My IVF journey


My IVF journey


Nikki is mom to Stella (5) and Valentino (3), both conceived through IVF. She is cofounder of photo sharing app, Stellashare, and lives with her family in San Francisco. She continues on her IVF journey as she still dreams of a third. She wanted to share her story in hopes of connecting with other women on the long road to motherhood. You can read her story below.

I was newly married, just having celebrated our year anniversary. We had been trying to get pregnant for six months when my world was turned upside down. Having been a professional ballet dancer, I was used to being in pain and living with pain, but this was different. I was having on and off extreme pain in what I thought was my groin, until one day it was so intense that I was unable to move just lying there helpless on the floor. 

My husband and I rushed to the ER to find out that I had an ovarian torsion and had to have emergency surgery. An ovarian torsion is when your fallopian tube wraps around your ovary cutting off blood supply. The pain is next level.  I stressed to the surgeon that I wanted more than anything to have children and to please keep that in mind as they were cutting me up. 

What was supposed to be an hour surgery ended up being a six-hour surgery. I remember waking up and having the doctor tell me that they fixed the ovarian torsion and discovered I had stage four endometriosis and that they would put me in touch with an infertility doctor for the next steps. 

It was as though someone had slapped me in the face and I was shocked. I remember asking why I would need to see an infertility doctor and then sobbing with the answer they provided. The doctor had removed part of my left ovary and fallopian tube while my right fallopian tube was paralyzed by the endometriosis and unable to catch the egg.

I have always been such an impatient person even before my surgery. When my husband and I had been trying naturally to conceive, I was tracking my ovulation, going to an acupuncturist, and taking Chinese herbs to increase my chances. I was so ready for a baby and I wanted it five minutes ago. So of course I wasted no time and booked an appointment with an infertility doctor. The doctor who examined me and ran multiple blood tests concluded that my only shot at getting pregnant was through IVF because of my endometriosis. However, because of my surgery and endo, I was left with a very low egg count. I remember so clearly that he gave me a long shot at getting pregnant but wished me well and referred me to a friend of his. At this point, I began to wrap my head around the fact that I was never going to be able to conceive simply by having sex with my husband. I started researching IVF and was immediately overwhelmed and confused. I began to feel depressed as I knew this wasn't going to be an easy road for us. Then I started looking at the financial costs of IVF and nearly had a heart attack. We were never going to be the lucky ones who could conceive after a date night out and a couple of martinis. At this time, I had no idea that we would spend over a hundred thousand dollars to conceive. 

Since I still felt like I had some control over the whole process, I quickly booked an appointment with Dr. Herbert at Pacific Fertility Center in San Francisco. Dr. Herbert is an older man who only wears bow ties and essentially has zero bedside manner (which is odd, but I love that. Just tell it to me straight. I have never needed my doctor to be my friend, just want them to be the best). He took a liking to me as his wife had endometriosis, and he also had a daughter my age. 

We quickly proceeded with IVF and on day 12 stim of my cycle, Dr. Herbert canceled my cycle because I just wasn't responding. With IVF you do about six injections a day, and the doctors monitor your estrogen levels with a blood test to see how you are responding. I was on the highest levels of meds and still no response. Also, IVF is very invasive with vaginal ultrasounds three times a week or more while you are in an active cycle. I got oddly good at making funny small talk with the doctors while they carefully placed a giant ultrasound that looks like a big you-know-what up my vagina. I wanted so badly to pretend that I was okay. Look at me. I am so fine, I can make jokes. But I wasn't okay. 

At that time, I didn't even know that a cancel cycle was a “thing” and I was completely and utterly devastated like that Eat Pray Love moment when you can't get off the bathroom floor because you are so devastated. I thought IVF works for everyone, I mean there is so much science and manipulation, what did the doctors mean that they did not think it was going to work for me?

