Infertility: from heartbreak to happy endings (part four)

On the morning of the 14th March 2014 I was a wreck.  I was terrified that they would open me up and find something sinister.

We drove to the hospital that morning, and checked in.  My room was nicer than some hotel rooms I’d stayed in – and I’d chose my post-surgery meal of prawn sandwiches and chocolate mousse.

The room of doom?

Hubs was allowed to stay with me, he’d stocked up on sudoku and coffee and he did his best to set my mind at ease, cracking his usual shit jokes, bless him.

“This is better than our holiday”

My nurse was called Sharon, she came in, popped a canula in my hand, helped me change into a gown and popped a tag around my wrist.  Next the anaesthetist came in, went through my medical history, explained what would happen and said I’d be the first one in for surgery.


I was in an awful state, I was terrified.  I can remember the anxiety, it was awful.

I sat on the bed, ready to go to theatre, well aware that my arse was hanging out and hoping that my bikini line was suitably tidy, when Sharon asked me for a urine sample.  Said that despite it being pretty much impossible, she needed to do a pregnancy test as a box-ticking exercise before surgery.

She disappeared into the en suite, chatting about something that I can’t remember.

And in a split second our lives changed, forever.

“Oh” she said, “it’s positive.  The test is positive”.

I looked at the hubs, he looked at me.  Time stood still.

She said she would test again, just in case the test was faulty.  We did another seven tests, with another three wees.  I was pregnant, the tests were positive.

She cried, I cried, hubs cried.  The theatre team piled in, they cried.  Me?  I didn’t believe it.  In my head I thought there was something so wrong with me it had convinced my body that was I pregnant.

Mr Penman arrived, he shook the hand of the hubs and gave me a cuddle.  He confirmed that the surgery wouldn’t go ahead and took me down the corridor for a scan.

The first scan

We sat in the darkened room, silent, crying, hubs holding my hand so tightly.  He squeezed the jelly on my tummy, and then we saw our little miracle bean on the screen.

Our little miracle bean

There was a baby in there, I was actually pregnant.  Even writing this now I’m in floods of tears, our lives did indeed change forever that day, and it was such a huge shock. A planned accident…

We heard a heartbeat, which will stay with me forever.  Despite the little bean being so tiny, at eight weeks the heartbeat was so strong.  Magical.


And off we went, in complete shock.  I was eight weeks pregnant.  Pregnant.  PREGNANT!  And our baby was due on the 1st November 2014.

The bean at 12 weeks

I’d fallen pregnant naturally, despite blood tests and scans saying that I hadn’t ovulated.

But how on Earth had I fallen I fall pregnant? The next part of the story is here…

You can find part three here and the full series here.

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