One thing I’ve always loved about travel is meeting people and the perspective it offers. You hear their stories and occasionally walk away seeing your own life a little differently.

My recent travels did exactly that.

From conversations with other mothers, I was reminded that my decision to become a single mother by choice was shaped by something I hadn’t fully appreciated at the time: where I live.

When my daughter was born in Canada, I had the option to take either 12 months or 18 months of maternity leave. That time allowed me to recover physically, adjust emotionally, and bond with my newborn without the immediate pressure of returning to work. And during that time, I was paid. Part of that support came from the Canadian government through Employment Insurance, and the other part came from a top-up provided by my employer. Those two factors alone, time and financial support, gave me the confidence to believe that becoming a mother on my own was possible.

That choice is something millions of women around the world simply do not have.

The contrast between countries, particularly Canada and the United States, reveals just how much national policy shapes the realities of motherhood.

Among OECD countries, which represent many of the world’s wealthiest and most developed economies, some form of paid maternity or parental leave is considered standard. Mothers receive an average of roughly 18–19 weeks of paid maternity leave, and many nations provide additional shared parental leave that can extend well beyond that period.

In fact, nearly every high-income country guarantees paid parental leave at the national level.

Except one—the United States.

The United States stands alone among wealthy nations as the only OECD country without federally mandated paid maternity leave.

Read that again.

Instead, the primary federal protection is the Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA), which allows eligible employees up to 12 weeks of unpaid leave following the birth or adoption of a child.

Even that limited protection comes with restrictions.

Employees must work for a qualifying employer and meet minimum tenure requirements to be eligible. Many workers, particularly those in smaller companies or part-time roles, do not qualify at all.

And because the leave is unpaid, many parents simply cannot afford to take it.

In practice, maternity leave in the United States often depends entirely on the policies of an individual employer.

Canada’s parental leave system is not the most generous in the world, but it is among the more flexible. Through Employment Insurance, parents can choose between two structures:

• Standard leave: up to 12 months, paid at roughly 55% of income (up to a weekly cap)
• Extended leave: up to 18 months, paid at about 33% of income

These payments come before any potential employer top-ups.

For me, the income replacement mattered, but the time mattered just as much.

Time to physically recover from pregnancy and childbirth.
Time to adjust to a completely new identity.
Time to build a bond with my daughter.

For someone navigating pregnancy, childbirth, and early motherhood alone, that time was essential.

Without it, the challenges of becoming a single mother by choice would have been significantly greater.

When I write about fertility, I often focus on biology.

But the reality is that policy shapes possibility.

For women considering single motherhood, the early months of a child’s life are already physically and emotionally intense. Add the possibility of returning to work within weeks of giving birth, and the idea can quickly become overwhelming.

If I had been living in the United States, becoming a single mother by choice would likely have been significantly harder. Maybe impossible.

Investing in women and families isn’t just good public policy. It can be the difference between choosing to have a family or not. And if a country depends on the next generation of workers, taxpayers, and citizens, then it has to support the people having them.

If you enjoyed this post, you’ll love my book Me, Myself & IVF — part memoir, part guidebook for anyone navigating fertility, IVF, and solo parenthood. Available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Indigo!

It’s a question I get sometimes. And the truth is, it wasn’t an easy decision. It wasn’t sudden. And quite honestly, if I hadn’t been pushed to the brink of almost not being able to have a child of my own, I might never have chosen it.

Before I got here, it was years of assuming everything would work out eventually.

For most of my life, I thought motherhood would happen in order. You meet someone. You fall in love. You build a life. Then you have a baby.

At least that’s what I thought until life gave me a wake-up call.

What started as a casual visit to a fertility clinic to ask about freezing my eggs turned into something I wasn’t prepared for. I walked out with a stunned realization: my ovarian reserve (my eggs) were running out. Even though I worked out, was healthy, and never smoked, my numbers were far below average for my age. At 38, my Anti-Müllerian Hormone (AMH) was 3.4 pmol/L.

It became a now-or-never moment.

In late 2019, I started freezing my eggs, wanting to save everything I could for my future.

But only a few months later, the pandemic hit, and the world stopped. Dating paused. Travel paused. Life paused. But my biology didn’t. I was halfway through my second round of egg freezing when it was cancelled in March 2020. I felt like I was running out of time. And I was.

Like so many people, I found myself isolated, reflecting, re-evaluating everything. I had always been someone who chased what I wanted in my career and life. But I suddenly realized I was treating motherhood differently. I was waiting for permission. Waiting for the right person to bring me the life that I wanted.

For the next two years, I went round, after round, after round of freezing. Four in total. Freezing 31 eggs for a future partner, someday. Wherever he was.

But as the pandemic dragged on, it forced me to consider something different. What if I stopped waiting?