The doctors immediately started throwing out that I might need to look into egg donors and going a different route. I was depressed and mad as hell at my body. I didn't understand how I could be 31 years old and looking into egg donors. How was it that I tried my whole adult life not to get pregnant because they taught you in school it was so easy to get pregnant (kudos to the marketing people teaching sex ed in high school, I was always so careful and scared straight). Still, really it seemed next to impossible to actually get pregnant. 

I took a three-month step back from IVF and started seeing a holistic medicine healer in Carmel; she began to heal my body from the surgery with alternative approaches. It made sense that after my six-hour surgery, I should focus on reducing my scar tissue and inflammation. If you get your ACL repaired, you would do tons of physical therapy to regain mobility and reduce scar tissue. Why would this be any different? During this time, I was very depressed. I felt like my body had wronged me; I felt inadequate as a woman and as a wife. I was born to have children, it's something my body was meant to do and yet I could not do it. The amount of shame, despair, and hatred I felt towards myself can only be understood if you have gone through hardships trying to conceive. My dearest friends were getting pregnant and I hated them and I hated myself for hating them and being so jealous. To be honest, I can't say that I really came to any resolution here, I just kept moving forward.

Eventually, we tried a second round of IVF with Dr. Herbert and ended up on day 12 of stims with the same result, which was no result. I can still remember like it was yesterday, the doctor just looking at my lack of data and saying "Okay, so you aren't responding, let's just go two more days with meds and see what happens." And we did, and I began to respond, and we did two more days and two more and two more and finally at 20 days of stim drugs (which is unheard of, no one ever does that much), I was ready for an egg retrieval. Because I have a low ovarian reserve and only one functioning ovary, they collected four eggs. Of those four eggs, three fertilized and two grew out to day three. We transferred two day-three embryos, and I was beyond lucky to get pregnant. One of those two embryos that they transferred is now my 5-year-old daughter, Stella. I cannot underscore enough to find a doctor willing to take a chance and think outside the box if that is what your case demands. My doctor trying something different is the only reason we were able to conceive, the other doctors at the practice were ready to call it another canceled cycle. Advocate for yourself and find a doctor who will do the same.

Fifteen months after giving birth to my miracle baby, I was ready to try for baby #2, but I was still breastfeeding and did not want to stop breastfeeding my daughter for a “maybe” second baby. If this was going to be my only baby, I wanted our breastfeeding journey to not be dictated by IVF. I looked up all the drugs I would be doing with my IVF and found this amazing Facebook group of women from all around the world who were choosing to continue to breastfeed safely while still doing IVF. This group changed my life. We did another round of IVF and had a similar response, 20 days of stim drugs, four eggs, three fertilized, and two grew out to day-three. We transferred both again on day three and found out I was pregnant with twins. I miscarried twin B at 12 weeks, and that rocked me in a way that I had never felt such loss and confusion before in my life. The best advice I was given was from a friend who had also experienced a miscarriage. She said, "You feel every last feeling. You take your time, you can stay sad for a very long time, you don't need to try to make this okay for anyone else. You morn your loss and come out the other side when you are ready."  Her advice hit home for me because so many people said, "Oh well, at least you still have the other baby..." and although that was true, it didn't give me any room for feeling the loss I did feel. I gave birth to my second IVF miracle baby, Valentino, a day before my 35th birthday. 

I love being a mom more than anything else. You can ask anyone and they will tell you I am the baby whisperer. I love the newborn stage the most; I live for a baby. I never went back to work and created an app for private photo sharing called Stellashare, because nothing is more important to me than family. 

