One day the husband comes home very excited. Trust me, he’s never excited about work. He had a new patient today that had an emergency and she is – wait for it – a fertility specialist! Of course, he peppered her with questions and since he did her a favour, she would be happy to see us in her clinic tout de suite.

For the past little while, IVF has been on the back burner. We have not so much as discussed it. We seem to tacitly agree that going back to clinic #1 is not going to happen. But now the husband has caught the infectious positive attitude of this new doctor and he books a consult.

I meet the new Dr. G- (yup, their names all start with a G). She is a chirpy, peppy person. “If you want a baby, you’ll get a baby at the end of this process”, she emphatically assures us. We are, indeed, reassured. “Oh my goodness, she says with her usual stacatto intonation. “They’ve been giving you so much drugs, and just look at the puny size of you!” Okay, now I’m feeling even more reassured that she knows what she’s doing.

This new clinic is quite nice. Calm tones, comfy chairs, wired computers, and best of all, no other patients with any other issues. Everyone in the waiting area is here for the same reason. Furthermore, no one is pacing around in a hospital gown.

I wonder how many clinics, on average, couple attend if IUI or IVF does not work for them the first or second try? Two? Three? We have friends that are on their third clinic. Steping into the new clinic, there is always hope – maybe false hope – that this time things will be different. The doctor has a different approach; the embryologist is better; the nurses are nicer; the clinic is less stressful than the last one… and the list goes on. Are we just fooling ourselves?