
February 18, 2025
Design Reflection

I started designing a tool for IVF patients, only to realize the real problem wasn’t what I thought, even though I was an IVF coordinator. Tracking IVF cycles wasn’t the problem. The real problem? A broken system patients feel powerless against.
If you don't know about IVF, you are lucky. In-vitro fertilization (IVF) is often seen as a medical miracle, a way for people struggling with infertility to have a chance at pregnancy. But for those who go through it, IVF is not just a treatment—it’s an emotional, financial, and physical rollercoaster that can take months or even years.
The process involves multiple steps: hormone injections, monitoring cycles, egg retrievals, fertilization, embryo transfers, and then the agonizing wait to see if it worked. Each stage comes with uncertainty, high costs, and intense emotional pressure. A single IVF cycle can cost anywhere from $12,000 to $30,000, and many patients need multiple cycles to succeed. Insurance coverage is inconsistent, and many have to pay out-of-pocket.
Beyond the financial burden, IVF takes a psychological toll. Patients experience hope and devastation in cycles, dealing with failed transfers, miscarriages, or the realization that their chances may be lower than expected. Clinics often fail to fully prepare patients for the real emotional and financial weight of the process, leaving many feeling overwhelmed, uninformed, and isolated.
While working as an IVF coordinator, I saw firsthand how outdated systems, inefficient EMRs, and a lack of patient-centered design made the process more stressful than it needed to be. Patients were juggling confusing medication schedules, endless clinic visits, and overwhelming emotions, yet the tools available to help them were either clunky, impersonal, or missing entirely.
IVF isn’t just medical. It’s emotional. The system treats patients like numbers, but they’re battling uncertainty and isolation. That’s when I started thinking:
What if I created something that actually helps?
I knew I couldn’t just build a tool based on assumptions. I mapped out the pain points I had seen in patients—everything from tracking confusion to emotional burnout. Then, I started brainstorming features:
I ran competitive research, looking at existing fertility apps, and conducted user research through mild interviews, forums and discussions. I used persona, journey mapping, empathy-driven design methods, and iterative prototyping to conceptualize and design Kairo, my vision for a patient-first IVF tracking app.
The real challenge came when I tried to validate the idea. I turned to Reddit (r/IVF) and other discussion platforms to gather insights, expecting to refine my design based on further real patient feedback.
But IVF patients weren’t exactly open to user testing. Many were defensive, skeptical, and emotionally guarded, which made sense. They weren’t just answering app feedback; they were resisting potential business to leverage their experience and feelings.
So, I switched strategies. Instead of directly asking about app features, I asked open-ended questions:
After rounds of collecting and analyzing data across different platforms, I had a conclusion that I subconsciously knew. The real frustrations weren’t about tracking or reminders. They were about:
A smart tracking app wasn’t the solution.
The biggest stressors of IVF aren’t logistical; they’re psychological, financial, and clinical.
If I really wanted to build a problem-solving product, it wouldn’t just be an organizer—it would make IVF:
It made me realize something else:
Platforms like FertilityIQ charge for fertility education — which is ironic, because knowledge should be free.
I’m a designer, not a VC-backed founder. I don’t have the resources to build a product that fixes all of IVF’s problems. But I do have a roadmap for what’s possible:
These wouldn’t fix IVF, but they could make the process less of a black hole—less uncertainty, less misinformation, more control. This project won’t change the system overnight, but it can add value to what already exists—making IVF just a little bit easier for those going through it.
IVF apps focus on tracking. But tracking isn’t the real issue—psychological stress and financial strain are. I realized design thinking is to dig out the true cause, instead of over focusing on the symptoms.
This project was more than just an app—it was a reality check on what IVF patients truly need and a reminder that good design starts with DEEP empathy.
Even if I can’t build the perfect IVF solution right now, I now know where the real opportunities are—and that’s a powerful start.
If you’re a designer, founder, or someone going through IVF, I’d love to hear your thoughts—what’s missing, and what can actually make a difference?
I’m still listening. Because this journey isn’t just about designing a product—it’s about designing a better experience for the people who need it most.