After 313 days of setbacks, heartbreak and relentless determination, I finally started freezing my eggs. From a devastating fall to the daily sting of IVF injections, this episode shares the raw reality of what it took to get here as a disabled woman navigating a system that wasn’t built for me.
This is the most personal part of the story yet and the one I fought hardest to tell.
Let's Make IVF Ableism A Thing Of The Past:
Please reach out to me directly through my email icantstandpodcast@gmail.com or via social media. My handle is @Petahooke https://www.instagram.com/petahooke/
You can share your story anonymously if needed.
Transcript:
Peta [00:00:08] Can I really do this? Even being a confident person, a motivated person, a person that can ignore opinions of those who are misinformed or do not understand, self -doubt can still creep in. I thought my self -confidence would only accelerate as I grew older. In reality, I think youthful naivety at times can be more powerful than life experience.
[00:00:47] At the end of part three of this podcast series, I felt like I was getting off the roller coaster ride. I had found my support team. and my access needs were going to be taken seriously. It was now time I was actually going to freeze my eggs. If you've ever been through the process of IVF, you know the house of horrors that could lie ahead. No one can tell you what will happen once you go in. Your story will be unlike any other. You just have to enter into the unknown and look forward to the day that you exit out the other side, Ideally, with a result you can live with. Social media has a way of amplifying whatever is on your mind. The more I thought about IVF the more my feed flooded with baby bumps, embryo transfers and baby names I love but won't be using videos. Motherhood was trending on my algorithm. I will always remember the day that Michelle Andrews podcasts glass. I'm being really honest, when I first found out about Glass, my first thought was, oh god I'm never going to be able to present my story to the professional level that Michelle from Shameless Fame would. She's a trained journalist and a true success. I could not wait for Michelle's familiar voice to fill my empty house. Within 10 minutes of listening to Glass, I felt so seen. Her story was so different to mine, but hearing the emotional toll it took on her to confront the fact that you may never become a mother, hit to the core of my heart. Michelle's story helped so many women, and I was one of them. I listened to all three episodes back to back. and then rated it five stars on Apple podcasts as soon as they ended. I no longer worried about the comparison of what glass would be to eggs. There is room for every story, including mine. I wondered how Michelle was feeling at that very moment. Her thoughts now laid bare for thousands of listeners.
[00:03:46] If you've ever read any information on how to get your body ready for IVF, you'll know it's very important to ensure both your physical and mental health are in top shape. Being disabled and largely immobile, I'm hyper aware of everything I can do to keep my less than perfect body running okay. so I wasn't too fazed with the advice to eat healthy, stop drinking alcohol and take prenatal vitamins. Unusually for me it was my mental health I had to work on. Looking back with you with hindsight now it isn't surprising to think that having to fight for your right to do something to your own body for your future was bound to take a toll and it certainly had. There is never a good time to lose a pet. But in amongst this story, my beloved dog, Harley, passed away. 14 blissful years of chocolate brown eyes, filled with devotion and companionship, had disappeared. Four days after he died, I caught COVID for the first time. In my sick bed, grieving my dog alone was one of the hardest weeks of my life. Losing my dog made me realise how desperately I wanted to give love to someone else. How much love and care I have inside me. I guess you could say I was as motivated as I was emotional to freeze my eggs.
[00:05:44] If you've been playing along for this whole story, you know that blood tests for my deeply set veins were proving tricky. Now that I was going to freeze my eggs, I had to do more blood tests. I made the mistake of ringing my local hospital emergency department where I had previously had blood taken with the aid of an ultrasound machine. I wanted to let them know I was coming and to expect me. Even though we'd done it before, this phone call was a dumb decision in retrospect. I was told by the nurse on the phone not to attend the hospital. I and my blood test were not considered an emergency. As a result, the doctor would likely not see me no matter how long I waited in that emergency room. Good luck, they said, and how out. Not knowing what else to do, I rang all the head offices of all the major pathology labs in Victoria. Each person that answered the phone, ended the call, resolute. Not one location of over a hundred pathology slash blood draw locations had an ultrasound machine available for use. I was told multiple times to go to my local hospital emergency department. Ring a ring a rosy around in circles I went. Understanding the issues I was having, even the team at number one fertility attempted to do a blood draw, but we were also unsuccessful on that occasion. As I closed my door, arriving home after yet another failed attempt, I could not believe after everything, all my advocating, all my fighting for my reproductive rights, that I still could not freeze my eggs, now because of an ultrasound machine.