I knew I always wanted a third and when Valentino was 15 months old, I began trying. Two plus years and four full IVF sessions later, we have no third child. We have not been lucky and it has been incredibly stressful, sad, and lonely. I think so many people think if you have to go through IVF to conceive, you should be content with any positive outcome. And while I feel so fortunate to have my two healthy children (yes, I know so many women out there are still working towards having their first child), I also would love to be in control of my family planning. A third baby would complete our family and yet I do not know if we will ever have another baby. I live every day with this at the surface of my life; if I think about it too much, I am in tears. IVF is never a guarantee. It is, however, insanely expensive and time-consuming physically, mentally, and emotionally. We live in a very expensive city and have made so many sacrifices in order to pay for IVF.  Having the past four fail it has been soul-crushing. It's as though we just throw money on the ground and walk away, each time a bit more bruised, depressed, and further away from our dream. My two amazing children are now 3 and 5 years old; they are big kids. We are so far away from the baby stage, and it breaks my heart to think that I might never get to do any of it ever again for the rest of my life.


50 YEARS OF MARRIAGE BY BABS


So how did we actually get to this point?? I mean if anyone had told me in a blink of an eye, I’d be celebrating my 50th wedding anniversary I would have looked at them like they had 3 heads.

But here we are, celebrating an anniversary for old people but I’m not old so what’s up with that? Anyway, here is some sage advice which you may take or leave, or at the very least find interesting, on my philosophy as to how we got from January 10, 1970 to January 10, 2020.

So here’s my list

10: You’d better leave all selfishness behind I am the baby of two girls and that was a biggie for me. On the other hand Bill is the baby of 8, not such a big deal for him. No place for narcissism in marriage and yes, it’s not about YOU it’s about US and eventually THEM, God willing.

9: Communication So much is said about this but for me I’m told I communicate too much. Bill has often told me he’s on communication overload. When our kids were young and life was extremely hectic, we planned date nights where we could actually talk to each other and catch up as parents and a couple. It’s more than important to make eye contact and talk about whatever, feelings, plans for the future, kids. Ever go to a restaurant and see a couple staring off into space waiting for their meal. We aren’t that couple.

8: Work on your slovenliness Lucky for me, I am neater than Bill and always have been, even though he’s a better organizer. A made bed and picked up home up in the morning sets the tone for peacefulness throughout the day. Believe me, there were many days Bill walked in and it looked like all hell had broken out. Those were not the most pleasant of evenings since an organized picked up home leads to peace. My Grandma Vincenza would always say” Organazione is worth un a millione”.

7: Share the work at home If I cooked Bill washed. While he did yard work, I’d garden. When life got really crazy, a lot of this went to the wayside because we shared taxing 4 kids to their respective sports and activities, not a lot of time for tennis and golf. Refer to number 10.

6: All Fighting should be private Bill and I never fought in front of the kids. We may have been icy to each other at times but never verbally had it out in front of the kids. They never heard bad language from either one of us. There were times like in all marriages, we had rocky periods, but the kids were not involved on any level. I was raised in a very turbulent home. My parents were always at each other. Trust me, not good for the emotional security of the children.

5: Respect Even though you will have disagreements and fights don’t ever get to the point of disrespecting each other. We women know that we do have more of a verbal gift and that can be used to destroy a marriage. My Grandma Vincenza would always say “Aqua in bocca” as in keep water in your mouth so you can’t say something you’ll regret later, as in shut it!

4: Treat his family as your own I know his parents will never be your own mom and dad, but I came from a generation that took for granted you would refer to your in laws as mom and dad. Just truly respect his family and go out of your way for them. Trust me, that will touch your husband’s heart. Remember, one day you’re going to be a mother-in-law.

3: Laugh Don’t take yourself so seriously Bill and I actually poke fun at each other. We’ve been together long enough that even after hearing his dopey jokes for the 1,000th time, I still shake my head and laugh. We don’t cross the line into sacasm...warning NOT healthy, avoid at all costs.

2: Forgive from the heart No one is perfect and no marriage is perfect. We have all done things we regret having done. If you don’t want to end up on the heap of failed marriages it’s truly important to forgive and forget. If you’re rehashing things that’s not true forgiveness. When we married 50 years ago, even though we were a couple of kids, we took “for better or for worse” seriously.

