We’d tried to conceive naturally and with the help of clomid, but nothing was happening.
There were concerns about whether or not I did in fact have fibroids or endometriosis, and so I was referred on for surgery – laparoscopy, where your insides are examined with a camera and ovarian drilling, where the ovaries are basically shaved of cysts in order to give new eggs the chance to release and be fertilised.
IVF under the NHS wasn’t possible for us, due to my weight and other factors, being that hubs had experienced a stillbirth many years before with a previous partner, therefore he was classed as having fathered a child and this lessened our chances of fulfilling the NHS guidelines. We were told that we could challenge this decision but if I didn’t lose weight then we wouldn’t fit criteria anyway.
I didn’t feel like a woman
I hated myself at this point – I didn’t feel like a woman, it felt like my basic right to have a baby had been taken away from me and I was just fat and defective. I’d plunged into yet another dark period and despite the hubs and my GP insisting, I refused anti-depressants, because I didn’t want to lessen my chances of conceiving.
That was October 2013 – the surgery was scheduled for June 2014, and I was sent on my merry way, with strict instructions to take it easy and to try and not think about babies for a few months.
I was manic with anxiety; I wanted to have a baby more than anything in the world. It’s impossible not to think about something that had driven me crazy for years.
But there was nothing we could do, for now, and so we tried to enjoy Christmas, we went on a mini break and tried to distract ourselves as best as we could.
On Christmas Day 2013 the hubs proposed to me, promising to stand by me no matter what – and so we set about planning a wedding, which was booked for May 2015.
Going through years of trying to conceive had put terrible pressure on our relationship, and of course there were bad parts – a combination of depression and fertility drugs had made me an absolute nightmare at times and even now I don’t give him enough credit for standing by me and putting up with everything.
It can’t have been fun for him, I’d turned into some fertility-driven nymphomaniac, demanding sex at stupid times just to try and maximise our chances of conception. The fun had gone.
How was our relationship through all of this? We were stronger than ever – but our sex life had become a mechanical mess and so we had a rest from the, erm, physical side of things for a while.
In January 2014 I’d started getting terrible pains from my ovaries and general womb area, I had no idea what it was and I was concerned. I’d read horror stories about cancer and all sorts and I was a total mess.
I can remember a day trip to the seaside, walking along the esplanade and seeing twin babies in a pram and completely falling to pieces – it felt like everywhere I looked either everyone was pregnant or had newborn babies.
I was still having regular blood tests as I was having no periods whatsoever, and I wasn’t ovulating. I’d now not ovulated for over a year, and there were concerns that I’d experienced an early menopause or something like endometriosis or fibroids were causing these problems.
In February the pain worsened – and my surgery was brought forward – to 14th March 2014.