MILLSTADT — For nine months, everywhere Roxy Jenkins went, she carried a black-and-white photograph of an embryo. It had taken Jenkins, a teacher from this Illinois village, five years to get pregnant.
When her daughter, Cora, turned 3, Jenkins looked at the picture again. It was more than a cluster of cells, she thought. It was all the heartbreak, hope and joy that went into making her little girl.
So she painted it in pastels, and hung the canvas by Cora’s bed.
Now Jenkins is doing the same for clients across the country. She’s part of a wave of artists, entrepreneurs and parents turning their own fertility struggles into a business. Some create T-shirts, sweatshirts and socks that celebrate success or offer solace. Others, like Jenkins, transform images of soon-to-be implanted embryos into artwork.
It’s an industry made possible only now: For decades, procedures such as in vitro fertilization were shrouded in secrecy and, often, shame. But in the past few years, IVF has become more common, social media has provided parents with a supportive community, even celebrities have spoken out about their challenges to conceive — and the stigma has begun to lift. Whispers about hormone shots, egg quality and embryo transfers have been replaced by candid conversations and, sometimes, wry humor.
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Jenkins was in the vanguard here. She launched in December 2018.
Customers from across the country find her on social media or Etsy. They send copies of their embryo pictures, which Jenkins uses as a guide as she paints at her kitchen counter. She’s made more than a thousand — for children who are already here, ones on their way, and, sometimes, for embryos that didn’t survive.
Emily Maag of south ºüÀêÊÓƵ County had a watercolor done in grays and blues. Across the bottom, it reads, “You were carried for only a moment, but you will be loved for a lifetime.†She’s saving the brighter shades for when a transfer is successful.
Most Dear Coco customers ask for straightforward depictions. But the blastocyst, a membrane holding a few dozen cells, can become almost anything: the center of a sunflower, a deep-sea creature, even a cartoon sidekick.
Kelly Trtanj of O’Fallon, Illinois, joked with her husband that their embryo looked like Yoshi, the dinosaur from Super Mario Bros. Jenkins stuck to the theme, painting it in greens and yellows, ready to greet Baby Boy Trtanj in his nursery this summer.
Seeing the embryo that will become an infant is one benefit IVF bestows that isn’t available to other parents, whose first view is an ultrasound.
“When you get the picture of that babe at 5 days old, and you know you wouldn’t have that privilege otherwise, it’s the most special thing,†said Jenkins.
Amanda Nason of Waterloo had her painting made with splashes of purple, pink and orange, as cheery as her 2-year-old daughter, Clara. It sits on an easel in the toddler’s bedroom.
“I want Clara to know where she came from,†said Nason, who tried for four years to get pregnant. “Before we went through everything, we had no idea what it was like.â€
Danielle Favreau of St. Charles experienced more than a dozen miscarriages over the course of a decade. The artist painted interpretations of her ultrasound photos.
“That’s the only thing you have left,†Favreau said. “You have nothing left to hold.â€
About three years ago, a friend was grieving the loss of her embryo when it didn’t implant after an IVF cycle. Favreau made a print of the picture, turning the bands of cells into galactic craters. “I love you to the moon and back,†she wrote on it.
She posted the image on her Etsy page, . Orders flooded in. She has reimagined embryos as train cargo, safari animals and rainbow angel wings.
“Fertility treatments are not enjoyable. They are a battle,†said Favreau, now a mother of three. “This is something to honor that.â€
‘Extraordinarily common’
About one in eight couples has trouble conceiving, and about one in 12 turns to medical interventions, including in vitro fertilization. The process is physically and emotionally draining, requiring self-administered injections, regular bloodwork and a multitude of doctor visits.
One cycle takes four to six weeks, sometimes longer if surgery is needed. Insurance often doesn’t cover treatments, which can top $25,000.
And, after all that, babies aren’t guaranteed. Fewer than half of women who go through three IVF cycles will give birth. Couples take the failure personally.
“With infertility you feel guilty, even though it’s extraordinarily common,†said Dr. Molina Dayal, who co-owns in Creve Coeur.
Dayal and her business partner, Dr. Maureen Schulte, recommend social media support groups to their patients and are active on their clinic’s accounts.
“It’s feeling like you have someone walking with you on this journey,†Schulte said.
Initially, social media had the opposite effect on Cate Moon of Chicago. She shut down her personal pages several years ago; it was too difficult to look at pictures of friends’ children when she could not get pregnant herself.
But disengaging became lonely.
“When you first take fertility treatments, you think it will happen right away, and then you get a little bit desperate,†said Moon.
So she created a new handle, , in 2017, and chronicled her medical experiences. Soon, she had accumulated 26,000 followers, many of them “IVF long-haulers†like her. Through her online community, she found Crystal Rusch of south ºüÀêÊÓƵ County.
Rusch launched her Etsy business, , to keep herself busy after suffering a miscarriage in 2018. She designs fertility-themed apparel for parents and babies.
“Infertility is so difficult, and it’s not talked about enough,†said Rusch, who underwent IVF to have her two sons. “I want to make sure people don’t feel alone.â€
Moon ordered an “IVF mama†sweatshirt even before she was pregnant. She wore it to her obstetrician appointments and got a matching “IVF baby†onesie when her son, Callum, arrived 5 months ago.
After Moon posted photos of the outfits to her Instagram page, Rusch’s orders took off. She has shipped products as far as South Africa.
Pam Edson of O’Fallon, Missouri, bought a RoseGrace shirt that says, “Once a fur baby mama, now a miracle mama.†Wearing it to the doctor’s office became her ritual.
“It’s something to hold on to,†said Edson, who underwent two years of assisted reproductive technology before becoming pregnant in November. “This journey messes with your head so bad.â€
‘More connected’
After six years of trying, Kelly George of St. Charles has given up on fertility treatments. But it wasn’t all for nothing. In the process, she befriended a group of women who became like family.
George would make them gifts: socks imprinted with pineapples, a symbol of fertility.
“It’s the only part of your wardrobe you can wear with the gown during your appointment,†she said. “You’re just lying there, and it gives you some hope.â€
The socks were a hit. George, a registered nurse, opened in 2016 and expanded her line to include “think positive†shirts and “some things are worth the wait†onesies. A year later, she quit her nursing job and now fills about 50 orders a week.
Whitney Kessler of Dupo recently bought black socks, with “this miracle requires extra love†written in pink letters. She got two pairs, one for her and one for her best friend, who is the surrogate for Kessler’s baby girl, arriving in October.
“It’s a weird feeling not carrying the baby,†said Kessler, who also has a 4-year-old son. “This makes you feel more connected to the process.â€
On each order, George includes an encouraging note and a pineapple charm. She wants women to know that she understands what they’re going through.
“It’s something so small, but it means so much,†she said.