Diary of a Second Embryo Transfer

Our second embryo before the transfer.

February 18, 2026

I have put off writing about our second transfer because I somehow felt like writing about it would jinx our chances of becoming pregnant.

Now, I feel like I am bursting with anxiety, excitement, fear, and all the feelings.  I have to write to release the emotional valve in my head, but I can’t say when I will publicly share this article.  So, I will keep it as a running diary until I feel like it can be shared.

Taking a step back, it’s important to mention that we had our second embryo transfer on February 9, 2026.  Unlike the first transfer, my husband and I could not travel to California from Sweden.  

One of the main reasons we wanted to go to the first transfer was to meet our surrogate in person.  After months of chatting virtually and via WhatsApp, it was amazing to meet in person, have some meals, and go through the transfer together.  

However, the transfer is a medical procedure.  It’s over in less than a minute, and the aftermath is all about McDonald’s french fries and relaxation.  To be honest, we felt it could make the process less stressful for our surrogate for us not to be there.  Our agency always flies surrogates with a companion, so she was not alone.  We also felt with the failure of the first transfer, there was more pressure to make this one a success.  I am not one to hide my emotions, so us hovering over her while we ate fast food did not seem like a relaxing situation for anyone. 

Most critically, we are in the midst of applying for Swedish citizenship, and our lawyer advised us to not leave the country.  So, the decision to not go to the transfer was made for us.

While we felt comfortable with not being there in person, this transfer experience has obviously been different.  Instead of waiting in the clinic, racing through McDonalds drive thrus, and spending time in the Los Angeles sun, my husband and I have been freezing in our coldest ever Swedish winter while trying to stay distracted with work and social activities.  We had a lovely staycation for Valentine’s Day, and, I think the distance has made it so we are not talking about the transfer as much as the first time.  We are both thinking about it, but it’s a quieter, more introspective approach compared to the first transfer.

This feels natural to me.  We are just protecting ourselves.  50 to 60% of first embryo transfers with surrogacies are successful, so it was surprising and hard when the first one didn’t work. We actually found out about the first failed transfer and recorded this video on my birthday.  While we made the best of Christmas - I mean we are gays after all - the holidays definitely felt flatter and a little grayer in the aftermath of the news.  For this second attempt, I think we just don’t want the negative news to feel as impactful as it did the first time, and so this emotional protectionism seems to have been a workaround.  

I really didn’t expect our IVF and surrogacy journey to have so much trepidation.  It’s such a science-driven process that is optimized for success and safety.  However, our journey seems to have aligned more with the uncertainty of conventional family building or IVF for medically infertile straight couples.  

To add another layer to our underlying emotions, we are very conscious that we only have 1 more tested embryo after this one.  While we have a ‘Piece of Mind’ guarantee plan with our agency - something that was critical for us when deciding on our journey - the idea of going through egg donors, making embryos, and rematching with a new surrogate feels overwhelmingly long.

This is all on the eve of the pregnancy test.  Our surrogate has not done the urine pregnancy testing early, and so we are all waiting for the blood test 10 days after the transfer.

Our lives could be changed forever tomorrow.  

If it does stick, I’m not sure that I will share this article right away.  I may hold it close, like I do now with more of my emotions and thoughts surrounding this process.  I want to protect myself, my husband, and our child, but I also want to share the reality of this process.  More people need to understand the reality of gay men becoming parents through surrogacy, how hard it can be, and how much it has in common with the journey for all intended parents.

Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

February 19, 2026

11:21 AM

I am strangely calm.  I woke up late as I had trouble sleeping.  I spent the morning rushing through work tasks.  Keeping busy has always been a coping mechanism for me with regard to stress.  However, I feel more excited than stressed.  I know what ‘the worst’ feels like in terms of the transfer not working, so I know I can handle that.  I’m ready, but I still have about 9 hours to wait.

1:01 PM

I just got back from what was supposed to be a relaxing walk with my husband and our dog, Ruth.  It was not relaxing because we got into an argument.  Actually, less an argument and more me picking a fight.  I don’t fully understand why I do this, but I think it's a poor coping mechanism.  Arguing with people close to me makes me feel bad, and if I feel bad when I get bad news, then I can’t feel that much worse.  It’s insane.  It makes no sense even to write it out, but it is like an emotional air bag deploying just in case of a car crash. 

7:30 PM

Another way I deal with stress is through my stomach.  We don’t need too much detail here, but suffice to say that I spent considerable time this evening in the bathroom, sitting on the porcelain throne.  

9:29 PM

This feels later than last time.  Although, neither my husband nor I can remember precisely when the clinic called last time.  We decide we can’t wait anymore, and we start messaging the clinic through the secure portal.  We know that the blood test was scheduled for 8:45 AM local time, so it should have resulted by now…    

10:40 PM

Message received:  Not pregnant.  

We message our surrogate.  So many emojis to convey what words seem to lack.  

I can’t sleep.  I thought bad news for the second time would be easier.  It’s not.  I am less emotional on the outside but somehow quietly sadder.  

It feels like further delays are now a constant on our journey.  I feel like everyone did everything they could…again.  The sadness is mixed with impatience.  I just want to try again as soon as possible.  We only have one embryo left.  Maybe the third time is the charm?  

I know that we can make more embryos.  I know we will get there, but it’s hard in the dark, hollow aftermath of this news.  

I have never quit anything I really wanted in life.  My husband and I both want this so much that I know we will get there eventually. 

Feb 20, 2026

Another sleepless night into another working day.  It’s hard to focus and get things done.  Everything feels flat.  It’s a sunny day, but I don’t feel the light or warmth.

It’s a unique kind of sadness mourning something that never was. 

IVF and surrogacy journeys are all about the ‘never was’ and ‘could be.’  Hoping and imagining the pregnancy and your baby get us through the hard times, but after each of the setbacks and delays, we have to mourn.  We have to let go of all the thoughts we had around this embryo, this try, this timeline.  We have to reset, recalibrate, and refocus on the next try.  

We keep pictures of our transferred embryos on our refrigerator.  As a physician, I think of these as groups of cells and not people, but they are a reminder of what we have gone through.  These were not failures.  They were attempts that we needed to create the family we always wanted, but we can still hold space and remember them, even if it is with a touch of sadness.