Since writing this story, Anna’s daughter has arrived safely into the world. We could not be more overjoyed for her and her partner. After everything it took to get here — the losses, the years, and the hope that refused to quit — she is finally holding her little girl. Congratulations, @Anna.
My name is Anna, and I am based in Amsterdam, the Netherlands — originally from Austria, though life brought me here, and it is here that some of the hardest and most hopeful chapters of my life have unfolded.
This is my ninth pregnancy. I have no children yet. But now, at 34 weeks pregnant, I am finally — finally — getting close to meeting my daughter.
Seven losses. Four egg retrievals. Five failed transfers. Three years of trying, grieving, hoping and trying again. I want to say that number out loud because it deserves to be said. Seven times I saw that positive test. Seven times the hope was taken away, sometimes before I even had a moment to fully hold it. Doctors called it unexplained recurrent pregnancy loss and that word — unexplained — became one of the most exhausting words in my life. No reason. No answer. Just loss after loss with nothing to point to and nothing to fix.
We never struggled to conceive naturally, which made everything even more confusing. IVF, with genetic testing, was presented to us early on as a possible solution. Some of my pregnancies were unassisted, others through IVF. When even tested embryos failed — one not implanting, another ending in miscarriage in exactly the same way as before — I realised that answers were still out of reach. In the end, we continued with the remaining IVF rounds available to us in Austria, not because we had certainty, but because we still had hope.
What surprised me most was not the IVF or the procedures or the endless appointments squeezed between work hours and country moves. What surprised me was discovering that conceiving is not the hardest part. Staying pregnant is. I had never heard of that before. I did not know it was possible to fall pregnant again and again and still not be able to carry. There is a particular kind of grief in that — a grief that is hard to explain to people who have not lived it.
I felt like I had a disease that could not be cured. Doctors were often clueless. I moved countries mid-treatment. I kept going even when everyone around me was worried. I kept going when it would have been so much easier to stop. Some days the resilience people talk about — that strength we are supposed to find — did not feel like strength at all. It felt like numbness. Like becoming softer and quieter and more fragile than I ever expected. Resilience does not always look like power. Sometimes it just looks like still being here.
Antidepressants helped. A therapist helped. A lot of rest. Letting myself grieve without rushing through it. Stepping back from social media. Taking a break from pregnant friends — not out of bitterness, though the jealousy was real and I am not ashamed to say it — but out of self preservation. Staying in my own lane was survival.
My partner has been everything. My mum. A handful of close friends who really showed up. And strangers — the ones in Reddit forums and infertility accounts on Instagram who understood in ways the people closest to me simply could not. There is something about being witnessed by someone who truly gets it that no amount of well-meaning advice from the outside can replace.
I want to say something to any woman reading this who is blaming herself — please stop. Do not go down the rabbit hole of supplements and environmental factors and all the things you think you might be doing wrong. It is already so hard without adding that weight to it. Science does not have all the answers yet. Sometimes there is no explanation. Find a doctor you trust, one who will let you try different things and who you can call when you are falling apart. A doctor who makes you feel heard and takes you seriously is worth everything.
And now — now I am 34 weeks pregnant with our little girl. She came from the very last IVF round we had left in Austria, just before I had to move to the Netherlands, where continuing treatment would have been much more complicated. Somehow, everything aligned in that moment.
The Dutch healthcare system has not always been the most accommodating for an anxious pregnant woman who has been through what I have been through, and I had to advocate strongly for myself to be seen as high risk. My 36-year-old body is working harder than it ever has. The pregnancy has not been easy — I am carrying trauma alongside this baby and that is just the truth of it. But she kicks. And every time she does I feel something that was very hard to access for a long time. Something that feels almost like gratitude.
We have set up everything for her arrival here in Amsterdam — this new city full of flowers, with spring and early summer feeling like they are opening their arms for her. I did not give up when giving up would have been so much easier. And she is almost here.
With everything it took to get here, Anna