I was still trying to date, still hoping the world would snap back to normal and “the one” would appear around the corner. I found myself swiping on dating apps like I was speed shopping in a clearance aisle—quickly sifting through the options, hoping to find a hidden gem among the markdowns.

But even while I was doing that, I could feel something shifting inside me.

I had already done the math in my head, and somewhere deep down, I already knew. The only thing I was still waiting for was courage.

Even up to the moment I transferred my first embryo, I was still terrified. I was still getting cold feet after years of freezing my eggs, countless needles, and I’d spent more than $60,000.

Big, meaningful life decisions are almost always scary.

Choosing single motherhood by choice wasn’t me giving up on wanting to find a partner. It was me refusing to give up on motherhood.

If you’re reading this and wondering whether you could, or should, have a baby on your own, I want you to know this: you don’t have to decide overnight.

You’re allowed to think about it, change your mind, and get scared. Repeatedly.

There is no perfect moment where fear disappears.

But I truly believe this: everything you want is on the other side of fear.

Becoming a single mom by choice isn’t about being fearless. It’s about choosing what matters most, even while you’re scared. It’s about building a life intentionally, instead of waiting for everything to line up.

If you’re standing at that same crossroads right now, know you are not alone.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop waiting and start building the life that’s calling you forward.

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If you enjoyed this post, you’ll love my new book Me, Myself & IVF — part memoir, part guidebook for anyone navigating fertility, IVF, and solo parenthood. Available now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Indigo!

For anyone who has spent time around fertility clinics, this is a bold claim. Egg quality, after all, has long been considered a one-way street. Once it declines with age, that decline is assumed to be permanent. This new research challenges that assumption and, if it holds up, could reshape how IVF works for millions of women.

But what’s actually been done, and how close is this to changing real-world treatment?

Scientists working at the Max Planck Institute for Multidisciplinary Sciences, in collaboration with the fertility biotech Ovo Labs, focused on a protein: Shugoshin 1. This protein helps hold chromosomes together as an egg divides. As eggs age, levels of it drop, and chromosomes are more likely to separate incorrectly.

In lab experiments using donated human eggs, researchers injected small amounts of this protein before the eggs matured. The effect was striking. Eggs that received the treatment were far less likely to show age-related chromosomal defects than untreated eggs. In some cases, the rate of abnormalities was nearly cut in half.

This does not mean scientists have discovered a way to make old eggs young again, or to extend fertility indefinitely. But it suggests that at least one key aspect of egg aging appears to be reversible.

If that holds up, the implications for IVF are significant. Better egg quality could mean:

• More usable embryos from each cycle

• Fewer rounds of IVF needed

• Lower miscarriage rates tied to chromosomal abnormalities

Still, it’s important to be cautious. The findings are early, based on lab work rather than successful pregnancies, and they have not yet passed through full peer review. No one should expect “egg rejuvenation” to be available at fertility clinics anytime soon. But this work suggests that egg quality may not be as fixed as we once believed.

And for those navigating infertility, it’s a meaningful sign of progress.

If you enjoyed this post, you’ll love my new book Me, Myself & IVF — part memoir, part guidebook for anyone navigating fertility, IVF, and solo parenthood. Available now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Indigo!

In a few weeks, the inaugural World Fertility Awards will take place in New York City on December 1. What I love about this event coming together is that it’s not just honouring science or storytelling or advocacy, it’s honouring all of it together. It reflects conversations that are no longer niche, and no longer something people whisper about privately. Fertility education and IVF are finally being recognized as a transformative space for women and families.

It’s a night that brings together:

• people pushing for better access,

• people working on technology and science that actually moves the needle,

• people who speak honestly about their own experiences,

• and people who care enough to challenge the old narratives.

And when I saw names like Dr. Aimee Eyvazzadeh — who so generously wrote the front cover blurb for Me, Myself & IVF — alongside Dr. Lucky Sekhon and even Olympian Tara Lipinski, I knew it’s a room I would want to be in to learn from and elevate the conversation.

We’re at a point where innovation, openness, and advocacy are finally intersecting in meaningful ways.
More employers are offering fertility benefits.
More people are speaking openly without stigma.
More science is emerging at a pace that would’ve been unimaginable even 10 years ago.
And more stories, in all their forms, are being recognized as part of the fertility experience.

If you want to explore

You can learn more about the event, the finalists, and the mission here:
worldfertilityawards.com

If you do take a look, I’d genuinely love to hear:

• Which categories or finalists resonate with you the most?

• Does any of it reflect your own experience?

• What do you wish the fertility world recognized more openly?

As always, I’m grateful you’re here, and I’m grateful we get to build this conversation together.