1. Faith I’m totally baffled how people get through this life without it. I’d say the most important thing that has been the super glue of our marriage is our shared faith. We have not always practiced as fervently as we do now, but we were always serious about the faith that had been handed down to us. Life throws lots of curve balls and with God in your marriage, you have all you need to hang on and get to the other side of the rapids. It takes 3 to make a marriage. If you’re missing the most important piece, you’re paddling upstream. Why not enjoy the ride of your life!

Mrs. Nipple's Weekly Round-ups


The need to read articles this week by @KatieCassman_


Sharing our new series which fellow blogger Katie Cassman from Chicago is running. Each week she rounds-up her favorite trending articles in the mom world and shares them with me! They get the Mrs. Nipple stamp of approval + are posted on the Mrs. Nipple blog every Monday! Excited to share the first weekly round-up with you!

Click on any of the below titles to read the articles

1) 15 dreamy getaways for people who want to warm up this winter


2)
The trick to hosting a better party


3)
The best gifts to give your sister for the holidays


4)
20 baby names that'll be trendy in 10 years


5)
Why you should host a holiday used book exchange


6) How to make cooking with kids fun for everyone


7)
10 ingredients to always have in your kitchen for last minute meals


8)
8 home design trends to look forward to in 2020


9)
Good news: your Christmas tress isn't hurting the environment


10)
Get better skin by next week with these 9 beauty foods

SUPPLEMENTING & PUMPING THE MAMA SERIES


THE MAMA SERIES X ELIZABETH CLEMENTS ON SUPPLEMENTING + PUMPING


This is a beautiful and raw piece that I think many women will be able to connect with. I love Elizabeth’s outlook at the end of her story and I could not agree more with her on her thoughts around supplementing with formula and pumping. At the end of the day we need to do what’s best for our babies , what is best for our relationship with our children and for our well being. I also think it is important to point out the real unexpected challenges that can occur after birth. Not only is this a sensitive time in a mother’s life but add in the physical and mental exhaustion and it is not hard for self doubt to enter the equation. Elizabeth you are one strong mama! Thank you for sharing your story with us.

Elizabeth will take it from here:

Throughout my pregnancy, I received a lot of well-meaning but intrusive questions and advice, including assumptions about my plans to breastfeed. I fully intended on breastfeeding but that was the extent of my planning. I knew that my mom had breastfed me for over a year and I figured we would be equally as successful. I naively assumed that since breastfeeding was the most “natural thing in the world,” it would come, well, naturally to us.


After a happy, healthy pregnancy and a relatively uneventful labor and delivery, I welcomed a beautiful, baby girl. The following hours were a blur as we got to know our sweet girl and tried to process all the procedures and information being thrown our way. Multiple lactation consultants (LCs) came to visit us in the hospital and my husband diligently listened along to their tips and suggestions so that we could both be armed with the requisite knowledge. I really only clicked with one of the LCs - the one who taught me how to pump, which would ultimately became our saving grace.  I remember starting to get stressed that my milk wasn’t coming in yet (I vaguely remember manually expressing a few precious drops of colostrum every few hours), but everyone reassured me that it would come in any time now and then we’d be off to the races.


By the time we were ready to be discharged, our daughter was losing weight, but we weren’t within the window of concern just yet. We were eager to get home and start our new normal, and assumed things would fall into place as we found our groove. My milk finally came in once we got home and I set up a little nursing station with my trusty breastfeeding pillow. My husband stood by, eager to help, and tried to coach me through the positions the LCs had taught us. After that, however, the wheels started to come off pretty quickly.


Still running on a swirling mix of adrenaline and anxiety, I swore I would stay up all night to watch her sleep. While my husband talked some sense into me and convinced me to get some sleep, our daughter would only stay down for ten minutes at a time before erupting in heartbreaking wails. We frantically tried to follow the 5 S’s and everything under the sun to soothe her back to sleep. I kept trying to nurse her around the clock, but each attempt ended with both of us in tears. I stood helplessly as we resorted to my husband finger feeding her via syringe with my small but growing stash of pumped milk.


