The road to their baby isn’t straight or quiet, but they’re still walking it together with honesty, help, and hope. Michelle never pictured herself learning acronyms like IVF and ICSI. She knew, in a distant way, that some couples needed help to conceive, but no one close to her had shared that struggle. The internet reminded people not to ask, “So when are you having a baby?” yet the silence around infertility stayed thick. She decided to break it: she and her partner, Jason, were having trouble.
Years earlier, in 2013, she’d discovered she was eight weeks pregnant with her son, Tyrus, despite being on birth control and in a relationship that wasn’t safe. That history made her cautious when she and Jason got together. She stopped birth control in November 201,9, expecting things to happen quickly; they were both 28 and healthy. When nothing did, she figured their timing was off. She learned about ovulation windows and temperature charting, then blamed herself when the tests stayed negative. Her cycles stretched from 30 days to 63, twice in a row, and her heart broke a little each time.
A friend suggested she read about PCOS. The checklist felt like a mirror: irregular periods, cystic acne, hair shedding, stray coarse hairs, and weight gain that didn’t make sense. A nurse practitioner brushed it off, “missing a period is normal,” but Michelle pushed for answers elsewhere. A compassionate naturopath, Dr. Courtenay Boer, took her seriously. By December 2020, Michelle was unofficially diagnosed with PCOS and started taking myo-inositol, and within a month, her period regulated. She added weekly fertility acupuncture. By spring 2021, her charts showed she was ovulating, but still not pregnant. She told Jason, kindly but firmly, that if the next cycle didn’t work, he needed a semen analysis.
In early July, an ultrasound confirmed PCOS. The same week, Jason’s results landed like a punch: very low numbers and poor movement, so few they didn’t even give a count, and the ones they saw were “swimming in circles.” It was painful, but it also brought relief. Michelle’s body was finally doing what it should; now they knew why the tests were still negative. In early July, an ultrasound confirmed PCOS. The same week, Jason’s results landed like a punch: very low numbers and poor movement, so few they didn’t even give a count, and the ones they saw were “swimming in circles.” It was painful, but it also brought relief. Michelle’s body was finally doing what it should; now they knew why the tests were still negative.
Jason started a supplement called Mito Motile. By November, his motility nudged up, but not enough. In December, a urologist told him he had a production issue, no apparent reason why, and advised them to move to IVF with ICSI, the process where a single healthy sperm is injected into an egg. That news was both a plan and a mountain. Wait times for tests had already been long.
Now there was the cost: where they live, there’s no provincial or federal funding for fertility treatment, Ontario and Quebec cover one cycle, but out west, the bill is yours. One IVF round with ICSI would likely cost $15,000–$20,000. It was overwhelming. Michelle decided to be transparent. She shared updates in a private group and on Instagram stories, such as what the doctors said, what supplements helped, and what the waits felt like. She started a GoFundMe, trembling as she hit post, and was stunned by the kindness that followed. Each message, each donation, felt like someone taking her hand. Slowly, hope returned. They set a phone consult for January 15, 2022, to map out their IVF protocol. For the first time in a long time, “pregnant by April” felt like more than a daydream.
Along the way, she learned hard truths. You have to advocate for yourself. If your gut says something’s off, get another opinion, then another if you need it. Specialists can be kind or careless, and words can wound; carry the ones that help and drop the rest. There’s no shame in needing assistance to build a family. PCOS isn’t laziness, and male factor infertility isn’t failure.
They are medical conditions, and love is bigger than both. Michelle still imagines the day she’ll shout the news she’s held in her chest for years. She can see Jason’s face, Tyrus’s proud big-brother grin, and the tiny onesie on a bed. Until then, she keeps telling the truth so someone else feels less alone, and she keeps moving forward with the plan they have.
