So your friend is doing IVF. She told you over coffee, or maybe in a late-night text that landed like a confession. You said something supportive, probably “I’m here for you,” and then you went home and Googled “what not to say to someone doing IVF” because you’re a decent human who doesn’t want to accidentally torch a friendship. Good. You’re already ahead of most people.
Here’s the thing: IVF is a medical marathon that also happens to be an emotional minefield, a financial sinkhole, and a hormonal roller coaster designed by a sadist. Your friend is currently strapped into that ride, and she needs you to not make it weirder than it already is. I’ve been through it. I’ve watched friends go through it. I’ve said the wrong thing. I’ve had the wrong thing said to me. Let’s talk about how to actually show up without making her wish she’d never told you.
First, Understand What IVF Actually Is (So She Doesn’t Have to Explain It)
IVF isn’t just “the thing where they mix stuff in a petri dish.” It’s weeks of injections that make her ovaries swell to the size of grapefruits. It’s blood draws every other day at 7 a.m. It’s transvaginal ultrasounds so frequent she starts to feel like a garage with an open bay door. It’s a retrieval surgery where they stick a needle through her vaginal wall to suck eggs out of her follicles while she’s under anesthesia. Then it’s waiting to see if any of those eggs fertilize, if any become embryos, if any embryos are normal, if her lining is thick enough, if the transfer works, if the beta numbers double, if there’s a heartbeat. Every step is a cliffhanger. Every step can fail. And she’s doing all of this while mainlining hormones that make her feel like she’s permanently stuck in the worst PMS of her life.
So when you say “Just relax and it’ll happen,” what she hears is “I have no idea what you’re actually going through, and I’m not interested in learning.” Don’t be that person. Read a little. Ask her if she wants to talk about the process, but don’t make her your sole source of IVF education. She’s already tired.
The Art of Not Saying the Dumb Thing
People get weird about infertility. They say things that would be hilarious if they weren’t so painful. Here’s a greatest hits album of phrases to retire from your vocabulary immediately:
- “Everything happens for a reason.” Unless that reason is a specific genetic mutation or a blocked fallopian tube, no. This is the platitude equivalent of a pat on the head. It dismisses her pain and implies some cosmic plan decided she needed to suffer. She doesn’t need a philosophy lecture; she needs a friend.
- “Have you tried just not thinking about it?” Yes, because injecting yourself with hormones twice a day while tracking follicle growth on a spreadsheet is super easy to forget. She’s not “thinking about it” recreationally. It’s her life right now.
- “At least you know you can get pregnant!” This one often comes after a miscarriage or a chemical pregnancy. Knowing you can get pregnant but not stay pregnant is a special kind of hell. It’s not a consolation prize.
- “My cousin’s neighbor did IVF and had twins!” Success stories feel like pressure, not hope. She knows IVF can work. She also knows it often doesn’t. Your anecdote about a stranger’s uterus is not the encouragement you think it is.
- “Are you going to do genetic testing? What about the leftover embryos?” These are deeply personal, ethically complex decisions she’s probably already agonizing over. Unless she brings it up, assume it’s none of your business.
Instead, try: “I’m so glad you told me. I don’t know what to say except I’m here. How are you feeling today—like, actually?” That’s it. You don’t need to solve anything. You just need to be a safe place for the ugly truth.
Gifts That Don’t Suck (and One That Really Does)
If you’re a gift-giver, you might want to show up with something. Great. But please, for the love of all that is holy, do not bring her a pineapple. The internet has decided pineapples are the “symbol of IVF” because of some bromelain theory, and now every well-meaning friend shows up with a pineapple like it’s a fertility talisman. She doesn’t want a pineapple. She wants a heating pad and a bag of Cheetos.
Here’s what actually helps:
- Cozy socks. Her feet are cold from all the blood draws and anxiety. Get the really soft ones with grippy bottoms.