At our first post-discharge pediatrician visit, we learned she had lost even more weight and were told to come back in 48 hours for another weight check. We headed back home feeling even more exhausted and dejected and decided to start operating in two-hour shifts so that we could each grab a few minutes of sleep. The next few days were awful - I dreaded feeding her, I was terrified of having to do this alone when my husband went back to work in a few days, and we were running on fumes. By the time we made it back for her next weight check, we were desperate for good news.


Our daughter had lost even more weight at this point and I completely broke down in the doctor's office. The pediatrician was kind but frank with us, telling us that our baby was quite simply starving and we were trapped in a vicious cycle where she was too hungry to sleep but too weak to nurse. We were hours away from having to take her back to the hospital to be hooked up on an IV. She instructed us to go straight to the grocery store to buy formula. She also told me to take a break from nursing since it was only causing me more distress and suggested I continue pumping each time we fed her. I flashed back to the doctor on call screaming at the nurses to get the formula samples out of all the recovery rooms and I broke down again in the baby care aisle, sobbing that I would be setting our baby up for a lifetime of health and academic failures by having to supplement. My husband brought me back to earth and reminded me that the most important thing we could do for our daughter right now was to feed her, any which way we could.


As we slowly but surely started to make progress with her formula and pumped feedings, I felt torn and conflicted.  When I was given the “freedom” to take a break from breastfeeding and just pump, I felt like an enormous weight had finally been lifted off my shoulders. At the same time, I couldn’t help but feel like a failure. This beautiful, magical, natural experience that we were “supposed” to have wasn’t ours and therefore there must be something wrong with me.


I knew that I should be celebrating each weight milestone (she stopped losing weight, started gaining, and finally climbed back up to her birth weight) but instead I was wracked with incredible guilt for not being strong enough to give her what she needed on my own. Our pediatrician didn’t try to force the issue of switching from pumping back to nursing, but I agreed to get help from the LCs at our hospital once more. It was an exhausting evaluation throughout which I still felt like I was doing everything wrong, but it did confirm an underlying tongue and lip tie (this experience requires an entirely separate post, you can read Mrs. Nipple’s experience with that HERE ) was preventing my daughter from effectively transferring milk. Again, this should have brought me some relief but I was almost too overwhelmed to process it.


Shortly after that consultation, I took a step back to consider our options, keeping in mind the ultimate goal, feeding our baby. I could suck it up  and try to power through nursing, despite the anxiety it caused us both, or I could choose a different feeding journey of supplementing and pumping that seemed to alleviate tensions all around. Close friends shared similar experiences with me, and their reassuring words and guidance convinced me we could choose this path instead. My supply was steady enough that we were able to stop supplementing within a few weeks and I furiously tried to research everything I could find on exclusively pumping (“EPing”). I tried not to get discouraged by the limited research and naysayers, and forced myself to take it one step a time - could I make it to the end of the month? Her 1 month birthday? 2 month birthday?


I soon became a pumping machine, scheduling pump sessions around her feedings, appointments, and outings, and quickly grew to love my pump time. It forced me to slow down and stop trying to do everything at once - the extent of my multitasking was playing with her or catching up on Instagram if she was napping. When it was time to go back to work, I mastered my new pumping schedule and schlepped all of my gear back and forth. I pumped at the airport, in the car on long roadtrips, and put my “PackIT” freezer bags to the test safely transporting milk across town and up and down the East Coast.