[00:08:05] My parents were currently on a plane flying home from tropical North Queensland. I decided to pack a bag and spend the night with them so I could try and plan what I should do next, how I was ever going to get this blood test. I was crying as I locked my front door to get into my car to drive to them It happened so quickly. One minute I was rolling down my ramp, the next my body was in the air. All I saw in front of me was my concrete driveway. My hands were stuck and unable to protect myself as I fell. My face hit the ground first. I had finally found a way of getting blood out of me. I had not fallen out of my chair since I was 8 years old. Back then I was mucking around with friends and hadn't fully mastered how to expertly drive a wheelchair on Playground Turn Park. Back then my friends ran for help. Then the school's nurse patched me up and I was quickly safe back in my wheelchair again. This time, I was 34. I was alone on a June day, unfriendly grey skies threatening to rain. I felt naked, exposed, embarrassed. My wheelchair sat empty. My first thought, when I hit the ground, was not, oh God, I'm hurt. It was, oh God, and now on top of everything else, I have to prove that I'm still capable of living on my own. I cannot lose my independence because of one lapse of judgement. I cannot. I then yelled that yell that no person wants to use, the one we reserve for the day that we're in danger. I yelled so loud that my neighbours could hear me from five doors down as they were answering emails, working from home in front of the heater. The builders from across the road were the first to arrive. I couldn't see them but I knew they were young by the tone of their voices. Panic was rising. More neighbours came, many who I have known for years and others who I met that day. Not exactly the first impression I had hoped for. For over an hour, on a freezing Melbourne day, lying on cold, hard concrete, cerebral palsy muscle spasms occurring in my legs as a form of protest to the position of my body, bleeding heavily from my face, waiting for an ambulance, I made small talk with Katie. Even for me, a person who talks for a living, it was a challenge. After I'd been rescued by the paramedics, who incidentally were both wearing wedding rings, my godmother sat with me while we waited for my parents to arrive home from the airport. I would have gone to hospital if I had been anyone else, but even the paramedics said, you know hospitals don't know how to care for a disabled person, Peta. If you're okay, I think you'd be better off under the care of a loved one. in your own bed with your medical equipment tonight. I was relieved they let me stay and retreat into my own home, but it just goes to show how poorly equipped our medical system is for disabled people yet again. I think we all have a type of person in our orbit who posts online things like, You've got this girl, if it's supposed to happen, the universe will give you a sign. Falling on my face felt like the universe had now practically shouted no. Stop with this silly dream.
[00:12:46] I saw the shock on my friends faces as they popped in to see how I was getting on. I watched them realise in real time that I may never look the same again. I was at rock bottom and there was no way of hiding it, other than putting a paper bag over my head and that would make it very tricky to drive my wheelchair. The fall had gifted me with two black eyes, and the wound on my head had been cut off. was now starting to get infected. My GP warned that my face would likely scar. I was devastated. I am a vain person. I was told a few times by family friends when I was young that I have clearly internalised. Well, you might be disabled, but at least you have a pretty face. I was disabled without a pretty face. My mum lived with me for a week after the great fall of 2024. I can remember her saying to me, people fall over and hurt themselves all the time, Peter. It's part of life. But her words, no matter how many times she repeated them, did not fill the pit of worry now in my stomach. How could I possibly freeze my eggs When there is a clear and ugly representation on my face that I couldn't even look after myself. Was I asking for too much? Should I listen to this doubt now lingering in my head? After a few weeks, when my scar was now looking like I'd burnt myself with hot oil, pimples popping up throughout as an added bonus, I started to leave the house. Going down my front ramp took practise. I now had my own roller coaster ride in my very front yard. It turned out I noticed when I left my house that strangers in the street stopped asking why I was in a wheelchair. I think they were scared of the horror my answer might contain. How could my scar of my disability not be connected after all? No one has that level of bad luck.
