When I first decided to specialize in reproductive endocrinology and infertility, I imagined a career devoted to helping people build families through science, compassion and hope. What I did not imagine was that I would one day sit on the other side of the exam table facing the very struggles I had spent years treating in my own patients.
I am a fertility doctor who went through infertility.
This is not something I ever expected to say out loud, let alone write for the world to read. But the truth is, infertility humbled me in ways medical training never could. It reshaped how I see myself, my patients and my work. And though I now have two children, my journey to parenthood was filled with the same heartbreak, procedures and perseverance that many of my patients know all too well.
[READ: Pregnancy After Miscarriage.]
The Illusion of Control
Like many physicians, I am goal-oriented and driven. I grew up believing that if I worked hard enough, studied long enough and dedicated myself fully, I could achieve any outcome. Medicine reinforced that belief. Exams had answers, diagnoses had treatments and effort translated into progress.
So, when I decided to start my family, I assumed it would be the same. Yes, I knew from training that infertility was common, impacting about 1 in 6 couples worldwide, but I didn’t really believe it would affect me. After all, I was young, healthy, knowledgeable, and I had science on my side
That confidence didn’t last.
Months passed without a positive pregnancy test. Initial treatments failed. Tests revealed challenges I hadn’t anticipated. Slowly, the illusion of control began to crumble.
[READ: IUI vs. IVF: What’s the Difference?]
Living the Patient Experience
Over the next several years, I went through many of the same procedures my patients face: intrauterine insemination (IUI), a hysteroscopy, in vitro fertilization (IVF) and embryo transfers that ended in heartbreak. Each step was a reminder that infertility is not solved by sheer determination.
I will never forget the emotional whiplash of an IVF cycle: the hopeful anticipation of stimulation injections, the anxious waiting for follicle growth, the physically draining egg retrieval, the suspense of embryo updates, the crushing disappointment of failed transfers. As a doctor, I had explained these steps countless times. As a patient, living them was something else entirely
I felt shame as a fertility doctor who could not conceive. I felt frustrated with my body for not cooperating. Above all, I felt the profound grief of watching a dream slip further away despite my best efforts.
Infertility is often described as a roller coaster, and that’s exactly what it was: a cycle of hope, fear and loss that repeated itself over and over.
[Read: How to Find a Good Fertility Clinic.]
The Emotional Toll
One of the hardest parts of infertility was how it collided with my identity as a physician. I was used to being the one with answers, the one in control. Now, I was the one asking questions, waiting for results and desperately clinging to hope.
I struggled with the silence that surrounds infertility. Well-meaning friends told me to “just relax” or shared stories of someone who got pregnant after adopting or taking a vacation. Others said nothing at all, leaving me to carry the weight alone. Even within medicine, infertility can be an isolating experience and few people knew what to say or how to support me.
As a driven, success-oriented person, I wrestled with the feeling that I was failing at the one thing I wanted most. No exam, no residency, no fellowship had prepared me for the vulnerability of not being able to control my own fertility.
[Read: A Patient’s Guide to Infertility.]
A New Kind of Empathy
Eventually, I became pregnant. Holding my first child in my arms was one of the most profound moments of my life. Years later, I would go through infertility again while trying for my second child — another reminder that this struggle was not a one-time chapter, but a recurring theme in my story.
I would never wish infertility on anyone. It is painful, exhausting and deeply unfair. But living through it changed me as a doctor.
Before my own journey, I understood infertility clinically: I could quote statistics, explain protocols and offer treatment plans. Afterward, I understood it emotionally: the sting of another negative test, the exhaustion of juggling appointments and work, the gut-wrenching grief of loss.
That shift gave me a new kind of empathy. When a patient cries in my office, I don’t just see their tears — I remember my own. When a patient expresses frustration with repeated failures, I recall the same conversations I once had with my doctor. When someone tells me they feel ashamed or broken, I can honestly tell them: I have been there, too.
Lessons From the Other Side
Infertility taught me humility. For all the advances in reproductive medicine, outcomes are never guaranteed. We can optimize, support and guide — but we cannot promise.
It also taught me patience. As a doctor, it’s tempting to focus on next steps and treatment options. As a patient, I learned how important it is to acknowledge the emotional weight of each moment before moving forward.
Most of all, infertility taught me that being a good physician is not about having lived every diagnosis yourself. Many excellent doctors treat conditions they have never personally experienced. But my own journey added layers of compassion and understanding I didn’t have before. It reminded me that behind every chart, every lab value and every protocol is a human being carrying a very personal story.
Moving Forward
Today, I am grateful to have two children. I don’t take for granted the science, the doctors and the persistence that made them possible. But the scars of infertility remain. They remind me of the countless patients still in the thick of it — patients who may feel alone, ashamed or powerless.
To them I say: you are not alone. Your worth is not defined by your fertility. Your frustration, grief and resilience are valid. And while I cannot promise outcomes, I can promise empathy.
Infertility changed the trajectory of my life and my career. It stripped away my illusions of control and replaced them with humility and compassion. It taught me that medicine is not just about protocols and procedures — it’s about partnership, empathy and the shared humanity that connects us all.
Final Reflection
If I could go back, would I erase my infertility? Absolutely. No one should have to endure the pain it brings. But I cannot deny that it shaped me into the physician I am today.
Infertility made me a better listener. It made me more present with my patients. It reminded me that vulnerability is not weakness but a part of being human.
And while I may never fully reconcile the irony of being a fertility doctor who struggled with infertility, I now see it as part of my story. A story that continues to guide me as I sit across from patients who are, in their own way, walking the same path I once did.
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What Infertility Taught Me as a Fertility Doctor originally appeared on usnews.com
