When a Loved One Has Trouble Expecting

Mothers watching their daughters go through treatment may take a parallel ride. They, too, feel helpless and angry. Judy was taken aback by the size of the needle her daughter Zoe used during IVF treatments. “She had to give herself really painful shots in the tush,” Judy recalled. “Her behind hurt for months afterward. It hurt to sit down. It was grueling.”

I spoke to another mom, Simone, who was equally distraught when her daughter Molly’s second attempted pregnancy ended in miscarriage.

“I was surprised by the depth and extent of my own grief,” Simone said. “This is her loss, I thought. Why am I feeling it so viscerally? Then I realized — my connection with my daughter is deep, and when she’s in pain, I can’t help but feel pain. I wasn’t grieving for a lost grandchild. I was grieving for my daughter’s loss of hope and joy.”

For some, being a “grandmother-in-waiting” is also heart-wrenching. They, too, long to hold a baby in their arms. And just as women going through fertility treatments might begin to avoid friends with babies and young children, so too do their parents, who struggle to be around their friends’ grandchildren.

In 1985, my friend Irene and I were pregnant at the same time; we even shared an obstetrician. We were both in our 20s when we gave birth; our daughters didn’t start trying until their mid-30s. Irene watched her eldest, Claire, go through multiple unsuccessful attempts at intrauterine insemination, a process in which a doctor uses a catheter to insert sperm through the cervix and into the uterus.

The hormones Claire took caused wild mood swings, compounding the stress.

Irene not only worried about her daughter’s physical resilience but also despaired about the outcome. “The thought that Claire, who wanted to be a mother, might not be able to become one was devastating,” Irene told me.

Ultimately, Claire’s IVF treatment was successful. Irene and I now shamelessly text each other granddaughter photos. But I’m careful with friends who are still hoping.

Infertility treatment options generally progress from less invasive to more invasive, ranging from temperature monitoring and over-the-counter ovulation kits to IVF. IVF is not one procedure but a series that involves egg retrieval, fertilization outside the body, genetic testing and embryo transfer. (A woman may also freeze her eggs before the transfer.)

It’s a complicated process that can become all-consuming, sometimes taking over a patient’s life with multiple appointments, injections, medications, monitoring and constant testing.

It's also expensive, though costs vary widely. One cycle of IVF treatment can range from $15,000 to $50,000, depending on a host of factors, including the use of a donor egg, medication and where you live. Treatment is not always covered by insurance.

The process becomes even more emotionally fraught when donors are used. Judy watched her daughter sort through profiles of sperm donors from the clinic.

“They give you this notebook of men with genetic profiles about disease going back to their great-grandparents,” Judy said. “I’m like, ‘Pick someone tall,’ and she said, ‘Mom, this isn’t a dating site.’”

Judy admitted thinking she spotted Zoe’s donor every time she was in Safeway or Trader Joe’s. She wonders about the future. What if Wesley wants to meet her biological father someday? What if he fathered dozens of children? How many half-siblings would she have?

If your adult child is struggling with fertility, be sensitive to what they’re going through. Don’t spout platitudes like “Just relax,” “You’re working too hard,” “It wasn’t meant to be.” Also, control yourself and resist demanding constant updates. Recognize that this is a big deal and don’t minimize it.

And respect your adult child’s privacy. If you’re struggling with your own emotions, discuss it with a professional or a friend, but not with the adult child going through it. The most important thing you can do is listen.

Will my daughter pursue fertility treatment? Of course I’d love another grandchild. But it’s not my body or my decision. I’m keeping my thoughts to myself and will support her either way.

Kate Stone Lombardi is a journalist and author. For 20 years, she was a regular contributor to The New York Times. Her work has also appeared in the Wall Street Journal, Time.com, Good Housekeeping and other national publications.