[00:15:23] Then in August a very special delivery arrived at my door. Injections. Lots of them. This felt like a milestone. One large pink bag that you might receive after a spa day full of goodies and one styrofoam box. Except the goodies were far more expensive and wouldn't have been quite as aesthetically pleasing display on my bathroom vanity. Both were full of IVF self -administered needles. Here we go eggies, it is finally time! The week before, I had gone to a radiologist to get my blood drawn. Like everything else in this story, nothing was straightforward, but I found a way. I had picked up the referral along with blood test tubes from my GP and headed into a city. I'm not too proud to tell you that I internally spoke to my non -existent baby when the sonographer found Vane. To me, the blood looked like the most beautiful thing, tucked now safely away in tubes, ready for testing. I felt so happy, even despite the fact I was $300 out of pocket. And so the IVF freezing process could finally start after fighting, hoping, and crying, a lot of crying, for 313 days. could finally start injecting myself. To say I was nervous was an understatement. My stomach was in knots. I wasn't hungry, which was handy considering that there were more injections than food in my fridge. The boxes and boxes took up more shelf space than anything else. My secret was hiding in plain sight. Waiting for exactly 8pm the first night felt like torture. I was shaking like a leaf by the time the clock showed the time I had been waiting for. I had spoken to a nurse that afternoon in preparation. I had watched all the YouTube videos but despite this my hands shook as I held the needle. It's 8 o 'clock, I kept telling myself, come on! I was willing myself to pierce it into my skin. The instruction got lost in transit somewhere. My internal wifi was not responding. My hands were not doing what I instructed them to do. The needle was not in my skin. After a long time, everything came back online and the needle entered my skin. The dosage number of seeding, as I pressed. The little screen, now showing zero, meant that I had successfully undertaken my first injection independently. I knew with practise over time it would become easier, but I did wish that Prince Charming was there to congratulate me after I was done. A FaceTime call with my parents afterwards was good enough.
[00:19:03] From then on I injected myself every day, from day 6 twice a day. The morning injections hurt more than the night injections, with the medicine feeling hot under my skin as I answered emails and sipped coffee. I felt comforted in the fact that there had been so many women who had done this before me. So many women were doing it right now with me. Many in bathroom stalls at work blocking out quote meetings that they would never attend in their calendar so no one would suspect that they were going through IVF. Bruises began to appear on my stomach, reminders of my progress. but making it trickier to find a spot for the next injection, alternating from side to side. An unexpected positive consequence of sharing my story publicly was I recorded every single injection on my phone. My aim was to share it with you when I was ready, but in actuality it was an invaluable reference for me to double check which side I needed to inject myself on that day. If you've ever had your eggs frozen or undergone IVF, you'll know you need to do an internal ultrasound. This is to check if your body is responding to the injections, if your follicles are growing, if you're able to move to the next step. I bought my hoist and my dad for my internal ultrasounds. Dad was there to operate the hoist so I could be transferred onto that bed. I'm used to having to rely on my parents as an adult, but this experience did give me a giggle. Once I was safe on the bed, my dad left the room and sat in the waiting room. He told me later that he got some very odd looks from other patients. He felt like he needed a sign that said, I'm here for my daughter, she isn't my I'm not a dirty old man undergoing IVF at 78 years old, thank you very much.
