by Meryem Guler BS
The first time I witnessed a birth was in my third year of medical school on my OBGYN rotation. I found myself in the delivery room assisting the team by holding up one of the patient’s legs during her contractions and counting to ten for each push – a popular role amongst medical students. The patient’s mother was pacing the room around the team, as if walking was the only outlet for her nerves.
With one final push, a baby was born screaming and crying into this world. The new grandmother rushed up to greet them, sobbing tears of joy. She kept repeating “they’re so beautiful” and “you did amazing” to her daughter and grandchild. Observing this scene, I thought of my mom and how she would react similarly if this were me. Blinking back tears, I had one final thought before I had to step away from the room:
I had deprived my own mother of this experience.
I found out about my infertility in a rather unceremonious way during my gap years before medical school. As a research coordinator at a reproductive medicine office, I worked with many couples and individuals facing infertility prior to my knowledge of my own. One day, for reasons unrelated to this story, I had checked my serum hormone levels and noticed that my FSH levels were elevated given the timing of my cycle. Thoughts of worst-case scenarios were confirmed with an Anti-Mullerian Hormone (AMH) level of 0.75. My AMH levels were equivalent to that of the average woman approaching menopause, and I was only 24.
https://www.frontiersin.org/journals/endocrinology/articles/10.3389/fendo.2020.593216/full
I had never felt that my value as a person was tied to my ability to carry a child (as I’m sure many female-identifying individuals can agree), so I was surprised at how much I mourned the news. Growing up, we are ingrained with a natural fear of pregnancy and told to always be hypervigilant as if it could happen at any time without warning. Why are we not taught to fear the opposite? I pictured myself standing at the base of Sylvia Plath’s fig tree, watching the fruits, twigs, and branches of my future family tree quickly shrivel away until nothing but dust remained.
In many ways, I was fortunate in my circumstances. Since my insurance refused to cover any fertility preservation treatments unless I was ready to get pregnant (surprise, I was not), my workplace offered to cover the cost of doing 3 egg retrieval cycles with them. I was given almost-expired sample medications while my incredible coworkers did my labs and scans. When it came time for my egg retrievals, the doctors let me watch through the ultrasound monitor during the procedure.
After 4 months and 3 cycles, we managed to retrieve a whopping total of 5 eggs. For anyone who would like an interpretation: that’s pretty damn bad. Most IVF cycles in a healthy 20-something year old would yield at least 15 eggs per cycle. I was lucky if I got 2. On top of that, my IVF experience had aged me – the space for my ovaries had been replaced with dusty old figs from my decrepit tree. Hot flashes tormented me at night as a residual effect of the medications. My abdomen felt as if an amateur boxer had used it in practice. Needles had poked and prodded at me until I had nothing left to give. It took me months to feel normal again, if only physically.
Even now, I find myself at times still grieving. I sit and imagine holding my biological child. I imagine their little fingers, the small wisps of hair, the smell of baby powder. I picture them growing up, their favorite foods, their hobbies. I wonder if there is another universe in which they could exist. Another reality in which I had the emotional and physical capacity to create this life.
Fortunately, I’ve since had the time, space, and support from my loved ones to come to terms with my diagnosis and how it would shape my future. Looking back on the specific breakdown that led to this story, I know that my mom prioritizes my happiness over anything else. But such is grief: it’s not always rational. And who knows, maybe one of my 5 mediocre frozen eggs has an extraordinary attachment to life.
I ended up finding comfort in a place I was not at all expecting. In my first year of medical school, I attended a Women Leaders in Surgery conference at my school. A surgeon spoke of her own experiences with infertility as she and her partner attempted to have a child after residency, ultimately going through IVF treatment. Her story reminded me that despite being an outlier, I am not alone. There was a whole community of female physicians and surgeons who have gone through and will go through similar experiences. Rather than wallowing in self-pity, I could share my experiences to provide comfort and information to those in similar situations.
I’ll be the first to admit that my route to diagnosis and treatment was not the most conventional. I’m not sure what my future holds or what souls will take the shape of my future family, but in this moment I am incredibly privileged to be loved by my parents, my siblings, my partner, my friends, and sometimes by my pet lizard and 2 cats – I am more than satisfied with the family I’ve created. While difficult, this experience has given me the ability to explore my values and share my experiences with others. For that I am very grateful.
Author Bio
Meryem Guler is a third-year medical student at Sidney Kimmel Medical College at Thomas Jefferson University in Philadelphia, PA. She is originally from the Bay Area of California and graduated with a BS in Neurobiology from UC San Diego in 2020. During the winter months on the east coast, she can be found hibernating in her walk-up apartment with her 2 rescue cats and leopard gecko. Her childhood was filled with arts & crafts with her artist mother, which ultimately drew her to the hands-on careers of General Surgery and Plastics and Reconstructive Surgery. During the 2025-2026 academic year she can be found thawing back on the west coast while pursuing a research year in pediatric craniofacial surgery.
Twitter handle: @MeryemCGuler
Loved your article. Many female Physicians experience infertility as you have described it but, also infertility by extreme preterm premature delivery even after the difficulties of becoming pregnant. The field of medicine puts an extreme stress on the female medical student, resident, physician and bedrest or reduction of stress is often not an option in order to have a successful full term pregnancy and delivery. The medical education process should consider, including lectures in the first year on infertility in the profession.
Thank you for sharing your story. As a female physician who had to undergo IVF after residency, I agree that the process can be physically and mentally traumatizing. Best of luck in all your future endeavors!
Thank you for sharing- and yes please know you are not alone! I also had extremely low AMH levels and was a poor responder to IVF meds- I started the process after finishing residency. I did manage to conceive my first through infertility treatments, and lo and behold wound up naturally conceiving my second. The more we speak up and out, the more other female physicians and surgeons will realize how much this affects us.