Jenni

If you enjoyed this post, you’ll love my new book Me, Myself & IVF — part memoir, part guidebook for anyone navigating fertility, IVF, and solo parenthood. Available now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Indigo!

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At the time, I didn’t know what to do with that information. It felt like a verdict — as if my fertility future had already been decided. I remember walking out of the clinic and crying the whole car ride home.

But over time, I learned that my AMH level was just one piece of a much bigger story.

Through vitamins, acupuncture, and a change in my IVF protocol, my retrieval results improved dramatically. My body responded differently, and so did my outlook.

What AMH Is

AMH (Anti-Müllerian Hormone) is a hormone made by the follicles in your ovaries — the tiny fluid-filled sacs that each hold an immature egg. Because AMH reflects how many of those tiny follicles are in your reserve, it’s often described as a marker of your “egg quantity.”

That’s why fertility doctors use it to estimate:

• How your ovaries might respond to stimulation drugs during IVF or egg freezing.

• How many eggs you might retrieve in a cycle.

• Whether your ovarian reserve is consistent with your age.

In short: AMH helps fertility doctors plan your treatment protocol. It can predict how much medication you might need and how many eggs might be retrieved.

What AMH Is Not

What AMH doesn’t tell you is just as important.

It doesn’t predict your ability to get pregnant naturally. Women with low AMH conceive every day because conception depends on egg quality and timing, not just quantity.

It doesn’t measure egg quality. You could have lots of eggs that aren’t chromosomally normal, or very few eggs that are.

And it doesn’t mean you’ll go into menopause soon. AMH naturally declines with age, but it can fluctuate and doesn’t pinpoint when menopause will happen.

The Bigger Picture

AMH plays a meaningful role in IVF and egg freezing, but it doesn’t define whether you’ll ultimately succeed.

I’ve learned that fertility isn’t a straight line. It’s a combination of biology, timing, persistence, and sometimes, sheer grace.

As I tell everyone I talk with about this topic—getting your day 3 hormones tested (AMH, FSH, and estradiol)— can give you a baseline for your reproductive health. Having that data early helps you:

• Understand what’s normal for you

• Notice changes over time

• Make informed decisions about family planning, egg freezing, or IVF

It’s like checking the oil in your car: you don’t wait until the engine light comes on. Even if you’re not ready to have children right now, knowing your numbers can empower you to make informed decisions. And if you’ve tested your hormones and have been told your AMH is low, know that the number doesn’t define you. For me, that diagnosis wasn’t the ending I feared — it was information that helped me turn the page and begin a new chapter.

If you enjoyed this post, you’ll love my new book Me, Myself & IVF — part memoir, part guidebook for anyone navigating fertility, IVF, and solo parenthood. Available now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Indigo!

I waited for the right time in my career. The promotion. The raise. The moment when everything would settle and I could finally exhale. I waited for the right partner—someone who wanted the same things, whose life fit mine like a puzzle piece. I waited for the right house, the right city, the right emotional headspace. I waited for certainty.

Because that’s what we’re taught to do when it comes to big life decisions, right? You wait until the timing is perfect. You wait until the pieces line up.

But here’s the truth I learned the hard way when it comes to fertility: The “right time” doesn’t always line up with biology. And while you’re waiting for everything to be just right, time is doing what time always does—passing you by.

I spent years thinking I was being responsible. I didn’t want to rush into parenthood. I wanted a strong foundation, a stable life. I wanted partnership. Love. I had a picture in my head of how starting a family was supposed to look.

But that picture wasn’t materializing. And no one tells you that your body isn’t waiting for you.

I learned that the hard way.

Society has changed, but our biology hasn’t. Women are studying more, waiting longer to settle down, and investing in careers. Yet, a woman’s fertility peaks in her late teens to early twenties, then begins to gradually decline. After age 35, that decline speeds up. By 40, the chances of conceiving naturally are less than 5% per cycle.

I had a rough idea of the decline or “ticking clock” as we were told. But I didn’t think the numbers applied to me. I was healthy. I worked out five days a week and never smoked. Surely my fertility levels were above average.

So, when I walked into a fertility clinic at 38, I was hit with a gut-punch: my AMH levels—an indicator of ovarian reserve—were close to zero. My chances of having a baby of my own, from my own eggs, were close to zero. Just like that.

I kept thinking, Why didn’t anyone tell me this? Not in high school, not in college, not in any doctor’s office. All I ever heard was: “You’ve got time.” But I didn’t.

That moment forced a reckoning. I had to ask myself: What do I actually want? And what am I willing to do to make it happen?

Over time, and with the nudge of the pandemic, the answer became crystal clear. I wanted to be a mother. With or without a partner. With or without a perfect plan. I wanted this life—not later, not someday—now.

So, I stopped waiting.

I chose myself.

