Nineveh Madsen carried a quiet ache for years that never seemed to fade. She had everything she once dreamed of: a thriving career, a loving husband, and a beautiful life on paper. But beneath the surface, she was at war with her own body. Her IVF journey was not just a medical process; it was a battle between hope and heartbreak, between wanting something so deeply and feeling powerless to make it happen.
When Nineveh and her husband John married in 2014, they were optimistic. They believed that starting a family would be natural, that love and timing would align the way it always seemed to for everyone else. Six months passed without a positive test, then a year, and the creeping panic began to settle in. Each month felt heavier than the last. Friends announced pregnancies, baby showers filled her calendar, and though she smiled through them, there was a quiet storm inside her.
She visited a doctor who promised a natural path to conception. For months, she followed his plan, charting, tracking, hoping. But nothing changed. It was only after she pushed for deeper testing that the truth appeared: a series of large fibroids had distorted her uterus. The news felt cruel and confusing, as if her body had been betraying her in silence all along. The doctor seemed embarrassed for missing it, and she was left to wonder how much time had been lost. Determined not to give up, Nineveh and John turned to another specialist who told them IVF might be their only hope. The price was staggering, the emotional toll even higher, but they were ready to try. IVF became their new regular, filled with endless needles, hormones, and waiting rooms. Each shot reminded them how far they were willing to go for the chance to become parents.
The first IVF round failed, leaving her shattered but not defeated. Then came the second, filled with even more medication and cautious optimism. Christmas of 2016 was supposed to bring a miracle, but instead it brought another heartbreak. The embryo transfer had failed again. As others celebrated around twinkling lights and cheerful songs, she sat with tears and an empty feeling that words couldn’t touch.
There were moments when she screamed into the universe, asking if this was all life had for her. But she refused to break. She leaned into her faith and reminded herself that the story wasn’t over. After her second failed IVF attempt, doctors discovered her fibroids had grown again, requiring surgery that insurance didn’t want to cover. She fought for it anyway, repeatedly appealing until the company relented. She knew that giving up wasn’t an option. By mid-2017, she had one embryo left—just one. The thought terrified her, but it also gave her strength. For six months after her surgery, she prayed every day for that last chance. When it was finally time for the transfer, she approached it with quiet faith. She told herself this would be the one, even when fear whispered otherwise.
Ten long days later, the call came that changed everything. She was finally pregnant after years of trying, hoping, crying, and fighting. It felt unreal, like a dream too delicate to touch. In February 2018, Nineveh and John welcomed their daughter, Jasmine Ishtar, a healthy, radiant baby who instantly made every hardship worth it. Looking back on her IVF journey, Nineveh often thinks about the women still waiting, still praying, still wondering if motherhood will ever find them. She remembers the sting of infertility questions, the silence after failed transfers, the exhaustion from endless shots. She knows what it feels like to be on the edge of giving up, yet she also knows how powerful it is to keep believing when everything seems impossible.
Her story is not just about fertility or science; it’s about faith and persistence. It’s about knowing that sometimes the universe takes the long way around to deliver what’s meant for you. Through heartbreak and healing, she learned that life doesn’t always follow the plan but still finds a way to bloom. And when it finally did, it brought her the most incredible gift she had ever dreamed of.
