Zainab Al Sawalhi told her husband Abdulrazzaq “Abdo” Al Khaja exactly what their children’s names would be just a few months into their marriage. “It was non-negotiable,” says the Emirati content creator with a wry laugh.
When she became pregnant for the first time in 2020, she announced it to Al Khaja – a gaming enthusiast – with the help of a newborn-sized onesie emblazoned with the words: “A third gamer is on the way.” She even had Al Khaja cut a cake on Father’s Day that year. “I already felt like a mother, so I was treating him like a father.”
A few weeks into the pregnancy, Al Sawalhi, then 26, suffered a miscarriage. It was an ordeal she went through three times.
‘That kind of grief, it becomes part of you’
Each time she had a miscarriage, Al Sawalhi took a year before trying to conceive again to allow her body to heal. “The first time, I did not understand what was happening,” she says. “The second time, I did every single test whether covered by insurance or not.”
When the results revealed that neither Al Sawalhi nor Al Khaja, who live in Dubai, had medical issues linked to complications in conceiving or carrying a child, her doctor drew up an elaborate plan to ensure the third pregnancy would be a success. “She gave me aspirin, injections and other meds six months beforehand,” says Al Sawalhi.
“It was tough because I am someone who avoids pills as much as possible usually. So to take that many for months before even trying to conceive was traumatic in itself, especially as the miscarriage happened again. That third time was the toughest because hopes were raised so high only to get crushed.”
Emirati content creator
To make matters worse, the couple often felt isolated and even insulted when perhaps well-meaning but ultimately insensitive friends, family members and even medical experts outlined reasons and offered advice for their troubles. “Doctors can be inconsiderate, too. Tough love does not work for everyone,” says Al Khaja.
“On the one hand, I was told the miscarriages were happening because I am vegan and should eat more chicken,” says Al Sawalhi. “On the other, a doctor told me I have high immunity, so the body is attacking the foetus, and prescribed tablets to lower my immunity.
“Accusations and even comparisons to others were not what I was expecting to hear. Miscarriage feels like a part of you died from the inside and you can never get over it. That kind of grief becomes part of you and you feel isolated when nobody around seems to understand.”
It was then that the couple decided to go down the IVF route.
‘Your heart stops each time the phone rings’
The IVF procedure entails retrieving the egg and sperm, after which they are fertilised together, observed for a few days and even undergo genetic testing, after which only the healthy embryos are frozen. “A few of ours did not make it past the early stages and when the doctors went back to check why, they realised there was a disorder in the embryo itself,” says Al Sawalhi. “As a result, I was advised to no longer try to conceive naturally. And that is my instinct, too, as I have been through so much already.”
Medically, viable embryos can be frozen for up to 10 years. The science, and what it reveals and permits, is incredible – but the extraction surgery, plus pre-procedural and follow-up injections are painful, to say the least.
“To some, it’s only about going into a clinic for a shot,” says Al Sawalhi. “In reality, I had to take injections to enable the egg follicles to mature and become big enough to be able to retrieve them.
“This was followed by the surgery itself, after which I was not allowed to walk or even bend down to pray as even one wrong movement can make all the egg follicles erupt, which can lead to internal bleeding and I can lose everything. And after the surgery, I was still taking injections to get the ovaries back to their normal size.”
While it’s the woman who bears the brunt physically, Al Khaja says seeing how weak his wife had become and the pain she was enduring owing to the countless injections – some of which he had to administer – was heartbreaking in itself. That mental and emotional burden also becomes heavier when awaiting the results of the fertilisation procedure.
actor, comic and Emirati content creator
“Imagine you’re getting update after update from the clinic on a daily basis,” says Al Khaja. “First, it’s like you’ve got 20 viable embryos. Then it’s down to 10. Oh, now it’s five. It’s like your heart stops each time the phone rings.”