That decision, to pursue motherhood on my own through IVF, was not made lightly. It was filled with fear, questions, logistics, hormones, needles, research, and late-night spirals. But it was also filled with clarity. For the first time, I wasn’t asking for permission. I wasn’t waiting for the perfect conditions. I wasn’t stalling my life waiting for someone else.

I was moving forward.

Becoming a single mother by choice (SMBC) wasn’t a backup plan. It wasn’t giving up on love or the idea of building a family with someone else. It was choosing not to let those things be prerequisites for the life I wanted now.

Choosing to become a parent on your own is not a Plan B. It’s courageous. It’s powerful. And more people need to hear that it’s an option. A real one. A beautiful one.

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If you’re reading this and feel like you’re stuck waiting—waiting for clarity, waiting for someone else, waiting for some magic alignment—ask yourself: Who am I waiting for? And why?

Sometimes, the “right” time isn’t something that appears. It’s something you decide.

That decision changed everything for me. And it’s why I wrote my book, Me, Myself & IVF—to offer the guide I wish I’d had when I started this journey. It’s part memoir, part how-to, and 100% honest about what it means to pursue IVF and parenthood on your own terms.

If you enjoyed this post, you’ll love my new book Me, Myself & IVF — part memoir, part guidebook for anyone navigating fertility, IVF, and solo parenthood. Available now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Indigo!

Around the world, policies are evolving, insurers are stepping up, and governments are beginning to grasp what fertility advocates have been saying for years: supporting people who want to have children isn't just compassionate—it’s economically smart.

Patchwork Access in Canada

Canada’s healthcare system is publicly funded—but when it comes to fertility care, where you live often determines what you get.

• Ontario is the only province to offer one publicly funded IVF cycle per lifetime, but access is limited, waitlists are long, and many private clinics charge extra for “add-ons.”

• Quebec briefly offered broader coverage in the early 2010s, repealed it in 2015, and has since reintroduced partial support—but only for those under 41 and in heterosexual relationships.

• Manitoba offers a fertility treatment tax credit (up to 40% of eligible expenses), and New Brunswick and PEI provide modest grants.

• British Columbia launched a publicly funded IVF program in 2025, providing access to one-time funding for eligible B.C. residents. Funding amounts are determined based on pre-tax household income.

Private Insurance: Quiet Progress

While government funding remains limited, private insurers are beginning to respond to demand—particularly from large employers and tech companies who want to offer more inclusive family-building benefits.

Some extended health benefit plans now cover portions of IVF treatments or fertility drugs, especially when advocated for by the employee. Fertility benefits platforms like Fertility Matters Canada and Carrot Fertility are helping companies structure policies that include IVF and egg freezing.

Still, coverage is inconsistent and typically capped. A growing number of Canadians are calling for national standards and a fertility benefits mandate similar to what’s emerging in parts of the U.S.

Why This Matters: Low Birth Rates and Slowing GDP

Canada—like many other countries—is facing a demographic cliff. Our birth rate has fallen far below the replacement level of 2.1 children per woman. Immigration remains our biggest lever for population growth—but long-term economic health also depends on supporting homegrown families.

Fewer children means fewer future workers. That translates into slower GDP growth, shrinking tax bases, and more strain on healthcare and pensions. In short: when people can’t afford to have kids, we all pay for it.

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Supporting fertility care isn’t just compassionate—it’s an economic investment. Countries like Israel and Denmark already fund IVF as part of their national health strategies, not only to help families, but to safeguard their economic futures.

If we’re serious about tackling Canada’s fertility crisis, here’s what we need:
- National leadership on fertility care access
- Expanded public funding that reflects real costs and diverse family structures
- Greater Tax incentives and credits for out-of-pocket expenses
- Standardized fertility benefits through private insurers

A Personal Note

When I began my own fertility journey as a single woman in B.C., I was shocked by the costs—and how little support existed. I wrote Me, Myself & IVF because I wanted other women to know the truth: about their fertility, their options, and what it really takes—financially and emotionally—to pursue IVF in Canada.

We shouldn’t have to choose between financial security and the chance to have a child. Parenthood shouldn’t be a privilege reserved for the wealthy or well-connected. It should be something we all have the opportunity to pursue.

If you enjoyed this post, you’ll love my new book Me, Myself & IVF — part memoir, part guidebook for anyone navigating fertility, IVF, and solo parenthood. Available now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Indigo!

I was healthy, active, career-focused. I had always wanted to be a mom, but life, relationships, and everything else had taken precedence. When I finally considered it was time to freeze my eggs, I assumed I’d be fine.

It wasn’t.

My AMH level—an indicator of ovarian reserve—was in the lowest 10th percentile for my age. In simple terms, it meant I had fewer eggs left than most women my age, and far fewer than I would’ve had just a few years earlier. I was blindsided. No doctor had ever brought it up. No health class had ever covered it. And yet, it turned out to be one of the most important numbers I could’ve known about myself.

