Egg Retrieval Diaries: The Last Hurrah We Didn’t Know We Needed 🥚💉🤍
The Night Before: Pineapple Socks, Trigger Shot Reminders, and Manifestations Whispered in the Dark
Picture it, bestie: the night before egg retrieval.
I had my alarm set for the trigger shot, had my socks laid out like they were about to walk the red carpet, and had a mental pep talk prepared that was something like “Trust the plan, don’t spiral.”
My husband, Jordan, was snoring proudly beside me like someone who didn’t just stab himself 11 nights in a row with hormones… meanwhile I was living my little spaced-out monologue life:
“Let these be our strongest eggs. Let this process be smooth. Let the doctor walk in impressed. Let it be the one…”
You’d think after multiple IVF stimulation cycles you get calmer, but IVF is like parsley — you just keep sprinkling it even when you’re not sure it’s doing anything. We sprinkled hope heavily that night.
Clinic at Dawn Hits Different: Coffee Breath. Ultrasound Gel. Emotional Support Socks.
We rolled up to the clinic before the sun even clocked in for the day. The hallway lights were dim, but the energy? Bright.
There’s a certain sibling-hood felt in that waiting room. No one has to say anything out loud because we all mentally signed the same consent form:
“Yes I want a baby, yes I hate shots, yes let’s do science.”
I sat there clutching my apple juice like a toddler afterwards, cramps saying hello angrily, socks still doing emotional labor like the absolute champs they are… and what I realized in that moment was this:
We showed up. Again. Even when it felt heavy. Even when we were tired. Even when cauliflower brain moments happened mid-conversation.
Showing up is the victory nobody can measure on a lab report.
Waking Up from Anesthesia: Cramps, Clarity, and a Weird Little Burst of Peace That Felt Like Permission.
I woke up feeling like my uterus was typing angrily in all caps, but emotionally? I weirdly felt calm. Like someone had mentally clicked “ACCEPT” to this chapter closing.
This was our final egg retrieval process, not just another round. No more stims, no more procedure prep, no more anesthesia naps.
And here’s the thing about final chapters we don’t talk about enough:
They don’t always feel sad. Sometimes they feel like taking a bra off at the end of the day.
Like relief. Like pride. Like closing one door so you can finally obsessively wallpaper the next one with dreams again.
Results Day: We Didn’t Count Perfection. We Counted Possibility.
Eighteen eggs retrieved.
Eighteen chances we prayed over, laughed about, over-researched Google searches about, and talked to like they were tiny little future roommates we haven’t met yet.
And maybe not all 18 turn into embryos.
But maybe some do.
And maybe some embryos turn into pregnancies.
And maybe one pregnancy turns into our baby.
That’s the math of IVF that keeps you sane when nothing makes sense:
Small, improbable “maybe” → becomes massive hope fuel.
IVF Doesn’t Need to Be Aesthetically Perfect to Be Impactful, But Baby, When It Is? We Document It Anyway.
We built our website for IVF updates and merch — not because we have all the answers, but because we want relatability, connection, and that constant reminder that you’re not a statistic, you’re a person.
A person who sometimes cries, sometimes eats frozen yogurt like it fixes your endocrine system, sometimes laughs at the weather trauma coping mechanism, and sometimes writes blogs about fertility because you just feel like someone else needed to read it.
And if you’re here because you’re also on the IVF journey, maybe for a second child, maybe on your first embryo transfer, maybe confused, maybe tired, but still hopeful — please absorb this for me:
You don’t have a backup plan.
You have plan A.
And plan A has 26 follicles on the left ovary, 28 on the right, and 100% more heart than logic wanted.
And even when you don’t feel calm, your body is doing brave things quietly behind the scenes.
The Real Glow Up Is Coming. We Just Don’t Know the Date Yet.
Here’s what infertility teaches you, even when the process is humbling and hormonally spicy:
You start believing in miracles without guarantees.
You start rooting for strangers like they’re family.
You start seeing progress in $18 t-shirt sales, in blog shares, in supportive comments, in needle bruises fading.
You start realizing that growing hope is a form of stubborn resilience.
And dare I say it, girl?
We are growing it beautifully.
Baby Dust Isn’t Just a Hashtag. It’s a Whole Survival Personality Trait.
If you ever needed a sign to not lose hope because you’re exhausted, this is it:
It’s okay to be tired.
It’s okay to be emotional.
It’s okay to wonder if this will be your final round or first baby.
You’re allowed to feel every stage, as long as you keep one tiny candle lit near your heart:
Maybe. Just maybe. It could be the one. 🕯✨
Stick Around, Sweet Girl. This Story Isn’t Over.
We’re sitting on our embryos in storage, waiting to hit the next milestone of $1500 so we can move forward with transfer prep, but here’s the truth:
That money marker isn’t the finish line.
A healthy embryo sticking? That is.
And the baby that follows? Even better.
So if you want to support? Amazing.
If you want to subscribe? You get 10% off your first order (treat yourself + maybe us too 💌).
If you want to Venmo? The jar is open at @cottenfamilyivf 💛
If you just needed encouragement? That’s exactly why we wrote this.
Big hope, tiny embryos, warm hearts.
We’re cheering for your journey too.
