After the consultation — clarity, questions, and choosing hope
Before the Consultation
Our consultation was over video — just me and my husband, sitting together on the sofa, waiting for a doctor to join the call. It felt strange to be in such a familiar space, about to have such an unfamiliar and potentially life-changing conversation.
This was our first consultation with a fertility specialist, after some initial tests and a referral from the GP. We weren’t sure what to expect — but we knew it was time to start asking questions and seeking help.
Some recent test results had raised concerns — particularly for my husband — and although no one had explicitly told us that conceiving would be difficult, we’d begun to assume as much. There was uncertainty hanging quietly between us, and I found myself carrying a low hum of anxiety all week.
I was worried. Not just about what they’d say about him, but what they might have found in my tests too. What if both of us had challenges? What if the path ahead was even harder than we thought?
I tried not to overthink it, but it was there — a quiet weight.
And then we sat there, side by side, waiting for the doctor to appear on the screen. This person we’d never met, who might be the one to tell us whether our dream of becoming parents was still possible — and how.
It was surreal.
Familiar surroundings.
Unfamiliar stakes.
Soft cushions. Big questions.
The Consultation
When the doctor appeared on the screen, I felt myself relax just a little.
He was softly spoken and friendly — calm, but confident. There was an authority in the way he carried himself, but it was paired with warmth. It helped me feel like we were in safe hands.
He began by asking questions and documenting our history — a gentle but thorough start. I appreciated that, but what I was really waiting for was my test results.
That part mattered to me — maybe more than I realised.
And then came the words that gave me a little lift:
I have above average ovarian reserve.
It felt good to hear something positive. Something hopeful.
The doctor also noted that my uterus is slightly heart-shaped — but he didn’t seem concerned. Just another detail noted down, not a problem to fix.
Then we moved on to the bigger picture: what now?
He explained that our best chance of conceiving would be through IVF with ICSI. Even with a strong ovarian reserve, the reality of my age means the number of eggs that could actually result in a healthy pregnancy is still low — and getting lower with time.
That part was harder to hear.
He told us that from the 18 follicles seen on my recent scan, we might expect to collect around 15 eggs. But from there, maybe only two or three would end up with the potential to become a viable pregnancy.
It was sobering. Not hopeless — but serious.
If we choose to go ahead, we could start treatment as early as my next cycle. The option is there to do two or even three egg collections to increase our chances of creating viable embryos. But of course, that also increases the cost.
That’s where my thoughts started to spiral a little.
By the end of the call, I felt a bit deflated. Not crushed. Not broken. But aware — of the cost, of the unknowns, of the reality that this will likely be a long and expensive road.
The doctor said the clinic would be in touch soon with our treatment plan. And then the call ended — and I went straight back to work.
My husband and I didn’t really talk about it. Not yet.
I think we both needed some space to digest everything.
Sometimes it takes a while for big news to sink in.
What Comes Next
I’m glad we’ve taken the next step. I really am.
It feels good to have moved forward — to have more clarity, and to know that something is happening.
Hearing that my ovarian reserve is better than average gave me a quiet moment of relief. It wasn’t something I expected, and I’m trying to let that be a small anchor of hope, even while everything else still feels so uncertain.
Right now, we’re waiting.
Waiting for the formal treatment plan.
Waiting for the costings.
Waiting to see if the path that’s been offered is one we can actually walk.
That’s the part I’m scared of.
Not the injections, not the appointments — but the price. The question of whether we’ll be able to afford more than one round. Whether this possibility will stay possible once the numbers arrive.
It’s a strange in-between.
I’m not in crisis. I’m not elated.
I’m just… processing.
I feel tired, so I’m trying to rest where I can.
Cuddling the pets. Reading. Letting my mind occupy gentle spaces instead of spiralling into all the what-ifs.
There is hope.
But I’m not quite ready to hold it yet.
It’s there — but I need to put it down for now.
To walk forward one small step at a time, without gripping too tightly to what might be.
I want to be committed to this journey. I do.
But everything still feels too unsure, too unclear.
So for now, I’ll rest here.
In the in-between.
And trust that the path will reveal itself, one piece at a time.
A Note for Others
This part is hard — so hard.
There are so many different things you might hear in your consultation, and each one can feel overwhelming in its own way.
Please, be gentle with yourself.
You are doing what you can, even when so much feels out of your control.
Your body is not failing you.
We all need help sometimes, and asking for it is an act of courage, not weakness.
In the days leading up to your appointment, try not to expect too much of yourself.
It’s normal to feel distracted, overwhelmed, or emotionally raw — especially as you juggle your normal life alongside this big, uncertain step.
Feel all the feelings.
They are valid. They deserve to be heard.
And remember to embrace rest — to do the small things that bring you comfort and joy.
We need to be realistic, yes.
But let’s not let go of hope.
Hope is powerful.
Putting positive intention out into the world can change everything.
Right now, you are exactly where you’re meant to be.
You are not too late.
Journaling Prompts for This Stage
- What feelings am I noticing most strongly right now?
- How can I be kind to myself today?
- What small moments of comfort or peace can I hold onto?
- What hopes or intentions do I want to carry forward — even quietly?
- If I could speak kindly to myself in this moment, what would I say?
Affirmation
“I am allowed to feel uncertain and hopeful at the same time. I am walking my path, one gentle step at a time.”
Bloom + Flourish Collective 