What is AMH, and Why Does it Matter?

AMH (Anti-Müllerian Hormone) is a hormone secreted by the follicles in your ovaries. It offers a snapshot of your egg quantity—how many potential eggs you have left. While it doesn’t indicate egg quality, it’s often the first marker fertility specialists look at when assessing reproductive potential.

AMH quietly declines over time, and often you won’t know it’s getting low until you’re already in a fertility clinic, trying to play catch-up.

Why Test Early?

If I had tested my AMH in my 20s and developed a baseline, I could have made informed choices. I could’ve frozen eggs when I had more of them—and better ones. I could’ve prioritized earlier action. Instead, I found myself racing against time.

Young women are taught how not to get pregnant, but rarely how to preserve the option. Fertility education is still missing from the mainstream conversation. Knowing your AMH early doesn’t mean you need to freeze your eggs or have a baby tomorrow—it means you have data. And data is power.

AMH Levels by Age: What’s Normal?

Here’s a general guide for AMH values by age. Keep in mind that “normal” ranges vary slightly depending on the lab and the test method, but these are commonly accepted ballparks.

AMH Levels in pmol/L (Canada, Europe)

AMH Levels in ng/mL (U.S.)

What to Do with This Information

• Ask your doctor to run an AMH blood test, ideally, starting in your 20s.

• Don’t panic if your levels are low—but do get curious. Consider a consultation with a fertility specialist or reproductive endocrinologist.

• Use the data to guide your choices. You might decide to freeze your eggs, start trying sooner, or simply keep testing annually to track changes.

Final Thought

I share my story not to scare you, but to inform you. I wish someone had told me in my 20s: “Hey, go check your AMH—it’s a test that could give you a roadmap for the future.” Instead, I learned when it was almost too late.

But it doesn’t have to be.

If you take one thing from this article, let it be this: fertility knowledge is power. Learn the importance of you AMH levels and get tested early. Your future self will thank you.

If you enjoyed this post, you’ll love my new book Me, Myself & IVF — part memoir, part guidebook for anyone navigating fertility, IVF, and solo parenthood. Available now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Indigo!

In my 20s and early 30s, I was doing all the “right” things—studying, building a career, and dating. I believed that motherhood would come in time, later, when I was ready. No one told me otherwise. The message I received growing up was simple: avoid getting pregnant. Nobody warned me that it might be hard to get pregnant later. Looking back now, the lack of education we received on this topic is appalling.

At 38, when I finally walked into a fertility clinic, the doctor looked at the results of a simple blood test and said, “Your egg reserves are very low. Freezing your eggs would be hard for you.” My AMH was 3.4 pmol/L. Typical for my age would have been 5.5 to 37.4. My results were far less than average—even though I was healthy and fit. I thought those factors would have protected me. But that was only one of the false narratives I started to learn about.

If egg freezing had been a normalized option a decade earlier, I would’ve done it. But it wasn’t. Because egg freezing was still considered experimental by the American Society for Reproductive Medicine (ASRM) until 2013. The major shift came with the introduction of vitrification—a rapid freezing method that prevents ice crystals from forming inside the egg, which had previously damaged the cells during the slow freeze method. With vitrification, survival rates improved dramatically. So dramatically, in fact, that the “experimental” label was finally dropped.

Two years later, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists and the Canadian Fertility and Andrology Society followed suit by acknowledging that egg freezing could be a viable option for healthy women who wanted to preserve their fertility before it declined. But by then, I was already in my mid 30s and my results were dropping rapidly.

Imagine how different things would be if fertility education were treated as a core part of women’s health, not as a reaction to symptoms in our mid-to-late 30s. If someone had told me about AMH levels, egg depletion, or even just the option to freeze earlier—I would have made different choices.

Instead, in my late 30s I sat across from a doctor who told me I was in the lowest percentile for ovarian reserve. In my book, Me, Myself & IVF I wrote:

“My dreams shattered, broken by the reality that my chances of having a baby were close to zero.”

It doesn’t have to be that way for the next generation.

Egg freezing isn’t a guarantee. But it is a tool. And in a world where women are having children later than ever before, we deserve access to that tool—and the knowledge to use it—long before our backs are against the wall.

So, to anyone reading this in their 20s or early 30s, let me be the voice I wish I had: check your hormones. Know your AMH. Talk to your doctor about fertility preservation—not when it’s urgent, but while you still have options.

Science has come so far—and I’m grateful for that. But we still have more work to do to raise awareness.

Fertility shouldn't be something we only think about when it’s almost too late. It should be part of how we plan, how we dream, and how we care for ourselves.