- A heating pad or hot water bottle. Post-retrieval cramps are no joke. Her abdomen will feel like she did a thousand crunches while someone inflated a balloon inside her.
- Gift cards for food delivery. Cooking feels impossible when you’re bloated, hormonal, and emotionally drained. Uber Eats or DoorDash credit is a lifeline.
- Trashy magazines or a mindless novel. She needs distraction that requires zero brain cells. Think celebrity gossip, not “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.”
- A handwritten card that says “I love you and I’m here” and nothing else. No “baby dust.” No “sticky vibes.” Just human connection.
How to Ask How It’s Going Without Making Her Want to Scream
“Any news??” with two question marks and a prayer-hands emoji is not the move. She will tell you if there’s news. The waiting is the worst part, and your check-ins can feel like you’re asking her to produce a positive pregnancy test for your own emotional relief. That’s a lot of pressure.
Instead, ask open-ended questions that don’t demand a specific outcome:
- “How are you holding up this week?”
- “What part of the process are you in right now?”
- “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want me to distract you with gossip about my neighbor’s questionable landscaping choices?”
Let her lead. Some days she’ll want to vent about every injection site bruise. Other days she’ll want to pretend IVF doesn’t exist and talk about literally anything else. Follow her cues. If she changes the subject, let her. If she starts crying, don’t panic. Hand her a tissue, say “this sucks,” and sit in the suck with her.
The Hormones Are Running the Show (Be Cool About It)
IVF hormones are not like regular PMS hormones. They’re like PMS hormones after chugging a Red Bull and watching a sad dog commercial. Your friend might cry because she dropped a spoon. She might rage-text you about a coworker’s “stupid baby shower.” She might send you 47 memes at 2 a.m. and then go radio silent for a week. None of this is about you. Don’t take it personally. Don’t tell her she’s being hormonal—she knows. Just ride the wave. Reply with a heart emoji. Show up with coffee (decaf if she’s in a transfer cycle) and don’t expect her to be consistent.
One friend told me she burst into tears at a stoplight because the car in front of her had a “Baby on Board” sticker. Another threw her phone across the room after seeing a pregnancy announcement on Instagram. This is the reality. Your job is not to fix it. Your job is to say “That sticker is obnoxious anyway” and hand her a tissue.
What She Actually Needs From You (It’s Not Advice)
Unless you are her reproductive endocrinologist, she does not need your medical advice. She doesn’t need to hear about your aunt who “stopped trying and then got pregnant.” She doesn’t need you to suggest acupuncture, yoga, keto, or “just adopting.” She has a team of doctors. She has Google. What she doesn’t have is a friend who can sit in the mess with her without trying to clean it up.
Here’s what she actually needs:
- Someone to be normal with. IVF makes you feel like a science experiment. Be the person who reminds her she’s still a whole human who is funny and smart and liked for reasons that have nothing to do with her uterus.
- Someone who remembers her triggers. If she tells you baby showers are hard right now, don’t invite her to yours and then say “I’d understand if you can’t come!” Just don’t invite her. Send her a text that day saying you’re thinking of her. She’ll appreciate not having to make the choice.
- Someone who shows up after bad news. A failed transfer or a miscarriage is a death. Treat it like one. Bring food. Don’t ask questions. Say “I’m so sorry. I’m here.” Then be there. Not with solutions, but with your presence.
The Pregnancy Announcement Problem
If you get pregnant while your friend is in the trenches of IVF, telling her is going to be awkward no matter what. But you can make it less awful. Do not tell her in a group setting. Do not tell her via a cutesy social media post she’ll stumble upon at 6 a.m. while injecting herself with hormones. Tell her privately, over text, so she doesn’t have to perform happiness in real time. Say something like:
“I wanted to let you know before you heard elsewhere that I’m pregnant. I know this might be hard to hear given everything you’re going through, and I completely understand if you need space. I love you and I’m here however you need me.”
