The Waiting Walk
The Waiting Walk — This podcast is about opening the pages of real fertility journeys — raw, honest, and hopeful. Each episode feels like a diary read out loud, where we walk gently together through the waiting season.
Plus, you’ll hear the voices of other women, opening up about their own waiting walks.
Until next time-breathe, walk gently, and hold onto hope. 💛
The Waiting Walk
Diary Entry Two: The Early Mornings and the Bloodwork Grind
Today we’re talking about what it’s like to start round two of IUI. Doing it all again-the early mornings, the ultrasound, the blood work, the meds, and all the waiting. This episode is about the routine, the feelings, and the small stickers of hope that keeps showing up-even when we’re tired.
Until next time-breathe, walk gently, and hold onto hope!
Hey, welcome back to the Waiting Walk, a podcast about my IUI journey and maybe yours too. Today, we're talking about what it's like to start round two of IUI, doing it all again. The early mornings, the ultrasounds, the blood work, the meds, and all the waiting. This episode is about the routine, the feelings, and the small flickers of hope that keep showing up, even when we're tired. This morning felt familiar. The drive before sunrise, the quiet waiting room, the soft click of another vial being labeled with our name. And then the ultrasound. The cold gel, the dim room, the screen lighting up. It's wild how something so clinical can hold so much hope. We lie there, watching the screen, wondering, is there a good follicle? Are we getting closer? No answers yet. Just more waiting. It's round two for us, our second time doing this. Same forms, same questions, same steps, but our hearts feel different now. Because this time we carry what didn't work last time. We remember how it felt to believe and not get the ending we hoped for. And still, here we are. We've never had to build our lives around a lab before, but now it's part of our routine. Alter sounds, blood work, timing meds just right. Hope we still have. Then we get the call. Our lab results are in. This time we're told to take three pills a day for five days and then come back in for another round of blood work and an ultrasound. We'll go from there. Waiting to see when we can take the trigger shot. The call comes in Friday night at 9.30 p.m. It's go time. But this time we switch things up. Instead of standing in the bathroom like before, my husband and I decide to try something new. We lay flat on the kitchen floor, overthinking the exact spot the needle should go. Is it here? A little to the left, right above the hip bone? We laugh, we smile at each other, we pause, we do it. The weekend passes, and just like that, Monday morning, we're back at the doctor. Another ultrasound, more blood work. We're waiting to hear if the pills in the shot helped with my ovulation. Another phone call. We find out the follicles are growing. We're cleared. We're told to come in on Wednesday morning for an IUI procedure to place his wonderful collection inside. I lie flat on the table. The nurse again tells me the routine. She's going to place a cold catheter inside me. I might feel some pain. Now she's going to be inserting his collection inside. I might feel a pinch. My husband and I hold hands. We hope. After the procedure, my nurse said something that made my husband and I laugh. She said, You're all done. But remember, you're pregnant until proven not. We looked at each other and instantly thought, dun dun, cute the law and order music. But even in all of that, there's kindness. The nurses, they've been our light. We laugh, we hug, we cry sometimes. And then we hear it again, just like before. Good luck, mama. We smile, we say thank you. Because even if we don't feel like mamas yet, the word still means everything. This round, it feels more emotional. My feelings are all over the place, crying over anything, everything, hormones, yes, but also just the weight of it all. And my husband, man, he's a good one. He's been my steady, my number one, the strength I lean on. Always right there, calm when I'm falling apart, holding space when I don't even know what I need. I wouldn't want to walk this journey with anyone else but you. One test, one needle, one laugh at a time. If you're starting again too, we're still in the middle of it, we see you. You're not alone. Thanks for walking with me today. If you're still waiting, we're waiting with you. Until next time, breathe, walk gently, and hold on to hope. This is the waiting walk.