Because when women are informed, they’re empowered. And empowered women change everything.

If you enjoyed this post, you’ll love my new book Me, Myself & IVF — part memoir, part guidebook for anyone navigating fertility, IVF, and solo parenthood. Available now on Amazon!

IVF success rates have steadily improved since the first IVF baby was born in 1978, but the process is still far from predictable — especially for women in their mid-to-late 30s and 40s. Now, AI-powered tools are stepping in to add a level of precision we’ve never seen before. Two of the most promising areas? Embryo selection and non-invasive embryo testing. And if these technologies continue to advance, they could fundamentally reshape the experience and success rates of IVF for future generations.

The High Stakes of Embryo Selection

Let’s start with one of the most critical moments in an IVF cycle: choosing which embryo to transfer.

After egg retrieval and fertilization, embryos are cultured in the lab for several days as they grow into blastocysts. The embryologist then evaluates these embryos and assigns a grade based on their appearance — things like how many cells they have, how evenly those cells are dividing, and how well-developed the inner cell mass looks. This grading system helps determine which embryo is most likely to implant and develop into a healthy pregnancy.

But here’s the problem: grading embryos is incredibly subjective. Two highly trained embryologists might look at the same embryo and come to different conclusions. Even with standardized criteria, it's an imperfect science.

This is where AI can help.

AI-Powered Embryo Selection: The Next Level of Precision

Companies like AIVF, Life Whisperer, Presagen, and Future Fertility analyze high-resolution images and time-lapse videos of embryos as they develop. Rather than relying solely on the human eye, these algorithms examine hundreds — even thousands — of subtle features that may not be visible or interpretable to embryologists. This includes everything from the exact symmetry of the cells to the speed and pattern of cell division.

These platforms are trained on enormous datasets — sometimes analyzing tens of thousands of embryos and their corresponding outcomes. Over time, the AI learns which specific embryo characteristics are statistically associated with a successful implantation, live birth, or miscarriage. In some clinical studies, AI models have already been shown to match or even outperform expert embryologists in predicting embryo viability.

The goal is not to replace embryologists, but to give them a second set of highly sophisticated eyes. Instead of basing decisions solely on gut instinct and visual cues, clinics can now use AI-generated embryo scores to prioritize which embryos to transfer or freeze.

For patients, this has enormous implications:

• Potentially higher success rates

• Lower risk of miscarriage

• Fewer unsuccessful transfers, reducing both emotional and financial strain

• Greater transparency in how embryo choices are made

For women over 35 — who are often navigating declining egg quality and higher rates of chromosomal abnormalities — every transfer counts. AI doesn’t change the underlying biology of age, but it may help tilt the odds in a patient’s favor by maximizing the chance that the embryo selected for transfer is truly the best available.

Non-Invasive Embryo Testing: The End of Biopsies?

Traditionally, preimplantation genetic testing for aneuploidy (PGT-A) involves taking a small biopsy from the embryo, removing a few cells from the outer layer, and analyzing their chromosomes to screen for abnormalities like Down syndrome or missing chromosomes. While PGT-A has helped reduce miscarriage rates and increase success for some patients, it's not perfect. The biopsy itself carries a small risk of harming the embryo, and there’s ongoing debate about how accurately those sampled cells represent the entire embryo.

AI researchers are now working to eliminate the need for embryo biopsies altogether.

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In a field where so much feels outside of one’s control, even small gains in predictability can make a profound difference. And while we may still be in the early chapters of AI-powered IVF, the future is already starting to arrive — one embryo, one algorithm, and one hopeful parent at a time.

If you enjoyed this post, you’ll love my new book Me, Myself & IVF — part memoir, part guidebook for anyone navigating fertility, IVF, and solo parenthood. Available now on Amazon!

When I heard yesterday about the bombing at the Palm Springs Fertility Clinic, it shook me. Not because of the headlines, but because I’ve walked that block. I’ve breathed the air just outside those doors. And because Palm Springs is the setting for many parts of my story, for my family’s story.

When I was on maternity leave, I stayed less than two blocks away from that clinic. Every day, stroller in hand, I passed the place where other people were still hoping, still trying, still dreaming of what I now had. That walk was sacred in a quiet way. Palm Springs had always meant a lot to me. But in that chapter of life, it became a place of healing with deep gratitude.

To think now—what if? What if someone had been inside? What if embryos had been lost? These aren’t “what ifs” about property damage. These are potential lives. They are last chances. They are years of heartbreak and scraped-together savings.

In my book Me, Myself & IVF, I wrote about the emotional terrain of infertility. Fertility clinics are more than medical spaces—they are places of hope. To target one with violence is not just a crime against a building. It’s an attack on the deeply personal, deeply human struggle to create life.

