I Thought I'd Be a Mom by Now: My 4 Year Journey with Infertility

What it's like to want something so deeply, and still not have it. The inside look into my journey through PCOS, pregnancy loss, and starting IVF. 🤍

⚠️ Trigger Warning: Before diving in, I want to make it clear that this piece is written about infertility, loss, and everything in between.

It’s right in the middle of cycle day one… and here I am, writing about my infertility journey. The timing almost feels poetic. This is a story I’ve brushed up against a few times over the years, here and there. Truthfully, sharing about it has been one of the only things that’s helped me stay grounded through it all.

The women who’ve commented, shared their own stories, and approached this topic with so much tenderness and truth are the ones who have reminded me, again and again, that I am not alone. There is an amazing community of women out there, ready to love a child with their whole hearts, walking this road too.

As isolating as infertility can feel (and oh, it can), it’s shaped so much of who I am, who Eddie and I are as partners, and where we’ve landed today. I’m sharing this because if you’re in the middle of it too, I hope this brings you some comfort. I hope this brings you a little connection. And most of all, I hope this serves as a reminder - you don’t have to carry all of it alone.

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Before Cookbooks, There Was This Dream

I’ve always known I wanted to be a mom. Before recipes, before cookbooks, before sharing my life and kitchen with all of you… that was the dream. Being a mom was first in my heart. Early in our dating days, Eddie once asked me what my biggest goal in life was. My answer was simple - “to be a mom.”

We got married in 2018 (how has it almost been seven years?!), and from the beginning, we knew we wanted to be intentional about soaking up some quality time together before growing our family. Looking back now, we are so grateful we gave ourselves that space. Those years were so full of love and growth, and we wouldn’t trade them for anything.

After our third anniversary, we decided it was time to start trying.

I had been diagnosed with PCOS back in 2018, not long after we got married. I got serious about learning how to best manage my symptoms: eating more intentionally, working on regulating my cycle, and creating a lifestyle that felt safe and low-stress. (Side note: I really should write a whole Substack just about my PCOS journey. BRB, I’ll get right on that.) By the time we started trying, I genuinely felt like I had done all the “right” things. My body felt healthy, my mindset was hopeful, and I was convinced getting pregnant would be easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

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Healthy, Hopeful, and Clueless

I had no idea how much PCOS would impact my fertility.

The first year, we weren’t actively “trying,” but we also weren’t not trying. Let’s just say… we pulled the goalie. I figured it would happen when the timing was right. I trusted my body, and I trusted the process. But the year came and went… and nothing happened. I noticed a shift in my headspace.

At the start of year two, I decided to get serious. I started tracking. The unfortunate reality, though, was that I had no idea what I was doing. My cycles were irregular, I didn’t know how to track ovulation, and I was beginning to feel frustrated that this wasn’t something we talked about in school (I remember PEMDAS, but I don’t know about my own body?!). So I dove headfirst into research. I read about LH strips, basal body temperature, hormone tracking tools like Mira and Inito, and even tests like Proov to check for progesterone levels.

I was completely overwhelmed.

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Blocked Tubes & Broken Expectations

At the end of year two, I made an appointment with my OB to get some more tea about what was going on. She confirmed that my PCOS was likely the reason things weren’t so easy for me. She suggested we look into starting some medication, but before, I had to go through a full round of testing.

One of the early tests was the HSG. (cries… if you know, you know). For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, the HSG involves inserting a catheter, flushing iodine dye through your uterus and fallopian tubes, and taking X-rays to check for any blockages. I was in no way prepared for how extremely painful this would be. A warning on this one would have been appreciated!!

My results showed a blocked right fallopian tube, which explained the pain during the procedure (some people apparently tolerate it just fine - I am so happy for them, and not at all jealous). Because of the blockage, I was “high-risk,” meaning that my OB could not move forward with prescribing me any medication. Our path shifted again, and I was referred to a fertility specialist.

I left that appointment feeling discouraged. The weight of it all hit me… Eddie and I might not be able to do this on our own. Still, I did my best to stay grounded and trust the process. Our path, however it looked, was leading us somewhere meant for us.

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Internet Hacks & Life Detours

While I waited to be seen by a fertility specialist (why is getting a doctor’s appointment so difficult?), I tried everything. I mean everything. If someone on the internet said it helped them to get pregnant, I tried it: supplements, workout routines, cutting out foods, adding certain foods back in, trying to relax more, and even Mucinex! I was thinking about it more than I’m proud to admit.

We hit pause that summer, because we were moving from California to Washington for Eddie to start law school. Once we were settled, I found a new fertility clinic… and SURPRISE! I had to do all the testing over again. *sigh* We were patient, we did it again, we started our first medicated cycle, and on round four… I got pregnant.

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Hope, Heartbreak, & the ER

As you’d imagine, we were over the moon! Things were finally working. But just one week later, I started bleeding. It looked and felt like a full-blown, grab your heating pad, period. The doctor informed us that it was likely a chemical pregnancy, and that we could try again in the next cycle.

The only kicker was… my body was like, “NOT SO FAST.” I was still feeling off: nauseaous, sore boobs, my mood was all over the place (sorry, Eddie). To settle myself, I figured I’d take a pregnancy test to make sure things had cleared out, and to allow myself the opportunity for a little more closure. The test was not negative. It was the most blazing positive I had ever seen in my life.

