The waiting room at Austin Fertility Center feels like another world—clean lines, glass walls, everything white and silver like we’ve stepped into a future I’m not quite ready for.
Anh and I sit side by side in silence, fingers laced. It almost feels like we’re waiting to board a spaceship instead of meeting a doctor.
A young nurse steps out and calls my name—perfectly. "Mai Nguyen?" I blink in surprise, then stand. She gives me a warm smile, the kind that makes my shoulders drop just a little. "Dr. Chen will see you now."
Dr. Chen’s office is filled with bright charts and diagrams—uteruses, fallopian tubes, percentages printed in bold. She greets us with a firm handshake, a kind smile, and eyes that seem like they’ve seen a thousand versions of this same conversation.
"So, Mai," she says, scanning her tablet. "I see you've been diagnosed with PCOS and you're having trouble conceiving. Let's start with a comprehensive assessment and then we'll discuss our treatment plan."
For the next hour, we go deep—medical history, past symptoms, cycles, treatments. She runs a full physical, including a transvaginal ultrasound that leaves me sore and quiet. Blood tests, too. A lot of them.
"Given your PCOS diagnosis," Dr. Chen explains, "we need to take a holistic approach to your fertility treatment. This means addressing not just ovulation, but also your overall health and metabolic function."
She walks us through a step-by-step plan—clear, organized, like she’s mapping out a long journey on paper.
1. "First, we'll focus on lifestyle modifications. A balanced diet, regular exercise, and stress reduction techniques can significantly improve PCOS symptoms and fertility."
2. "We'll start you on Metformin to improve insulin sensitivity. We'll start with a low dose and gradually increase it."
3. "For ovulation induction, we'll use Letrozole. It's often more effective than Clomiphene for women with PCOS."
4. "We'll monitor your response with regular ultrasounds and blood tests. When the time is right, we'll use an hCG injection to trigger ovulation."
5. "Initially, we'll try timed intercourse for 2-3 cycles before considering more invasive options like IUI."
My head’s spinning—so many steps, so many acronyms I’m not sure I’ll remember by the time we get to the parking lot.
Anh leans forward. “What are the success rates?” he asks, his voice calm, curious—always the data scientist.
Dr. Chen clicks through a few screens, then pulls up a chart. "For someone your age with PCOS, using this protocol, we see pregnancy rates around 10-15% per cycle. But remember, every case is unique."
The numbers stare back at us—percentages, age brackets, outcomes. It’s less hopeful than I expected. But still… it’s hope.
"I know it's a lot to take in," Dr. Chen says gently. "Do you have any questions about the treatment plan?"
I sit with that for a second, then ask, "What about... traditional remedies? My mother swears by certain herbs..."
She nods, like she’s heard the question a hundred times—and still takes it seriously every time. "It's great that you're asking. Some traditional remedies can be beneficial, but we need to be careful about interactions with your fertility medications. Let's discuss any specific herbs you're considering. Also, some patients find acupuncture helpful for managing PCOS symptoms."
As we step out of the clinic, the air feels too bright, too loud. My mind won’t stop spinning—part of me feels a flicker of hope, like maybe this could actually work. But another part feels heavy. Like we’re walking into something so medical, so calculated, it barely resembles the idea of becoming parents.
"Anh nghĩ sao?" (What do you think?) I ask Anh as we head toward the car.
He’s quiet for a second. "Nó… không phải là cách mà anh nghĩ về việc chúng ta sẽ có con," (It's... not how I imagined we'd make a baby,) he says. " Nhưng nếu đây là điều cần thiết, anh đồng ý." (But if this is what it takes, I'm on board.) He gives my hand a squeeze, grounding me. " Còn em thì sao? Em cảm thấy như thế nào?" (What about you? How are you feeling about all this?)
I take a long breath. The road ahead looks intense—daily routines, more meds, constant check-ins. But it’s also the clearest path we’ve had so far.
"Em nghĩ…" (I think...) I say slowly, like I’m convincing myself as much as him. "Em nghĩ là chúng ta nên làm điều đó. Nhưng mà sẽ có rất nhiều việc cần phải làm – các loại thuốc men, hẹn bác sĩ, thay đổi lối sống…" (I think we should do it. But it's going to be a lot to manage – all the medications, appointments, lifestyle changes...)
Anh nods. "Chúng ta có thể tìm một số ứng dụng hoặc công cụ để giúp mình theo dõi mọi thứ? Anh thậm chí có thể tạo một chương trình nếu cần." (Maybe we could look into some apps or tools to help keep track of everything? I could even create a custom program if needed.)
His words remind me of something Dr. Chen mentioned earlier—a patient portal where we can see updates, message the team, track progress.
"Bác sĩ Chen có nói họ có một hệ thống theo dõi," (Dr. Chen did say they have a sophisticated tracking system,) I muse, watching the city blur past the car window. "Có lẽ chúng ta nên thử nó trước khi quyết định xem mình có cần thêm công cụ không." (Maybe we should explore that first before deciding if we need additional tools.)
As we drive home, my mind drifts to the weeks ahead—appointments, pills, procedures I can’t even pronounce yet. It’s overwhelming. But underneath the fear, there’s something else too: a quiet thrill. Like we’re stepping into the unknown with our hands still clasped, still trying.
I rest my hand on my lower belly, almost without thinking.
What will the next few months bring?
Will all this science—these charts, scans, hormone levels—lead us to the baby we keep dreaming about?
I don’t know.
But for now, we’re moving forward. And that feels like something.