I’ve been on a journey of hope and heartbreak that only members of my secret club can understand

“When are you going to have kids?” It’s a question that’s haunted me for years. A flippant remark thrown out at Easter, at Christmas, sometimes in front of family members and friends who all gaze at you, waiting for your response. Because when you’ve been married for years, the obvious answer for many, who’ve never been on a fertility journey, is, you’re just career-focused and it’s time to crack on.

My husband and I have been that couple for years, dodging the uninvited inquiries to the point where we would even avoid certain social situations – while grappling with the highs and lows of infertility. Our journey started the same as many: a bit of trying, turned into timed ovulation, but after a year, the result we prayed for never came. Doctors’ appointments we hoped would provide a simple answer turned us towards IVF.

ABC Radio presenter Sharnelle Vella and husband Nicholas Koutrigaros

I remember the night we agreed to give it a go. I cried. I couldn’t believe this is where we had ended up. The IVF industry sells hope. I told myself, perhaps naively, “Sharnelle, you’ll do one round and a miracle baby will appear.” For some, that is absolutely the case. But for others, like me, it’s not. It’s round after round and before you know it – you’ve joined a secret club with a large membership.

Hiding in restaurant toilets to inject, carrying an Esky in your car to keep medications cool, running to acupuncture appointments on work hours, trying to get in and out of clinics without being seen because, for some reason, I now find silly, infertility felt shameful.

My husband and I fell pregnant on our third round of IVF. This was a high. We were elated. All the pain disappeared. The countless injections felt like a distant memory.

The low came weeks later, when a scan revealed our baby no longer had a heartbeat. As many women know, nothing prepares you for that level of grief, and for partners who have to watch on, feeling helpless, it truly is the darkest of days on this journey.

But when you’re on this road, you pick yourself up and you go again because there is no other option. So we did. Multiple times. Injections, follicle scans, trigger shots, egg collections, transfers. Again and again and again. It wouldn’t work for us.

It was an off-chance conversation with a nurse that pushed me to ask for more tests. A simple blood test showed inflammation in my pelvis. I thought it could be my autoimmune disease. When my specialist suggested endometriosis, I wasn’t convinced. I don’t roll around in pain during periods, and surely if I had endo, it would’ve been found by now, right?

The surgeon wanted to perform a laparoscopy – keyhole surgery through my stomach. Sure, why not? I had nothing to lose. What was meant to be a 20-minute procedure ended with two surgeons cutting stage four endometriosis out of me for three hours. I’d never had a symptom until my surgeon told me blankly, “infertility was your symptom”.

Three months after my surgery, my husband and I fell pregnant, naturally. Those two lines on the test couldn’t convince me. I went to the chemist, bought a box of tests, and did them all. Every single one was positive.

The couple is now expecting a baby daughter next year.

I had thought when that day came, I’d be elated. We were terrified. Years of IVF meant I no longer trusted my body to do this on its own. I felt institutionalised; I needed the supports, the injections, the medications. My obstetrician, who’d been there for the loss, assured me I didn’t.

I’m now 21 weeks pregnant. Our baby girl is due in March, and I’m still truly terrified. It’s a mindset I know I need to change. I have no doubt there are many, many women who feel the same.

But here are some things I’ve learnt. Women are incredible. What our bodies go through on these journeys takes unimaginable mental and physical strength. Tens of thousands of women are bravely injecting themselves every morning and every night. A ritual they never thought would be part of their lives, but the determination that drives them is unstoppable.

One in seven women will be diagnosed with endometriosis and 20-25 per cent of them are just like me. They’ll never know until they try to conceive.

The most startling fact? Getting an endometriosis diagnosis can take six years or longer and that is simply not good enough.

I remember being told a laparoscopy is invasive and often thought of as a last resort ... miscarriage, rounds of IVF, and grief are also pretty invasive.

Infertility often happens behind closed doors; it’s painful, not spoken about enough, and it’s lonely. So, before you ask someone, “Why haven’t you had kids yet?” please know the reality could very well be that they’re trying. Really, really trying. More than you could ever know.

Sharnelle Vella is co-host of ABC Radio’s Melbourne Breakfast show.

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