Freezing Time: My Journey Through Three Egg Retrievals
It's an emotional rollercoaster you cannot get off.
The first time I sat in a fertility clinic, I was 33 and terrified. It was May of 2020. A weird time to be working on my future family given the state of the world, especially in New York City where the daily bustle outside was at a literal halt.
The sterile scent of the waiting room, so many women waiting their turn in N-95 masks, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights, the too-bright magazines stacked neatly on the side table—everything felt foreign, clinical, like I was stepping into a world I never imagined I’d have to navigate. Freezing my eggs wasn’t part of my plan. I thought I’d meet someone, settle down, have babies the traditional way, whatever that even means anymore. But life was happening on its own timeline, and I had to make a choice: leave things up to chance or take control of my future.
I chose control, though it didn’t feel like it at the time. It felt like fear. Fear of the unknown, of the injections I’d have to give myself, of what it meant to acknowledge that time was, in fact, passing. My first retrieval was a crash course in my own biology, a whirlwind of hormone fluctuations and ice packs pressed to my stomach after every shot. But I did it. I banked my first batch of eggs, tucked them away in some cryogenic vault, and exhaled. I felt proud of myself, but also deeply unsettled. The process was behind me, but the questions weren’t: What if I never used them? What if I did, but I was alone?
Two years later, I was back. No longer a newcomer, but an old pro. I walked into the clinic at 35 with the weary resolve of someone who knows exactly what’s coming. The shots. The bloating. The waiting. I knew too much this time—how my body would respond, how my mind would twist itself into knots over the sheer emotional weight of it all. I was still single, and that reality clung to me like an unwelcome guest.
Egg freezing at 33 had been a proactive step. At 35, it felt like a safeguard against heartbreak. Every injection reminded me that I hadn’t found the right person yet, that I was doing this alone, that the future I wanted was still out of reach. And yet, I pushed through. I showed up for every monitoring appointment, swallowed every supplement, gritted my teeth through every mood swing. I banked more eggs, grateful for the option, but exhausted by the process. I longed for a future where this wasn’t just about me.
By 38, that future had arrived. I was engaged. In love. No longer bracing for the process alone, but facing it with a partner by my side. But if I thought this retrieval would be easier because I had support, I was wrong. It was, in every way, the hardest one yet. Age was no longer an abstract concern; it was a reality. Egg quality declines. Response rates dip. And so, I prepared. Five months of rigorous, almost obsessive dedication to my body.
I did weekly acupuncture, forcing myself to believe in the ancient wisdom of needle points aligning my energy. I took NAD injections, hoping to boost my cellular health. I swallowed supplements by the handful, lined them up in little pill cases like talismans against the ticking clock. I stopped drinking. I adjusted my workouts. I prioritized sleep like it was my job. I did everything right. And still, I knew: nothing was guaranteed.
This round demanded more of me physically than any before. The medications hit harder. My body felt heavier. I was tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. But this time, the emotional weight was different. It wasn’t loneliness, it wasn’t fear of an uncertain future—it was the simple, unavoidable reality that aging is real, that our bodies change, that the effort required to fight time increases with every passing year. I felt it in my bones, in my cells, in the way my body responded slower than it had before.
But I also felt something else: resilience. Not just my body’s, but my own. I had been through this three times, under three entirely different life circumstances. The woman who walked into that clinic at 33, wide-eyed and afraid, would never have believed she had the strength to endure it all—not just once, but again and again. At 38 I got as many eggs (and ultimately better quality) than I had at 33, and I blew my 35 year old retrieval numbers of out the water.
Freezing my eggs at 33 was about controlling the unknown. Doing it at 35 was about safeguarding against loneliness. At 38, it was about giving myself—and my future family—the best possible chance. Each time, I had to confront something bigger than the process itself: my fears, my resilience, my evolving sense of self. And in doing so, I proved to myself that while time may move forward, I was always capable of meeting it where I stood.
Three times, I froze time. And three times, I walked away stronger.
If you made it to the end of this post, let me know in the comments if you want me to create a special article that links to all of my favorite fertility products.
Just an IVF long hauler stumbling on your content today and wanting to thank you for sharing this part of your life! I have stage 4 endo and had a few surgeries after IVF set my symptoms on fire. IVF didn’t work for me (no one really talks about that either, how this path is not a guarantee), but also nothing in fertility is ever a guarantee. We are going through surrogacy now and I have IVF to thank for this pathway too. Big hugs, you’re so strong!
Hi! can you talk about what supplements you took?