Reading my records from the GP had never been so heart wrenching… “infertile”. One word. One word that brought so much hurt, as it finalised my thoughts. But, despite this and my fears that resulted, I knew it wasn’t impossible. My parents had me despite doctors telling my mum there was absolutely no way she would ever have another baby after my sister. I brought it up in conversation a couple of times about how hurt I was about it. But everyone was quick to tell me about their neighbours cousin who had PCOS and had a baby. Sounds comforting, but actually isn’t. They meant well, but it just hurt more.
When you get bad news, you are initially in denial and then you come to accept it, which is when you attempt to talk about it with people. But acceptance is a long process, so for someone to dismiss everything you’ve tried to accept, it’s as though they’ve come across with a huuuuge novelty rubber and erased all of your hard work. Back to square 1.
Anyway, I downloaded cycle tracking apps, I read a ridiculous amount of information and advice, I knew everything there was to know. My GP rang me one morning and said she had looked over all my scans and blood tests, and that she wanted to refer us to the fertility clinic. Oh. My. God. I was so excited! I thought we would have to really push and fight for that referral. But first, my OH needed a certain test so that the clinic would agree to see us.
The appointment was booked but we weren’t worried, I mean the chances of us both being screwed were slim. OH bought a home test, possibly through nerves, and the results were bang on, everything was fine. Any worries we had at all went out the window then.
We found out OH’s results were back so went to collect them, and purely out of interest I thought I’d read them on the drive home, mostly to see if I even understood them. OH was anxiously looking at me trying to read my expression and I was desperately trying so hard to keep my poker face, or resting bitch face, long enough for him to not be driving.
How could this be happening? The chances were so slim! He had always been so strong for me through all my illnesses and struggles, but now I actually had to tell him about this. The results weren’t the worst they could have been, but they were far below the requirements. I knew that between my hormones and ovaries, and his situation, we were totally screwed. And I actually had to tell him this. I had to tell the guy who wanted kids before I even knew I did, that this wasn’t gonna happen.
Honestly, I can’t even remember what I said. All I remember is sending an extremely brief message to my mum telling her the results were bad and then having a shower, because that meant alone time to be weak. I needed that brief moment of weakness to just cry because I knew it was my turn to be strong. Except, this news didn’t touch him, not for weeks. I was researching everything I could, mostly IVF and ways to improve our fertility. But, he was still pointing out I was really tired, so I might be pregnant. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t pregnant.
By the time the news touched him, I had well and truly gone over the edge. It was all I could think about, talk about, anything. In my head I wanted a baby and I wanted one now. But our families were great. They reminded me of all the things I needed to focus on. Eventually we came to the conclusion that I needed a new focus, a cat. He wasn’t keen at first, he had only ever had dogs, but eventually I talked him round. Weeks later from that point brings us to now: lying in bed unable to sleep, but being surrounded by my family. Nope, I’m still not pregnant. But I do have an amazing fiancé that would do anything for me, and my kitten Jessie who I adore with all my heart.
Maybe one day we will have a baby, but one thing is for sure, this house isn’t empty anymore, it’s a real home.
All in all, a part of my heart will be empty until the day comes where I lay in bed cuddling my baby bump, but it isn’t my sole focus anymore. I have my furbaby, and my OH, and they’re pretty amazing.