[00:21:22] From my perspective the internal ultrasound was pretty easy, although the universe was ensuring I was maintaining some humility as nurses who I'd never met before helped me hold my legs apart. It didn't matter how it happened, the important thing was my follicles were counted and we ready and on schedule for egg collection. Coordinating your life around IVF can be a challenge. The night of my trigger injection for my collection happened to be the night of my neighbour's annual get together for street drinks. I had to administer three trigger injections back to back at exactly 9 .40pm that night. After hesitating a number of times, trying to find the balance of leaving early but Not too early to be rude to leave, I said goodnight. and entered my warm house with the yellow front door. I couldn't eat dinner, I felt too nervous knowing how important it is to get the injections piercing my skin at the correct time. I set the alarm on my phone and lined up the three injections on my kitchen bench ready to go. I then stared into the middle distance and waited. With about 30 seconds to go, I pinched my bruised skin on my tummy and with the other hand, angled the needle and waited. The aggression of my alarm sounded and it was a go. One injection, two injections, three injections. All done within a minute. A wave of relief then hit me. I have now done everything I can do. Nothing else. is there to be done. That night my stomach ballooned, the pain making it hard to sleep. If you had told me that every egg in my body had been waiting to be collected, I would have believed you. Like most disabled people I have experienced many surgeries but my egg freezing surgery was the easiest I have ever experienced. I arrived with both my parents at number one fertility. My car was parked in the private basement with the surgery being conducted at number one fertility. They have their own surgical floor. The foyer is like a fancy hotel and everything that could be pink is pink. The nurses were upbeat, bubbly and lovely. Without doubt, apart from finding the number of eggs they got out of me, the best part of my day was seeing a portable hoist waiting there for me. Not mine but a hired one. I could have cried, I nervously asked, has the battery been charged? After all my fighting for this portable equipment, it was all finally happening. The hoist transfer, like the egg retrieval, went off without a hitch.
[00:24:50] I ended up undergoing two rounds of IVF freezing. The impact on my body was very different from the first to the second experience. not sure why. The first time when everything was new and I still could not get over the fact that I was actually going to be able to freeze my eggs I was really happy overall, almost giddy. I don't really remember any negative side effects apart from bloating and feeling a bit sore but I do distinctly remember finding myself scrolling on my phone looking at newborn baby clothes. The injections hormones making me feel incredibly maternal. The second time undergoing this process was different. I felt exhausted and incredibly nauseous. I had morning sickness, drinking ginger tea like my life depended on it. I struggled to function. My body was less up for the fight the second time rant. Doing anything twice is challenging, expensive, time -consuming, but also because I'm me. I embarrassed myself twice. While high on drugs, in recovery, after the surgery, I asked the same lovely Irish nurse the same question twice, months apart. If she has a son, could I please marry him? I would really adore to have an Irish mother -in -law just like you. Unfortunately she only had two daughters both times.
[00:26:33] I am not highly educated when it comes to medicine and how our medical system works here in Victoria but I do know my original IVF specialist that I spoke about anonymously in the earlier episodes of eggs has never contacted me again. Are they still waiting for me to call them at the end of the month for an update on their efforts to gain approval for me to go through the public hospital system. Or have they simply forgotten about me? I never told them I had found an alternative specialist in Dr. Lynn and No. 1 Fertility. Did I ghost my original IVF specialist? Sort of. I wanted to see what would happen if I stopped following up. Did I come up on some sort of database, letting them know a patient is now seeing a competitor? Or was I a problem that simply went away? I can't stop thinking about it. If I'd never found an alternative specialist that was willing to help me, would I still be waiting to freeze my eggs? And more importantly, how many other women are out there waiting right now? Even after two IVF cycles, I have no idea if I'll use my eggs. I have no idea if my eggs are good quality or if they'll survive once they are thawed. I don't know if this story will end with a baby. But I do know, I fought for what is right, and for what I wanted, and I succeeded. Nothing in life is guaranteed I know that but I've got 22 eggs and 22 chances and for now, that is enough.
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