We don’t know the motives yet. We don’t know who did it. But I know this: when I hear my daughter laugh, when I see her smile, when she wraps her fingers around mine—I can’t understand how anyone could be against that.

No act of violence will erase the beauty of what happens inside those clinic walls. The science, the sacrifice, the unrelenting hope of it all. That kind of courage deserves protection, not fear. That kind of love deserves safety, not sirens.

Palm Springs will always mean something special to me. It's part of my story—part of how I became a mother. Everyone deserves the chance to try for that kind of joy, and no one should have the power to take it away.

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And today, I’m thrilled (and terrified!) to say… it’s officially available for pre-sale.

This book is for:

• Anyone trying to understand what IVF really takes — physically, emotionally, financially

• Young women to educate themselves about their fertility

• Those thinking about becoming a solo parent by choice

• And anyone who believes women deserve to know the full picture when it comes to their fertility

Pre-order your copy before May 30 here:

Me, Myself & IVF

If this book helps even one woman — it will all be worth it.

Jenni

60 minutes featured a great story last week on egg freezing. It’s worth watching. https://www.cbsnews.com/video/egg-freezing-60-minutes-video-2025-05-04/

I started by talking with friends who’d been through it which made me feel less alone. Some helped me understand the medical maze. Others simply gave me what I needed most in that moment: hope. And now, I want to pass along things I’ve learned, alongside something of my own.

After years and years of writing and re-writing my book, Me, Myself & IVF, it will finally be out later this month.

It’s the book I needed as a young woman to better understand my fertility, as someone who was diagnosed with low ovarian reserve, and later, as someone who needed the courage to pursue becoming a Single Mother by Choice (SMC). My story is raw, funny (at times), unfiltered, and brutally honest about the rollercoaster that is IVF. More on that below — but first, here are a few resources that got me through:

📚 A Book That Gave Me Hope

1. It Starts with the Egg by Rebecca Fett
The most recommended book in every IVF space — and for good reason. Practical, evidence-based, and surprisingly hopeful. This was my starting point.

🎧 Podcasts That Felt Like a Lifeline

1. Big Fat Negative
Two friends in the thick of IVF, telling it like it is. No fluff, no fake optimism. Just honesty, sarcasm, and sisterhood.

2. Fertility Friday
Great if you want to go deep on fertility awareness and understand your cycle like never before.

3. The IVF Warrior Podcast
Short, digestible episodes with guests who’ve been through every fertility scenario imaginable. Helpful and validating.

🔗 Other Resources That Actually Helped

• Fertility acupuncture: Acupuncture has been shown to increase blood flow to the uterus, improve ovarian function, and help regulate hormones — all important during IVF.

• Headspace and guided meditations: During the two-week wait, between scans, and even through the early days of pregnancy, guided meditations gave my brain somewhere else to go. Highly recommend the fertility-specific tracks or just the basics on calming anxiety.

• Instagram accounts like @infertilityunfiltered and @thefertilitytribe: Real stories, community, solidarity.

And Now, Me, Myself & IVF

I’m so excited to share my story with the world soon (eeek)! This book isn’t a guide. It’s not a step-by-step manual. It’s a real-life account of what it feels like to hand over your body (and bank account) to science in the name of hope.

I wrote Me, Myself & IVF because I didn’t see a similar story reflected anywhere—at least not in the same way. If you’re in the middle of this process, about to start, or supporting someone who is, I hope it provides you with the education and hope you need. Or at the very least, I hope it makes you feel less alone.

👉 It’s out later this month. If you want a reminder when it drops, hit “Subscribe” to stay connected.

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More soon — and if you have your own life-saving book, podcast, or resource, drop it in the comments. Someone else might need it today.

As a single woman, I was able to go through IVF and have my daughter on my own because I live in Canada, where it’s legal. No one asked for a husband, or told me to wait. I didn’t need permission from anyone. In so many other countries, I wouldn’t have had that option. If I wasn’t married, I’d be out of luck.

That got me curious. What are the global rules around IVF? What options are open to women — especially single women — in other parts of the world? And what differences exist beyond cost?

A Patchwork of Access, Rights, and Restrictions

Here’s the short version: IVF laws aren’t uniform globally. Your options depend heavily on where you live, your relationship status, your income, and what you're trying to do — whether that’s freezing your eggs, using a donor, selecting for gender, or working with a surrogate.

In many parts of the world, fertility treatment is still framed around traditional, heterosexual, two-parent families. If you don’t fit that mold, your choices can shrink quickly.

Here’s a snapshot of what access looks like in a few different countries:

Add the cost of medication, donor eggs or sperm, and — if needed — a surrogate, and the total price tag for building a family can skyrocket. In countries where access is restricted or procedures like surrogacy are illegal, many people travel abroad, creating a booming fertility tourism industry.

