“We better get off this plane ASAP,” Deborah belted out as our plane skittered to a halt at SFO. Deborah re-read the text from our fertility clinic: “We misread your chart. Your sodium levels are dangerously low. Get to a hospital soon. This could be life threatening.” 

Years earlier, my wife and I started treatment to add members to our family, not take them away. We’d been to three clinics, in two states, and felt beaten by a process that had dented our confidence, our marriage and our savings. As we raced to the hospital, we committed ourselves to ensuring other hopeful parents fared far better than us. Which at the time, wasn’t saying much.

Today, Deborah and I (an HBS MBA 2010 graduate) run FertilityIQ, an online educational resource used by over 90% of all US fertility patients. We’re imperfect, but we’ve managed to help patients and build an enduring business while resisting marketing dollars (and influence) from clinics or drug companies.

While in treatment, I was a very junior partner (pretty much sweeping the floors) at Sequoia Capital and I’d learned that small teams change the world. Take Instagram or WhatsApp: combined headcount of 15 people when Sequoia invested. Today they reach a third of the planet. To be certain, for the past 5 years, it’s felt like Deborah and me against the world: building a community, tackling complex subject matter, and fighting off ruthless competitors.

Yet, in many ways, that’s a lie. The reality is that the moment we launched FertilityIQ from our tiny kitchen table, we did it arm-in-arm with 90 talented and compassionate HBS sectionmates, who’d gladly walk in front of traffic to support each other's dreams.

My sectionmates have been there to pick Deborah and me up off the ground, to introduce (and reintroduce!) us to investors, and badger the CEOs of their Fortune 500 employers to become our clients. Heck, someone from my section even introduced us on a blind date! My sectionmates have helped us over-celebrate minor feats and replenish our vigor when the chips were down. They come over for spaghetti dinners to horse around with our kids (Lazer age 4 and Yara age 2!) and let us intrude on them when we’re miles from home.

My sectionmates simply astound me. One shunned a seven figure salary to live on food stamps and finish his medical residency. Two others struck out on their own, revolutionized their respective fields and within months each graced the cover of Forbes. All three are warm, hilarious, and truly terrible dancers. All three still answer their phones on the first ring. Nothing’s changed.

It’s been 10 years since I left Boston (that’s 5 times longer than I actually spent on campus) and yet I find myself missing, supporting and admiring my friends from school more with every passing year. Personally and professionally, there is still a long ways to go, but I simply cannot imagine where we’d be without the love and inspiration from our friends in Section B.

Wherever your next step takes you, I wish you the everlasting level of friendship I’ve come to cherish from HBS.