I had set an arbitrary goal of making it to her 6-month birthday and as at that date grew nearer, my love for pumping started to turn. It was the first thing I did when I woke up and the last thing I did before I went to bed and it was growing tiresome and somewhat isolating. I mapped out a weaning timeline and gradually started decreasing my pump sessions. I worked out a (perhaps unnecessarily complex) system for working through my freezer stash and reintroducing formula. I started to beat myself up again, feeling guilty that I was stopping pumping for selfish reasons and nervous that she wouldn’t adjust back to formula. My last pump session was filled with mixed emotions - I remember feeling proud of myself for having made this option work for us for as long as it did, relieved that I could go about my day without factoring in pumping logistics, and sad that this particular chapter was coming to a close. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this point, but she handled the transition like a champ and happily gobbled down whatever bottle was given to her.


I still cringe when I hear comments implying that the only way to bond with your baby is by breastfeeding. While I have no doubt that breastfeeding your baby is a unique, strengthening experience, I also know that pumping and supplementing allowed me to be the best mother to my sweet girl. I gained confidence with each pump session and I loved holding her while feeding her - two things that eluded us in our early days. Further, it provided a wonderful opportunity for other family members to bond easily with her, a win for everyone.


My daughter is days away from her first birthday and as I watch her thriving now, our early struggles seem like a lifetime ago. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself that we were doing an amazing job and everything was going to be okay. Since time travel is impossible, there are a few suggestions I’d like to pass along to others who may be in the same boat.

  • Be Kind to Yourself: One of my friends who gave me the courage to try EPing shared a phrase that really stuck with me: Motherhood =/= Martyrdom. No one was going to win if I stubbornly (and unsuccessfully) insisted on breastfeeding just because that’s what every other mother did. I became a different mother when I stopped beating myself up and I firmly believe that my relationship with my daughter fundamentally shifted for the best when we chose to supplement and pump.

  • Lean on your Partner: My husband has long been a partner in every sense of the word, but I’m eternally grateful for the way he jumped in to try to understand the mechanics of feeding. He knew that even though he wouldn’t be the one to physically nurse her, he could follow along with the instructions and support me from the side. When we had to try other forms of feeding, he was right there trying to figure out the best position for holding her. He listened to my frustrations, encouraged me when I was too hard on myself, and kept us focused on getting our daughter healthy and strong, and it really helped me feel like we were in this together.

  • Talk About It: Whether it was because I was feeling vulnerable or too exhausted to filter myself, I was brutally honest when friends would check in on us. If I had swept our challenges under the rug, I don’t know that our friends would have been equally as honest with me in sharing their own challenges. I had felt frustratingly isolated until I learned that other women had been in this exact same position. Their words of support and reassurance brought me to happy tears and gave me the push I needed to choose our own feeding path.

  • Trust Your Gut: This is easy for me to say with nearly a year of parenting under my belt now, but I do wish I had spoken up sooner and more forcefully. One of the LCs who first met with us (and later the first pediatrician) made a passing reference to the tongue tie, but it didn’t really register. I wish that I had flagged that (or at least asked more questions) when we were still in the hospital, since we could have had it addressed on the spot. There were a few other warning signs in those first few days that I wish I had pressed as well.

Focus on your Journey: I wish I could have spent less time worrying about what we were “supposed” to be doing and more time focusing on what worked best for us. How other moms were feeding their babies is frankly irrelevant. Their opinions of how you are feeding your baby is irrelevant. We got there eventually, but it took a lot of pep talks from our doctor and my husband to remember that fed is best. Period.

Right time for baby, WRONG time for career?


The MAMA SERIES X Lindsey A. Fitzsimons


Morning priority list:

4:40 AM- Wake up/check emails

5:00 AM- Scoop of peanut butter breakfast, pump (more emails), get dressed, make baby’s school lunch

6:00 AM- Spin class

7:00 AM- Run home, get baby up: change diaper, get dressed, give bottle of milk and dump in bed with daddy so I can shower/rinse, re-dress in 15 min; BRUSH TEETH (maybe hair)

7:30- leave the house for daycare drop-off; floss in car

8:30- Arrive at work, have to park in Siberia (cue running into office with pump bag, work bag, lunch bag…storage bags spilling out as I scramble up the stairs, usually accompanied by a trip, or two.)

