Infertility - Our Journey

This is a very personal and honest blog and it’s taken a lot of courage to write this up and post it. What I hope to achieve by writing this blog, is that it helps someone in need; whether it’s a couple who are struggling to have their first, second, third baby or someone who needs help supporting a friend. If it does, I’ll have done something good. So here goes….

The road to finally having a healthy baby in my arms was a long and challenging one. At times my husband and I had to face up to the real probability that it would never happen for us. It was a road that took us to some very dark places and the journey changed us forever.

I was always so lucky in life. I never really tried very hard for much. I was that annoying person who sailed through school and university without putting much effort in. I got jobs easily. I was always that person that landed on their feet. Apart from when it came to having a baby.

We lost three babies. One at 8 weeks, Thomas at 19 weeks and our third at 6 weeks. A day doesn’t go by when I don’t remember these babies. Our babies. The hopes and dreams I had for those babies, that started to form the moment I found out I was pregnant. Those years were so hard. Not just for me but for my husband who had to stay strong so that I could crumble. My family who wanted to protect me from this loss but couldn’t. My friends who didn’t know how to support me and then became nervous to tell me their own pregnancy news.

During those tough years, I hated my friends who got pregnant so easily. I’m sorry for this. I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t watch as their bellies became fuller with a healthy baby. I never wanted them to go through the heartache that my husband and I were going through but I was so jealous. I wanted it for me. For us. It was my dream. It was too painful. When I did see friends, I always said “I’m fine.” When someone would ask me how I was, I would tilt my head to the side, smile and lie. I was not fine. It was exhausting pretending to be fine. So, I pulled away. I had to keep myself safe. It was all about self-preservation. I was surrounded by this dark cloud of grief, sadness and anger. Some of those years I didn’t want to crawl out from under that cloud. It was easier to stay away from social events. I missed baby showers, birthdays, nights out, holidays, weekends away. I didn’t have to pretend to be fine in the safety of being alone. My friends didn’t have to worry they would say something to upset me.

I developed a sixth sense of knowing when friends were going to share their pregnancy news with me. I analysed everything they did: ‘They can’t be pregnant … they had had a spray tan … but they didn’t drink any wine last night.’ Somehow, I felt if I knew before they delivered ‘the news’ it would be easier for me. It never was. A fake smile would emerge and I would say all the right things. However, as soon as it was socially acceptable, I’d escape to crumble in the safety of being alone with my own thoughts.

It wasn’t just my mental health that suffered but I also became ill due to the anxiety. When my niece was born, I got gastroenteritis. When I went on a hen do with a heavily pregnant close friend, I got eczema around my eyes and swollen lips. It was just so ironic; my sister has a beautiful baby and I get the shits. Life didn’t seem fair. But nothing to do with fertility is fair. Over those five awful years I learnt that trying to have a baby isn’t fair.

During this time, I lived in fear of being lonely. Of spending the rest of my life alone in this grief of not being able to have children. I lived in fear that my husband would leave me and get someone else pregnant. After all I was the one with the dodgy uterus. His sperm was fine. I was the issue.

After hearing the news that my uterus had been “obliterated” when giving birth to Thomas, IVF was the only option we had. Honestly “obliterated” was written on my discharge papers from one of the many surgeries I had. Reactor 4 in Chernobyl was “obliterated”! What had happened up there? IVF was hope that this dream of having our own baby was still possible. We were lucky that we had that option and that the NHS would fund four rounds for us. Thank you, NHS. But little did we know the physical and emotional toll it would take on us as a couple. I was determined that we would go through this together. Therefore, my husband would administer all the injections and hold my hand through all appointments. Even with his support I struggled with it all; the invasive procedures, the cruel swollen belly and boobs from the hormones, the unknown and the fear of IVF ultimately failing. I should have had counselling when we started our first round of IVF but I thought I knew better. Huge mistake!  

When I suffered another horrific miscarriage, I decided that I needed to speak to someone who could help. I spoke at length at work about the importance of and how to have good mental health but I wasn’t taking my own advice. Our marriage was suffering. At this point I’d stopped communicating even with my husband. Counselling saved me and us. I had become so robotic with telling our story that I no longer felt anything when I told it. This was meant to keep to me safe. That was the first thing, Lorraine, my counsellor, pointed out. It was true. I had spent so many years telling our story to doctors, nurses, employers that I had distanced myself from it. But this was happening to me, to us. I reconnected with our story and only then was I able to grieve for what we’d lost.

If you are struggling with fertility, please know that you are not alone. There is a whole community out there of other women and men who are struggling. I found finding these people helped me to rationalise my darkest thoughts. It made me feel normal that other people felt the way I did. Talk to someone. Anyone. Your partner, your Mum, sister, friend or a stranger. Don’t try and be strong and deal with it by yourself. It’s ok to not be ok. I never spoke to my family or friends about it because I didn’t know what to say and I was so scared to admit how I was feeling. What would they think? Would I make them feel uncomfortable? But after having counseling I started becoming braver. When a friend asked ‘how I was’ over dinner, I had two choices; pretend I was fine or be honest. I opted for honesty and it all came flooding out. There were tears. Lots of tears from both of us but I felt better for being honest. I can’t speak for my friend but I think she felt better for my honesty. There was no longer any need to pretend that I was ok. I learnt that people want to help, they just don’t know how to. You will feel as if no one else understands what you are going through. They don’t. If you don’t feel brave enough to say how you are feeling, send them this blog. They want to surround you with love, kindness, care and compassion. Although it’s hard, try to be open to this.

If you have a friend or relative that is struggling with fertility, reach out. You don’t need to say anything. You don’t need to make it better because, I’m really sorry, you can’t. But a text saying that you are thinking of them is all it needs. Don’t tell stories about how you read that someone against all odds is now pregnant. Don’t say they are lucky not to have children because they get to do whatever they want. I remember when we lost Thomas a nurse said to me “At least you can have some wine and steak now.” I didn’t want wine or steak. All I wanted was a baby. Nothing else mattered. I didn’t want the fancy dinners, the cocktails, the nights out, the exotic holidays. I wanted my own baby. Just be there for your friend. Let them know you love them and are thinking about them. If they want to talk, listen and tell them that you love them.

And please don’t forget about the husbands that are going through so much. As I sit here and reflect on what my husband went through, I have nothing but love and admiration for him. He watched my body suffer with every loss, every procedure. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t take away the pain or sadness. He was powerless in this situation. But it’s very rare to ask the man how he is feeling. That needs to change. My husband lost three babies too.

When you are having fertility treatment you read these miracle stories about couples getting pregnant just before starting a round of IVF. But you never dare to believe them. It happened to us. We were the lucky ones. We didn’t dare believe it until our son was safely in our arms. I continued with the counselling throughout my pregnancy and on one wonderful October morning, our beautiful baby boy was born. We won’t have any more children. Jonnie and I can’t deal with the physical and emotional stress that trying for a baby brings when you have fertility issues. Our little family is perfect and complete.

I thank the amazing Doctors at Guys Hospital for mending my broken body and Lorraine for fixing my broken head and heart. To my beautiful three babies in heaven, I love you and I will never forget you.  

If this story has affected you and you want to speak to someone email me at news@littlehandslearning.co.uk and I will get back to you.

If you would like to share your story with others please leave a comment below. 1 in 5 of us will experience a miscarriage and / or fertility issues. There are so many of us who suffer in silence. I truly believe that our stories can support others.   

Sands and Tommy’s, two charities can provide you with lots of support and advice.