Written by: Julia Gytri
National Infertility Awareness Week means many things for everyone involved in the infertility space, from you as the intended parent to the friends and loved ones looking to support you, to the medical professionals working to serve you every step of the way.
It’s louder advocacy.
It’s expanded access.
And ultimately, if we’re doing things right, it’s fewer barriers to the family you’re trying to build.
However, in all of the positivity and bombastic encouragement (which we love, don’t get us wrong) it is often a week where some of the nuance slips by. And the number one thing we see most is quiet, unintentional discouragement from well-intentioned words or phrases that sprint across the wires and short-circuit.
That’s why we’re taking a moment to quietly identify the gap between what someone may say and what you, as an intended parent, actually hear. In these emotionally complex situations, things can become lost in translation.
On the clinical side, even the most gifted, empathetic care teams run into this. Fertility medicine is a field where the science is precise and the stakes are deeply personal, and those two things don’t always sit easily together. A clinician can say something with total clarity and professional care, and the intended parent on the receiving end (who is tired, hoping, and holding forty-five different possible futures in their head at once) can still walk out the door in a fog. That’s not a failure of delivery. It’s the nature of hearing medical information about the thing you want most in the world. Luckily, our outstanding partner clinics know exactly how to help guide you through the emotional side of interpreting your visits (shoutout to the hardworking clinicians who keep us going. The fertility space is 1,000 times more navigable and more human because of you).
Similarly, on a more personal note, it’s not uncommon for the occasional comment from a friend, loved one, or unassuming stranger to just land wrong. You know what we’re talking about. Your great aunt Catherine doesn’t mean to make your eye twitch like that. She’s trying to help, but her dated encouragements don’t quite land as the sweet little pats on the back she probably intended them to be.
We get it.
So let’s talk about it.
The five phrases below are ones we hear about from our intended parents again and again, moments when someone in your orbit of care offered a genuinely encouraging sentence, but the person on the receiving end felt something completely different… and just as valid.
If you’re in the middle of it, this is for you. If you’re supporting someone in the middle of it, this is for you. Finally, if you are a clinician, this is for you: consider it an ode, a tiny love note, a thank you for taking such great care with the words you deliver to your intended parents during some of the most emotionally charged moments in their lives.
What they mean: In a clinical setting, age is one of the strongest predictors of egg quantity, egg quality, and cycle outcomes, so it’s a variable your fertility team must take into consideration. They aren’t rendering a judgment on you. They’re doing their job (and doing it well) by naming a number that shapes a treatment plan. Your treatment plan.
What you hear: You hear “too late.” You go back to every year you were told not to worry, that there was plenty of time. You hear the nagging question of whether or not you waited too long. You hear a number you have no control over, can’t go back on, stated with the clinical clarity the information requires. But outside the clinic, this sentence arrives without any of the medical context. Your cousin at the barbecue. A coworker being “encouraging.” Suddenly every candle on your birthday cake feels like a referendum one way or another.
What can help: When it comes to your care team, come back with age-related questions when you’re ready. What does my age mean for my specific plan? That single question helps you meet your clinician where they were when they said it: at a strategic starting point. Together, you determine what this number means about your path forward. Because it doesn’t really have to be anything but data.
What they mean: Your fertility team has concluded that your best clinical path (meaning the fastest, highest probability, and most within your control) may involve donor eggs, and perhaps specifically frozen donor eggs. They are offering you an option that works, not a last resort.
What you hear: You hear the chapters in the story you had been quietly rewriting for yourself already starting to rearrange. Again. You had pictured a child with your eyes, your stubbornness, that second toe that’s a little longer than the big one (if you know you know). As if that weren’t already enough of a shock, the word “frozen” flashes through the room, and the whole conversation sounds more like a concept than a person. Like a compromise instead of a choice. Consider yourself overwhelmed.
What can help: Remember that no decision, especially in reproductive medicine, ever needs to be made on the spot. Sit with it. Seek out people who know what they are talking about, whether that’s parents who have done this firsthand or professionals who can give you every detail, human-to-human, in plain language, to inform every decision you make. “Frozen” is a scientifically proven storage method, not a feeling. Egg donors are real people (pretty amazing people, actually) who have been rigorously vetted, medically screened, and fully informed of their own choices. The potential child on the other side of this path would be just as much yours. This is the start of a new conversation, a new option.
What they mean: From a clinical standpoint, what you are experiencing (the symptom, the timeline, the test result, the wait, everything that may feel absolutely maddening to you) falls within the clinic’s expected range. It is not a red flag. In fertility care, “normal” is usually good news. Similarly, when you hear it from friends, family, and even strangers, they’re simply saying that, of the [insert whatever likely very small sample size of the handful of stories they’ve heard from friends or read online], your story isn’t unique enough to panic, so you shouldn’t feel alone. They are usually trying to comfort you.
