Let me start by saying that this one has been incredibly hard for me to write – it’s taken many drafts and a few tears to get this out and on paper(metaphorically speaking).
You may think I know nothing of infertility, when all I do is moan about my three-year old and constantly joking about the shit side of parenthood, when in fact I was infertile. Barren. Unable to conceive.
Polycystic Ovary Syndrome
I was told I had Polycystic Ovary Syndrome in my early twenties after starting my periods aged 10 and having irregular and incredibly painful bleeds. Not much was explained, they just said it may affect fertility and it was the cause of my acne but it was a case of just getting on with it – it was common apparently.
Fast forward a few years and I met the hubs; we fell in love(soppy shit) and decided we wanted children. And so I had my Mirena coil removed and we started trying.
(Sorry for the TMI. Especially you, hubs)
And by trying, we had a shit load of sex(sorry hubs). That first month we had so much fun, thinking we had made a baby.
PCOS, being the humongous slag that it is, meant my periods were never on time and hard to judge, so I excitedly did a test when I hadn’t had a bleed in six weeks.
Exciting stuff; I *might* be pregnant. I pissed on the stick, and no second blue line appeared. I cried – I wanted a baby so badly. And so we carried on, having lots of sex(cringe) for a year, and still, month after month, no second blue line appeared.
It was cruel – my irregular periods meant that I had to keep testing and every negative test felt like a stab to the heart.
And so the months of that horrible single blue line began.
And after a year of nothing, that’s when we knew we needed medical help – read on in part two.
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