But traveling for treatment isn’t an option for everyone. It takes time, money, and often legal help to navigate the process — and that’s before you even start injecting hormones or going through egg retrievals.

Why This Matters

Fertility is one of those topics that often feels private — until you're in it. Then you realize how many roadblocks and decisions are shaped not just by your health or your readiness to become a parent, but also by where you happen to live.

For anyone trying to build a family outside the traditional mold, access to IVF and surrogacy isn't just a medical issue — it's a matter of reproductive rights.

And we don't talk about it enough.

What We Need

At minimum, we need:

• Clear, accessible information about fertility options and timelines — not just when you're already struggling to conceive

• More inclusive laws that don’t exclude people based on relationship status or gender

• Greater financial support for fertility treatment, especially in countries where it's prohibitively expensive

There’s no one way to become a parent. But there should be more than one path to get there.

This isn’t just about better luck. It’s about real science catching up to reproductive hope.

1. Better Embryo Selection

Not long ago, embryo selection was based almost entirely on how the cells looked under a microscope. If it looked “good,” it got transferred. But appearances can be deceiving.

Enter Preimplantation Genetic Testing for Aneuploidy (PGT-A). This technology allows embryologists to test for chromosomal abnormalities before an embryo is transferred. Why does this matter? Because embryos with chromosomal issues are the most common cause of failed implantation and miscarriage.

By transferring only chromosomally normal (euploid) embryos, clinics are now seeing higher success rates per transfer and fewer heartbreaks along the way.

2. Freezing Got Way Better (Thanks to Vitrification)

In the past, the old slow-freezing method for eggs or embryos often damaged cells, reducing their viability when thawed.

Since 2013, vitrification—a rapid freezing technique—has changed the game. This method freezes cells so fast that ice crystals can’t form, which protects the structural integrity of the embryo or egg.

The result? Frozen embryo transfers (FETs) have become just as successful as fresh transfers. Vitrification also gives patients more flexibility—allowing time for genetic testing, recovery between cycles, or planning around life events without sacrificing quality.

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3. IVF Protocols Are No Longer One-Size-Fits-All

Reproductive endocrinologists used to follow relatively fixed protocols: same drug doses, same timing, same assumptions. But today’s IVF is far more tailored.

Clinics now use data like AMH levels (Anti-Müllerian Hormone), AFC (Antral Follicle Count), and even genetic markers to customize treatment plans. This means drug doses are optimized for each patient’s ovarian response, reducing overstimulation risks and improving egg yield and quality.

Bottom Line: IVF Is Still Hard, But It's Better

IVF will never be easy. It’s still emotional. It’s still expensive. And it still doesn’t guarantee a baby.

But thanks to genetic testing, better freezing, and personalized treatment, patients today have far better chances than ever before. And that’s real progress.

If this helped…

Consider subscribing or sharing. I write about IVF, solo parenthood, and fertility with complete honesty.

So I waited.
I stalled.
While the years slipped by.

I told myself there was still time. That love would arrive when it was meant to. Meanwhile, I swiped through dating apps like I was speed shopping in a clearance aisle—quickly sifting through the options, hoping to find a hidden gem in the markdowns.

At 38, I started freezing my eggs after learning I was “almost out of time.” A few months later, the world shut down when the pandemic hit. Everything changed. No restaurants, no gyms, no casual meetups—just isolation and silence, stretching out day after day.

One night, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, a conversation from years earlier came rushing back. An ex-boyfriend had told me about a colleague who chose to have a baby on her own through IVF. I could still hear my response:

“I would never do that.”

I’d said it so casually, so confidently—like I had a roadmap and a timeline and certainty. Back then, I was in a relationship I thought might lead somewhere. Everything felt stable, predictable. The idea of having a child alone hadn’t even entered my mind. I wanted love. I wanted a partnership. I wanted to raise a family with someone.

But life had changed. I had changed. And the world had, too.

At some point, the truth became impossible to ignore: I didn’t want to wait anymore. Not for the “right” person. Not for perfect timing. Not for life to deliver the version of motherhood I once imagined. I didn’t want to leave something this important up to chance.

Choosing to become a solo parent wasn’t an impulsive decision.

It didn’t happen overnight. It took time, reflection, and yes—courage.

But once I made the decision, something shifted. A strange, beautiful sense of peace settled in. Not because I suddenly had all the answers. I didn’t. But because I finally stopped waiting to be chosen—and chose myself instead.

Is it scary? Absolutely.
Is it lonely sometimes? Sure.
But is it worth it?
A thousand times, yes.

Because in the end, I didn’t just choose motherhood.
I chose to stop waiting for someone else to bring me the life I wanted.
I became the person I was waiting for.

All I ever needed was the courage to begin.

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