I was so confused. My doctor sent me in for bloodwork, and we discovered my hCG (known as the pregnancy hormone) was rising, but I was still on the lower side. This made her concerned about an ectopic pregnancy. She provided a sliver of hope when she said that she had seen some women bleed and still go on to carry out perfectly healthy pregnancies. I was clinging to the hope with everything I had.

We had to confirm everything with an ultrasound, but I had to wait about a week for my hCG to get high enough first. That wait felt like years. Seriously, cue the “one eternity later” sound from SpongeBob. When I finally went in for the ultrasound, there was nothing in my uterus. Just like that, a confirmed ectopic pregnancy. A confirmed loss.

It doesn’t stop there, though. I had to quickly get two rounds of injections to stop the pregnancy from continuing. The hope was that my body would take care of it on its own, to avoid surgery. Everything seemed to be going fine, my hCG was dropping as it should, but one night… I woke up in horrible pain. I was bleeding heavily, and Eddie had to rush me to the hospital.

The pregnancy had ruptured my fallopian tube, and I was bleeding internally. I was taken into emergency surgery to remove the pregnancy from my right tube. Upon waking, the doctor looked at me and said, “Well… at least you got to keep your ovary.” I know they were trying to be positive, but in that moment, I was ready to crawl into a hole. I had finally gotten pregnant, I lost the baby, I lost a tube, and I almost lost my life. But I’ve got the ovary! Cool!

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Permission to Pause & Trying Again (Again)

Eventually, we had to hit pause. A real one. We decided to take a full year off from everything. No appointments, no meds, no tracking, no thinking about my cycle every minute of every day.

If you’ve walked through infertility, then you already know how relentlessly exhausting it is. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. It’s nonstop. It’s a constant loop of hope, followed by heartbreak. Each month feels like a countdown, and every symptom feels like a sign. It wears you down in ways that are hard to explain unless you’ve lived it.

Stepping away gave us space to breathe again. For a while, it felt good.

Eventually, I eased my way back into treatment. A few medicated cycles were all unsuccessful, and just when I thought we were confidently getting back into the groove again - surprise! - my doctor closed her practice. So, yet again, we started over at a new clinic, with a new doctor, and a whole new round of testing.

It was January 2025, and for once, the results were pretty textbook perfect. Everything on my end came back normal, and Eddie’s test came back with flying colors. It felt like good news. It was good news. But it also came with a new label: unexplained infertility. Which, if you’re unfamiliar, is basically the medical equivalent of this: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

We clung to the upside of our tests looking positive, and trusted that with a little more intervention, our chances of pregnancy could still be strong. A few months later, we started medication in preparation for our very first IUI.

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Do We Try Again?

Once we started the IUI process, we found ourselves both asking, why didn’t we do this sooner? IUI is a fertility treatment that involves placing sperm directly into a woman's uterus to facilitate fertilization. Modern science is CRAZY! But, of course, we were quickly humbled. It’s because of the price. While IUI isn’t nearly as expensive as IVF, it’s still not cheap, and the success rates are significantly lower. We also had an added complication. Because of my fallopian tube, I was at a higher risk for ectopic pregnancy, which had me feeling on edge from the beginning.

Our first IUI didn’t work.

We were faced with a hard question: do we keep spending money on more IUIs with low odds? Or… do we go all in and start IVF (eggs are fertilized by sperm outside the body, in a laboratory, and then transferred into a woman's uterus… again, CRAZY)? We chose IVF.

That leads us to today: cycle day one. My first baseline ultrasound for our first IVF cycle is scheduled for 7:15 AM tomorrow. Bright and early! I never would have thought that IVF would be a part of our story, and I know so many women in similar spots relate to that statement. But here we are.

I’m excited. I’m hopeful. I’m nervous. This is all brand new for me, and for us, but it feels like we’re getting closer.

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Still Holding Hope

It’s hard to explain the grief that comes with infertility, especially to someone who hasn’t lived it. There’s the quiet jealousy when someone close to you gets pregnant easily… and then again, before you’ve even had one. You’re genuinely happy for them, of course, but inside you’re breaking.

You smile at baby showers. You clap at gender reveals. And then, cry in the car on the way home. You love the people around you deeply, but it’s a constant reminder of what you don’t yet have. After four years of walking through that, I’ve had to learn how to take it on the chin.

I’ve learned how to show up with love, even when it hurts. I’ve reminded myself, over and over, that my time is coming. One day… it will be my turn.

Until then, I keep going. I’ve felt the quiet shame, too. The whispers that maybe something is wrong with me. Maybe my body is broken. Maybe I’ve failed. But I know I haven’t, and neither have you.

So consider this a little love letter to you… to us:

This is not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You are not broken. You’re allowed to be sad. You’re allowed to fall apart. You’re allowed to not be strong every second of every day. No one expects you to handle this perfectly. We’re all just out here, doing our best. And, if you ever need someone to talk to, vent to, or cry to… I’m here. Join me in this unofficial, unwanted, unglamorous club (maybe the worst club ever?)… one where we find deep connection and remind each other we’re not alone.

For so long, I thought becoming a mom was my one purpose. This journey, this heartbreak, has shown me something unexpected. It led me to this other dream - the joy of cooking, sharing food, and building this community. I honestly don’t know if I would have found this version of myself without the struggle, and for that… I am grateful. Maybe there is something to this divine timing, after all.

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As we begin our IVF journey, please… wish us luck. I’m wishing the same right back to you. If you’re going through this too, or have, you’re welcome here. I’d love to hear your story. And as the TTC community likes to say, sending all the baby dust your way! ✨

With gratitude and a side of progesterone,

Cailee