Welcome to Cycle Interrupted.
For too long, infertility struggles—and related trauma—has left women in silence. We're trying to change that.
Hi, I am Katrina. In spite of my best efforts to have a growing family and paint a picture of perfection, I am exactly where I am meant to be–and where I am is not perfect. My growing family includes my dog, my husband and embryos in a freezer.
I started talking publicly about my IVF journey in 2020 as I felt it was important to share the journey of it all vs. the ‘happy ending’ that is so often painted on social media. I never imagined I'd still be talking about it at the end of 2024. I never imagined I’d become a self-appointed expert and the Agony Aunt of the fertility-adjacent world–but here we are. I never imagined my journey to parenthood would be so complex, but instead of “Why me?” I think “Why not me?” I’m still standing, after all.
After 3 retrievals, 9 transfers, 1 laparoscopic surgery with excisions, stage III endo, 4 hysteroscopies, 3 (ish) DNC’s, one six month pregnancy that resulted in a stillbirth angel, a bout of septic shock in the ICU, and honestly more procedures than I can recall–I am still here.
Surprising to all, I have a healthy “perfect looking” uterus, and “young” ovaries–and yet I don't seem able to conceive. I’ve given money to Eastern medicine, Western medicine, and therapists. Psychics have never pointed out that making babies would be a problem for me. When I survived septic shock and was still in the hospital, I watched a stand up comedy that touched on motherhood. I shed salty tears so hard that I laughed; I laughed so hard that I cried; and then I laughed again.
Curious, confused and desperate to make a difference, I feel passionately about Cycle Interrupted. A warm and honest place to bring others who are suffering or have suffered at the hands of their own interrupted cycle. A place to share our stories of love, loss, medical ignorance, triumph and adversity. Whether you're in it, out of it, or cycle curious, my hope is that there are stories here for you.
As for me–Hayley–this is the first time I’m really speaking out about my entire experience. Many close friends know that in 2022, I had an ectopic pregnancy that ended up rupturing. I consider that day to be a turning point in my life: I lost a literal part of me (my left fallopian tube) and lost a lot of other parts of me that I’ve tried, mostly in vain, to reclaim every day since. Not to open this with a bunch of doom and gloom, but infertility has robbed me of joy, hope, confidence, intimacy with my husband, and friendships.
Despite my openness about the ectopic rupture and loss, many don’t know that since then, I’ve done countless other tests and treatments. Like Katrina, I’ve had three egg retrievals; mine were followed by two failed embryo transfers, one chemical pregnancy, two HSGs, one hysteroscopy, three endometrial biopsies, one failed IUI, eight brutal weeks on Lupron Depot, and a laparoscopic surgery for endometriosis excision. In this newsletter, I will try my best to speak about each, and humbly invite others to tell their stories as well.
To close my introduction, one story comes to mind: Katrina and I have mutual friends, but that’s not how we met. We met on Yelp after I wrote a scathing review (my first ever) of my OB-GYN at the time of my ectopic. This doctor had essentially abandoned my care, and was nowhere to be found when I started having symptoms–or even after I checked into Huntington Hospital, hemorrhaging internally. Shockingly–or in retrospect, not so shockingly at all–Katrina had experienced similar negligence with this doctor, saw my review, and reached out to me to discuss.
To me, this speaks to the pitiful state of affairs around women’s health–how our pain is not taken seriously, how our healthcare system continues to fail us, how there is too much suffering and too many unanswered questions in the worlds of maternal health and infertility alike. (I am also acutely aware that as white women, Katrina and I were treated differently, and this is even more prevalent for women of color.) My hope is that this newsletter is a place where that suffering is no longer in silence.
And I write this with the utmost appreciation that this is not easy stuff to talk about; words often fail. Yet sharing our stories may end up being more important than ever. Our friendships depend on it, along with our marriages, our bodily and mental health–and our political realities.
Our hope is that by having honest conversations about the state of medicine and research when it comes to infertility, we can open a space of humility and love. Not everyday is going to be good–but if we all stick together, we think we can get through whatever is next.
Stories bring us together–and these will be the stories of our cycles, interrupted.
Essential voices. Thank you. ♥️
Humbled to stumble upon this space. Thank you