On paper at least, that’s how a typical morning progresses in my house. The reality, however, is nowhere near as itemized and usually involves James taking a spill or two, needing a second diaper change and me having to nag my husband to wake up and play with James so I can have 10 uninterrupted minutes to dress myself and apply makeup…but those are the semantics.

When my husband and I got married just four years ago, I was twenty-six years old and we knew that we wanted to have our first child by the time I turned thirty. We also knew we wanted to (want to) have multiple children. No problem right? Plenty of time right?

Maybe……..

At that time, I was nearly 3 years into my first PhD program in California, studying Biokinesiology and working in a breast cancer research lab. For personal reasons, I found out fairly suddenly that I needed to move back to the East Coast, and was forced to transfer into a new PhD program. I use the word “transfer,” but really, I had to start over. For anyone out there who has ever gone to graduate school or has a PhD, I know you are cringing right now. For those of you who may not be familiar with the world of academia, this basically means 3 years of your life (literal blood, sweat and tears…lots and lots of tears) have gone down the drain. No big deal if you are 24, single and not geographically-bound. For me on the other hand, this meant reapplying (and hopefully getting accepted) to grad school (no small feat), completing all new coursework, finding a new laboratory and mentor, and starting (and hopefully finishing) a new doctoral dissertation. For anyone who wants to talk about nightmare graduate school experiences, this one was novel-worthy.

Fast forward two years, I have found a new mentor, new research lab and am settled into my new PhD program in the state of Maine. Fortunately for me, I was able to find a mentor who is incredibly supportive and has a research lab that allows me to study the research topic I am most passionate about: heart development.

“On the other hand, I found myself turning 28 and getting closer to 30, and getting antsy to have a baby!”

I use the word antsy, but what I really mean was that my work life had settled, my married life was fulfilling, my husband had an amazing job with a stable income, and yet something was missing. I would be lying if I said that the initial decision to start trying for a baby was a really long and drawn-out, thoughtful process. The reality on the other hand, was that one night I simply asked my husband if he wanted to make a baby, and he said yes! As it turns out, it is true what they say that it only takes “that one time…” haha! I was over the moon, truly! But there is a certain aspect of reality setting in that followed the initial bliss of finding out that you are in fact pregnant with the baby that you tried for. My mind quickly began to spiral with worry- SO MUCH WORRY!

“Women in science and in many careers are usually grouped into two categories: the women who have families (children) and the women that have their careers (don’t have children).”

The assumptions that come along with being clumped into one of these two categories is that you are subsequently less ambitious or committed to science (or your profession) or are incredibly ambitious, whole-heartedly committed to the science (or your profession) and “successful,” respectively. Of course you won’t find this written anywhere, but my experience in thus far has confirmed this to be true.

There is also an ongoing joke amongst female scientists that if you ask anyone (any woman) in academia when a good time to have a baby is, they will tell you: When you’re 50 and post-menopausal. So what’s a girl to do?!?! Spoiler alert: the RIGHT answer is different for everyone. For me, this realization that there was no ‘good time’, pushed me to ultimately just go for it and navigate from there. I calculated the years in would now take me to finish my PhD and wallowed in self-pity when I realized what should have taken me 2-3 years to finish, would now take an additional 4-5 with maternity leave, the academic calendar, etc. This might be the time where I also mention that I teach at a medical school, 3 days a week. Because teaching is part of where my salary comes from (this is common as a PhD student) I am responsible for prep/delivery of lectures, small group labs, and being available to students while still juggling my laboratory work, scientific writing (grants, academic papers, etc.) and all of the administrative responsibilities around my teaching schedule.

