I also became aware of how misunderstood fertility struggles and treatments are by the general public. It was incredibly hard to shake the feeling that I had done something to deserve this. Yet looking back, all the signs were there: irregular cycles, hormonal imbalances. If healthcare were more proactive and properly managed, many women, including myself, could have known earlier how their health might impact their fertility.
During the first two years, I carried a lot of anger, sadness, and resentment toward everything and everyone. While our rainbow baby certainly played a role in my healing, I believe it was the inner work I did during the journey that ultimately brought me to a place of peace. Realizing that the personal growth I would gain from such a difficult experience could help me reach my full potential made a profound difference.
I’ve developed a sense of self-love and respect through this journey that I hadn’t found anywhere else.
THERAPY! On every level, honestly. I had a therapist who specialized in PTSD and pregnancy loss—she was truly a guardian angel sent to me. I couldn’t have made it through what I did without having someone to guide me through the experience and help me process it all.
In addition to therapy, I turned to acupuncture, fertility meditation, and yoga. I took a very holistic approach to my healing throughout this journey.
I always suspected that my irregular periods, weight gain, acne, and bloating were symptoms of something bigger. But female family members and even doctors reassured me it was nothing to worry about, that it was just part of being a woman. How I wish I had known then that all these signs were connected to PCOS, which would eventually make it harder to conceive as I got older.
In the last two years, yes. But during the first two years, I was filled with frustration at how little support and resources were available—you had to do all the research on your own. If I hadn’t been older and more mature when I started facing infertility, I might have given up much sooner.
IVF was presented to me early on, and I was told that because I had PCOS, my chances of conceiving with IVF would be better. However, I knew I wasn’t mentally, physically, emotionally, or spiritually prepared. Something inside me told me it just wasn’t the right time yet. This decision allowed me the time I needed to prepare. Had I pursued IVF earlier, I don’t think it would have been as successful for us.
As sensitive as I am to many people’s fertility experiences, I hope everyone can view their journey on a larger scale. Infertility is just a small part of my overall journey toward self-discovery. Many people don’t like to hear that there’s something bigger to learn from infertility, but it’s true—it can be a painful experience, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Yet we all go through something, and this is ours. If we start normalizing the idea of needing fertility assistance, we can reduce the shame surrounding infertility.
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Educate yourself about your health and do your research. Understand that healthcare systems often generalize our health, but only you know what’s truly happening with your body.
Hopefully, you’ll find OBs, doctors, and therapists who are committed to changing our outdated healthcare systems because when you do, they’ll genuinely have your health in mind.
At the end of the day, don’t resist the possibility that you may need assistance to conceive. Take the time to learn about your options and stay open-minded. More importantly, listen to your intuition. Recognizing when to stop, take a break, or slow down is crucial.
We need better healthcare for women and their reproductive health. If I live in a country with “free healthcare,” I should not have to pay for treatments necessary because of reproductive medical conditions. I was born with this body; I didn’t do anything to prevent pregnancy.
If we can medically support a smoker who has abused their body to the point of developing lung cancer, why can’t I receive the same support for something I didn’t self-inflict?
It needs to be loud and clear. I continue to advocate because I finally feel like I’m being heard—people are listening and paying attention.
I believe those who have experienced infertility can be key to advancing support and advocacy.
Embrace the ups and downs. It’s a literal rollercoaster, but don’t resist it; allow it to take you where you’re meant to go.
On days when you feel like giving up, remember the tools, people, and resources that help you hold onto hope. Lean on them and embrace them during moments of defeat.
Even on your darkest days, the light will always find its way in—somehow, some way.
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