Then give her space. Don’t expect her to throw you a shower or coo over ultrasound photos. Let her set the pace for how much pregnancy talk she can handle. And for the love of God, don’t complain about your pregnancy symptoms to her. She would kill for the chance to have morning sickness.
What If She Stops Talking About It?
Sometimes the silence means she’s in a waiting period where there’s nothing to report. Sometimes it means she got bad news and can’t say it out loud yet. Sometimes it means she’s decided to stop treatment and the grief is too big for words. Don’t fill the silence with “So, any updates?” Just keep showing up. Send a meme. Invite her to something low-stakes. Remind her you’re her friend, not her fertility tracker.
If she does decide to stop treatment—whether that means moving to donor eggs, pursuing adoption, or choosing a childfree life—that is not your opportunity to finally share your opinion. It’s her life. Her body. Her grief. Her relief. Your only job is to say “I support you completely” and mean it.
Don’t Make Her Manage Your Feelings
This one is big. IVF is emotionally exhausting for her. She doesn’t have the bandwidth to also manage your discomfort, your pity, or your toxic positivity. If you feel awkward, sit with it. If you feel sad for her, process that with someone else. She is not your therapist. She is the one actually going through it. When you say “I just feel so bad for you,” you’re asking her to comfort you about her own pain. Don’t do that.
Instead, say “I hate that you’re going through this.” It’s a statement of solidarity, not a bid for reassurance. See the difference?
What About the Partner?
If your friend has a partner going through this with her, don’t forget them. They’re often the invisible support person, managing their own grief while trying to hold everything together. They’re giving injections, driving to appointments, fielding questions from their own family, and watching someone they love suffer. Ask them how they’re doing. Offer to grab a beer or go for a walk. They need support too, and they’re probably not getting much because everyone’s focused on the person with the ovaries.
But also: don’t make weird jokes about how they just have to “do their part in a cup.” That’s dismissive and gross. They’re going through this too, just differently.
When You Mess Up (Because You Will)
You’re going to say the wrong thing eventually. Everyone does. The difference between a friend who survives IVF with you and one who doesn’t is what happens next. If you realize you just said something stupid, apologize. Quickly. Without making it a whole thing. “Wow, that was a dumb thing to say. I’m sorry.” Then move on. Don’t over-explain. Don’t make her reassure you that it’s okay. Just own it and do better.
She’s not keeping score. She’s just looking for people who are safe. Be safe. Be the friend who can handle the dark jokes, the ugly cries, and the long silences. Be the friend who doesn’t need her to be okay to stick around.
Frequently Asked Questions
Should I offer to go to appointments with her?
You can offer once, gently, but don’t push. Many appointments are early morning monitoring visits that last 15 minutes and involve a transvaginal ultrasound—not exactly a spectator sport. The retrieval and transfer are more significant, but she may only want her partner there. Say “I’m happy to drive you to any appointment if you ever want company,” and then let it go.
Is it okay to ask how much IVF costs?
Nope. Unless she brings it up, finances are off-limits. IVF is staggeringly expensive and often not covered by insurance. Asking about money can feel invasive and adds another layer of stress. If she volunteers information, you can listen, but don’t pry.
What if I’m also struggling with infertility? Can we support each other?
Maybe, but tread carefully. Infertility is not a monolith. Your experiences might be very different, and one of you might get pregnant while the other doesn’t. That can strain even the strongest friendship. It’s okay to bond over shared understanding, but protect both your hearts by maintaining other support systems too.
How long should I keep checking in?
As long as it takes. IVF can go on for years. The support she needs doesn’t have an expiration date. Even after treatment ends—whatever the outcome—she’ll still be processing. Keep being her friend. The check-ins don’t have to be about IVF. Just keep showing up.
At the core of all of this is one simple truth: your friend is going through something hard, and she needs you to be there without making it about you. That’s it. That’s the whole assignment. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be present, humble, and willing to sit in the discomfort without trying to fix it. If you can do that, you’re already doing better than most. And she’ll remember it forever.