What you hear: Everyone goes through this, so why are you being so overreactive? You hear that your grief is [yawn] boring, that your body’s issues are merely the predictable kind. In your clinic, “normal” becomes the word that makes you feel invisible in a room full of people whose job it is to see you, cell for cell, down to your actual DNA. Especially after a miscarriage. Especially after a failed cycle. Especially when “normal” is exactly what’s hurting. Because up to this point, things haven’t been normal. And out in the world, you feel unheard, like so many people have a version of your story that your voice gets drowned out in a sea of… well, normal. Processing your unique situation is challenging when you are made to feel as if it’s not important enough to have to process in the first place.
What can help: Your clinician’s last intention is to make you feel dismissed. They work extremely hard to take care of you, so if you ever feel discouraged, simply consider asking, “Normal compared to what?” It’s a fair, useful question to ask out loud, and it’s a real clinical one that reopens the conversation on a human level. For what it’s worth, “statistically normal” is not the same as emotionally normal. The former describes your chart. The latter would require an expected range of emotions for a life going differently than you anticipated, and frankly, no such quantifiable range exists. You don’t have to feel reassured about something that’s happening just because it is common, and your care team knows this. They also know how to talk about it (they are experts at this!), so don’t be afraid to open up to them. Conversely, out in the world, it’s completely appropriate to take a step back, validate your experience, and set a boundary if necessary.
“Actually, I’m having a hard time, and working with a medical team to find answers. I appreciate your support, though.”
What they mean: They mean what they say. Your clinic will contact you the moment there is something to share: a beta, a pathology, genetic panel, or a clear next step. At face value, this is a perfectly reasonable, logical expectation, especially if accompanied by a specific timeframe.
What you hear: “We’ll call you,” is a single sentence that completely rearranges your life until your phone rings. Your schedule inadvertently bends around a phone that could ring at any moment. You check it absent-mindedly in the middle of the workday. You rest it where your water bottle should go on the treadmill. You stop driving anywhere too far away because you don’t want to be on the road for the news, whether it’s good or bad. You wait. You sweat. You stare at the screen. And all of that anticipation, in its own quiet way, is one of the hardest parts of this process that no one could possibly prepare you for.
What can help: Make sure to ask your clinic what time window they typically call within (e.g., morning, afternoon, end of day). Even a tentative answer can help you to free up your mind for the remainder of the day. If you’re able, make your to-do list as light as possible for the day; no one needs to worry about being productive while every fiber of their being is sweating it out, waiting for a phone call.
What they mean: Clinically, another cycle is almost always possible. Your team is reassuring you that the door is still open, that this loss is not the last word, that the path forward continues. What’s more, this sentence would not be uttered in your presence if it were not true or possible for you.
What you hear: You hear that what just happened doesn’t count. You hear a scratch of the tape, a fast-forward past a loss that was real, through a moment you needed to play through at full length. And that’s from your clinical team, who at least have data behind the sentence. When the same five words come from a friend at brunch or a coworker at the copier, stripped of any scientific grounding, they can land even harder, a light phrase that drops like a ton of bricks over a loss you’re still holding gently with both hands. Worst of all, you hear yourself repeating it to people outside of the process because it’s easier than explaining what you actually feel like you lost.
What can help: There is no rule that says you have to try again right away, or on any timeline, for that matter. Taking a pause is not a failure. Grief is part of this process too, and there is no benefit to rushing past it. If someone offers this sentence before you’re ready to hear it, you can answer honestly: “I will when I’m ready.”
In situations as emotionally challenging as these, it’s no wonder that otherwise straightforward logistical details take on layers of complexity. It’s not necessarily about one group needing to work on their delivery or another other becoming “less sensitive.” It’s about everyone remembering why we’re here: to address infertility, an issue that 1 in 6 people worldwide will experience in their lifetime. Closing the gap means taking a deep breath and actively choosing to meet in the middle.
That said, we know it’s not always that easy. If you are somewhere inside this experience and need a little extra support, Fairfax Egg Bank is here for you. If you’d like a quiet, no-pressure conversation about donor eggs (what the process actually looks like, what the language actually means, and what could be possible for your specific set of circumstances), our team offers a free Fairfax First Consultation designed to give you personalized, human-to-human guidance right when you need it. No forms. No pitch. Just a coordinator who will listen, answer your questions, and leave you empowered with the information you need to move forward.
During National Infertility Awareness Week, and every week that follows it, we are proud to stand alongside the organizations doing this work well beyond our own walls. Fairfax Egg Bank partners with RESOLVE: The National Infertility Association and the Cade Foundation to help expand access, education, and advocacy for the individuals and families navigating infertility. If you are looking for community and resources outside of a clinic, their doors are open, too.
On what you’re feeling:
Processing Genetic Grief on the Path to Parenthood
Will I Regret Using Donor Eggs?
Mental Health in Third Party Reproduction
For weighing your options:
Donor Eggs: Are Frozen or Fresh Better?
Questions to Ask About Donor Eggs During Your First Fertility Consultation
For hearing from people who’ve walked this path:
Intended Parents Share Their Egg Donation Success Story
How Frozen Donor Eggs Gave Hope to This Intended Parent
Julia Gytri is a multidisciplinary writer and healthcare advocate bridging the arts and public health through a hybrid career rooted in education, communications, and collaboration. Her mission is to improve the standard of care for those living with rare, stigmatized, and/or under-researched conditions through storytelling in every project she undertakes.
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