I had an ultrasound last week. The receptionists were welcoming, and the nurse practitioner engaged me in friendly conversation before we began. We discussed a ring I was wearing, she asked about my toddler daughter, and we shared a laugh. This typical small talk stood in stark contrast to the experiences I had endured over the past four months.
Since December, I had been visiting a private fertility clinic in hopes of becoming pregnant. Now that I had succeeded, I found myself at a local hospital for my first prenatal appointment. Comparing these two experiences made it clear: at the clinic, I felt like a customer; at the hospital, I felt like a patient.
It’s worth noting that not all fertility clinics are the same. Some provide excellent care—like the team that helped me conceive my daughter when I lived across the country—while others fall short, and some prenatal departments at hospitals can be equally disappointing. Additionally, patients often rate their experiences at clinics more negatively if they do not end up with a baby, leading to potentially unjust evaluations of otherwise competent clinics.
However, the fertility industry undeniably operates like a business, and this can often be felt by patients. Many clinics appear to prioritize profits over patient well-being. For instance, it’s common for fertility doctors to transfer multiple embryos during IVF cycles, which can lead to unwanted multiples for mothers but boosts the clinic’s success rates, enticing more clients. Additionally, clinics may refer patients to financing companies and receive substantial referral fees, and some promote dubious “baby-or-your-money-back” schemes that primarily benefit the clinics.
Patients often feel the coldness of this transactional approach. One woman quoted in a BBC article lamented, “All these clinics are after is your money. I’ve never received a phone call or letter after a failed cycle.” Another expressed feeling like she was “on a conveyor belt.” On the Yelp page for the clinic I visited, one review stated, “This clinic is all about the bottom line. If you want someone to hold your hand and care for you, I’d seek it elsewhere.”
I can relate to these sentiments. Each time I entered the clinic, the receptionist would ask for my last name—even though she recognized me from my frequent visits—before immediately informing me of the hefty fee I owed that day. After my ultrasounds, I would meet the doctor in an open hallway to discuss my treatment plan, a stark difference from the private, sit-down meetings I had with my wonderful doctor back in New York. I never received a clear explanation for why we were following a different treatment protocol than the one that had previously worked for me; my inquiries were often brushed aside. It was only after I asked a crucial question that a medication change occurred, which I believe was key to my current pregnancy. Had I not been proactive, I could still be spending thousands at the clinic, feeling increasingly desperate.
The last time I visited the clinic was on March 17 for the IUI that ultimately led to my pregnancy. Since then, I have not received a single follow-up communication. There hasn’t even been a hint of concern for my well-being or the outcome.
I have some theories as to why fertility care can feel so much more transactional than prenatal care. For one, fertility treatments are often categorized as elective, akin to cosmetic surgery, which may lead providers to adopt a more casual approach. Furthermore, since many fertility treatments are not covered by insurance, patients are acutely aware that they are paying customers. Additionally, societal values often place greater worth on pregnant women, as they are seen as fulfilling a moral obligation to reproduce. What significance does a woman’s body without a child hold in our patriarchal society?
Now that I’m on the other side of my journey, I can even find humor in it. I often tell my husband, “They still haven’t called me,” and we both chuckle. I am grateful to be here, anticipating compassionate care for the next several months, knowing that both my baby and I are in good hands.
However, my experiences—and those of others—highlight the urgent need for change within this industry. There must be more transparency and an increased focus on the experiences of real people striving to become parents, rather than just outcomes and profits. Would I go through all of this again to be where I am now? Absolutely. Does that make the experience acceptable? Not in the least.
About the Author
Emily Carter is a freelance writer based in California, previously from Brooklyn. She explores various topics, including health, culture, food, and parenting, with bylines in publications such as The Washington Post, VICE, SELF, and Glamour. For more insights, check out this blog post, and for authoritative information, visit here. For excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination, check this link.
Summary
The author reflects on her experiences with infertility treatment, contrasting it with her subsequent prenatal care. She highlights how the fertility industry often prioritizes profits over patient care, leading to feelings of being treated as a customer rather than a patient. While grateful for her current pregnancy, she calls for a transformation in the industry to better value patient experiences and emotional support.