I will never forget the day I told my boss I was pregnant, to which his response was: “I am not confident you can juggle everything in front of you that is required for you to finish your degree.” Even a trusted and admired, female faculty mentor told me that she was “disappointed (in me), that I gone to the dark side.” Well, anyone who knows me well, knows that this type of comment is one that will really get me fired up. If you tell me I won’t or can’t overcome a challenge, you better believe I will. The joke I like to make is that even if I’m 80 years old and suing a walker to get across the stage, I will graduate my doctoral degree. Unfortunately, these types of comments are all too common and more often than not, they cut pretty deep.

My husband can attest to the many nights I have spent sobbing over judgmental and passive-aggressive comments that have been said in reference to my gender, background, age, breastfeeding status, etc. etc. The realities of being a (young) woman, working in an area of science/academia, at least for me, includes constantly being judged by my peers, subordinates and mentors. I have to remind myself, sometimes on a daily basis, that my career is not a race and there is no need for my desires to have a family to impact the quality or outcomes in my career arena…but it is hard! I also have found myself in an environment where I’m surrounded by male colleagues, most of whom have had children and whom I assume maintain some sort of family life outside the workplace. Yet, they don’t appear to be concerned about things like leaving on time to make daycare pick up, or not scheduling meetings/events on weekends/holidays when daycare is closed. I only recently mustered up the guts to ask to bring my baby to a casual weekly faculty meeting.

To be honest, this article was a lot harder for me to write than I thought it would be. In one sense, I have a million things to say, stories to tell about my daily grind and the many ways I feel inadequate. On the other hand, I suppose the whole point of doing this piece not just to provide a glimpse into one person’s reality, but to use that reality in an effort empower other, REAL women. Part of me feels self-conscious because in truth, I haven’t yet COMPLETED by PhD and in truth, it is an incredibly long, bureaucratic and political process to earn those extra 3 letters behind your name. That being said, I know I will do it.

Like motherhood (for me), when I commit to something, I commit whole-heartedly to that “baby.” However, where motherhood and earning a terminal degree differ is the tiny fact that a degree has an endpoint, and motherhood is a way of life. The way I look at it, managing a needy career during motherhood is really like a metaphorical see-saw, broken down into professional wellbeing on one end, family/marriage(partnership) wellbeing on the other end, and your personal welling serving as the pillar for which those two professional and family aspects are balanced on.

“Personal wellbeing, both emotional and physical, is the fulcrum, or primary support around which, all other aspects depend upon for balance.”

I’ll admit, I have a love/hate relationship with my personal wellbeing because, like my baby and “work baby”, it requires additional time and energy (that 5:00am spin class comes really early!) BUT---the more I keep myself intact physically and emotionally, the more I find myself better able to handle the everyday ups and downs of family and work like. We’ve all heard it: Take care of yourself so you can be better able to take care of others!

As cheesy and cliché as it sounds, take it one day at a time and enjoy the small successes along the way. Sometimes, the “big (career) goals,” while extraordinarily possible, can take more time when you have more responsibilities to juggle. Waiting and working for “big goals,” in my experience, can lead me down a slippery slope of drowning myself in feelings of disappointment, inadequacy, self-doubt and loss of motivation. It is so incredibly easy to preoccupy oneself with timelines and societal expectations for career-related accomplishments.

For this reason alone, I hope you will all take it upon yourselves and make it a priority to support working mothers. Whether managing a household, a law practice, finishing a GED or PhD- we need to be able to depend on each other and know that we have other mothers/women we can depend upon that can support us when others cannot.

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Evening Priority List:

4:15 PM- Leave work

5:00 PM- Arrive at daycare for pickup

5:30 PM- Arrive home, cook dinner for James, bath/play time

7:00 PM- James bed time

7:15 PM- 10:00 PM- Dinner with hubs; finalize prep on tomorrow’s lectures; respond to emails; catch up on

laboratory notes from the day; chip away at manuscripts in progress

10:00 PM- Wind down and pass out; dream about showing up to lecture and realizing I have no pants on