“The toughest part about that first phase was we accidentally found out the gender of one embryo they did a biopsy on, the one that had a genetic disorder. That made the loss even more real,” says Al Sawalhi, visibly welling up. “My doctor was extremely nice and kind because he told me: ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’ He understood that, to me, this embryo was also a child, just one who didn't make it into this world. That was my baby as well. To date, I say I have had four miscarriages, not three.”
While the process itself is painful and success is not guaranteed, the couple say the silver lining of freezing embryos is that it takes the pressure off to an extent, with Al Sawalhi noting she can now wait to conceive even until she’s in her late 30s or early 40s should she choose to.
Al Khaja, who is also a content creator and dabbles in acting and comedy, adds: “Where before there was a clock ticking, now there is not as much of a rush. We are using the time to focus on other aspects of our life and relationship. We can travel and work as much as possible now, given we are still young and have the energy to do so.
“Going down this route has made us realise that maybe the goal isn't just to get married, conceive, rinse and repeat, but rather to go on an amazing self-discovery journey, and also learn more about one another,” he says. “This does not mean you just sit and wait for something to happen. You do your best, whatever is humanly possible within your limits and use the amazing technology at your disposal. For us, that was IVF and freezing the embryos. After that, leave it and live life.”
It's not all storks and sunshine, though.
‘It’s like something is missing in this woman’
“Kids of the tube.” That is the unfortunate moniker used by some to describe children born from IVF, a procedure that is still stigmatised by some factions of society. “It’s looked down upon by some, including family members,” says Al Sawalhi matter-of-factly. “The kid is somehow considered less than a kid who was conceived naturally.”
Even when they went through a miscarriage, the couple felt isolated and unsupported. “I was told: ‘You've barely been pregnant. It’s not even a soul in the first trimester.’ And that hurt me the most because the minute a woman knows she's pregnant, she has become a mother, she has already made a future for this child.
“Another person said: ‘Oh, don’t worry. I know a friend who went through seven miscarriages before she had a kid.’ And I’m sorry that someone experienced this, but is it too much to ask to just hear me out and not compare me to someone else because my journey is different? I get where they're coming from, though, because no one talks about it. They don't know how to say a simple ‘sorry for your loss’ because it isn't taught to them. It was not easy to accept this, but I get it.”
This lack of awareness and lack of willingness to talk about miscarriages, IVF and conception challenges at large is what Al Sawalhi and Al Khaja feel most strongly about. Al Sawalhi believes some women feel – or are made to feel – ashamed when they are unable to conceive naturally. She says there is a traditional societal expectation that a woman's purpose is to bear children.
She adds: “If suddenly that’s not working and you have to go for IVF, it’s like something is missing in this woman. For those from older generations or a conservative mindset, who have never been exposed to it, they don’t know what to do when someone talks about it and needs you to be there for them. That was difficult on me.”
The irony, Al Sawalhi adds, is that when she reached out to friends she thought had children naturally, she realised just how many of them had gone down the IVF route, albeit silently.
Al Khaja agrees. “The science has progressed and our government, too, is very encouraging and supportive about IVF,” he adds. “It’s people themselves who keep quiet about it and I wonder why. At the end of the day it’s a blessing that the kid is there. Biologically, it’s a baby, a healthy beautiful baby.”
‘Now I am in no rush’
The couple are taking their time before moving on to stage two of the IVF procedure, the embryo transfer itself. “I am in no rush and want my body to detox from all the heavy IVF requirements. I believe we need to take it easy on our bodies, especially because they do so much for us on a daily basis,” says Al Sawalhi
She adds: “To be honest, I am not even as obsessed about having a kid as I used to be. I just want to live in the moment and not think about tomorrow. Even if this does not work out, I don’t want to force things, rather let them take their own pace.
“Sometimes letting go of something you have been holding on to so tightly creates space in your brain and your body to appreciate the different blessings you have. Society feels having children younger is better, but my mentality has changed,” she adds.
“What I do want now is to tell my story, and hopefully allow this conversation to be normalised in our society so other women don’t feel as alone as I did.”
