I shouldn’t be writing this. Involuntary childlessness is not what I signed up for. I had a plan you see. My plan involved a husband and children. In fact, four children and in my very early twenties, I envisaged that I would meet the love of my life, we would get engaged when I was about 25/26, get married when I was 26/27 and my first child would be on the way when I was 28/29.
It wasn’t a case of ‘if’. It was ‘when’. I never envisaged being childless or unwed at the age of 54. As the years went by and my 20s rolled into my 30s I thought I still had time but over the next two decades, the four children I hoped for become three and then two and then just one, please just one. By the time I was in my mid 30s, most of my friends were married and had young families or were starting their families. I was happy for them but envied their new lives. I wanted to be a member of their club too. I began to feel like an outsider and felt surges of envy when I saw a pregnant woman, young families in the park and mothers with their brood in a cafe.
I do remember joking with another single friend that if I hadn’t met anyone by the time I was in my late 30s, I would go to the Sperm Bank. I never truly thought it would become a reality.
In 2002, I found a lump on my arm. Thankfully, it turned out to be nothing serious but I was discussing my desire to have children with my consultant. I had been diagnosed with neurofibromatosis type 1 (NF) in 1998. NF is a genetic disorder and there is a 50% chance of it passing to a child in a more severe form. Whilst I knew NF was a genetic disorder, I hadn’t fully appreciated this aspect. I was devastated and even more so when donor eggs were gently suggested. I wondered how on earth I would meet someone now and how on earth I would ever disclose this fact to a new beau without them running a mile.
In 2004, I started discussions with a gynaecologist about taking the solo route to motherhood. I was referred to an Assisted Conception Unit and also met with a geneticist. I decided to risk using my own eggs on the basis that an embryo could be screened for the faulty gene but not for severity. I was due to start IUI with donor sperm at the beginning of 2005. However, at the end of 2004, I met someone. I thought I had finally met The One. I was 37 and my NF didn’t faze him. He was familiar with the disorder. He had two small children and wanted more.
I decided to put my treatment on hold as I needed to and very much wanted to give this relationship a chance. I hoped our relationship would lead to marriage but there were complications. However, much to my surprise, I discovered I was pregnant in March 2006. Why I tested that particular evening, I don’t really know as that morning I had spent a good hour with the counsellor at the Assisted Conception Unit going round in circles about whether I should go ahead with treatment due to the relationship difficulties and my approaching 40th birthday and also, whether it was selfish to bring a child into the world without a known father.
When two lines showed up on the test, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had to do another test just to check, and another and another. I was elated. My baby was due in December 2006. I was even more elated when at a six/seven week scan, a heartbeat was detected and I was told very few pregnancies are lost after this point.
A heartbeat was detected again at a scan at just over nine week but when I was just over 11 weeks, I went to see my gynaecologist again. He was going to discharge me from the Assisted Conception Unit and I was due to have my nuchal fold blood test that afternoon with the scan the following week. I persuaded him to do another scan. He looked intently at the screen and remained silent until he told me to get dressed. He said he wanted me to have a tummy scan in the ante natal unit next door. I didn’t question anything and to be honest I don’t think it fully dawned on me what was going on. I was told to drink loads of water as I needed a full bladder. I was surrounded by heavily pregnant women as I waited and saw couples coming out of scan rooms smiling and collecting their scan photos at reception. It was eventually my turn.
My mother was with me and I am so glad she was. I lay on the table and the sonographer rubbed cold jelly on my stomach. He too looked intently at the screen and then uttered those devastating words, ‘I’m sorry but I can’t find a heart beat’ I broke down and the tears started rolling down my cheeks.
After 14 year, those words still haunt me. My baby had died. Raw pain seared through me. ‘Why me, why me, oh why me’ I felt totally numb, disbelief, anger, bitterness and deep sadness. Life felt very cruel. Brain fog descended big style. Mum and I were ushered into the gynaecologist’s consulting room and after lengthy discussions, a medically managed miscarriage was arranged.
The next days passed in a blur. I went to hospital to take the first stage of the medication to start the miscarriage and to sign consents. I remember staring at that tablet for ages before daring to swallow it. Several days later I was admitted to hospital for the second part of the procedure. Mum and my boyfriend were with me. The pain was horrific and it suddenly dawned on me that I was having contractions. It’s strange the things you remember but I do clearly recall a cleaning lady coming into my room to clean the Venetian blinds. I was writhing in pain as I watched her willing her to leave. Eventually I passed my baby. It was going to be sent for testing. I asked to see it and held the tiny test tube tight before saying ‘goodbye’.
My relationship ended in October 2006 and as my boyfriend and I worked in the same division at work, I handed my notice in without a job to go to. I wasn’t happy in my job. I had lost my man and I had lost my baby. I went on the waiting list for donor sperm in December 2006 but the list was long as the law surrounding anonymity and donors changed in April 2005.
I started a new job in January 2008 and had my first cycle of IUI using donor sperm in March 2008. After an anxious two week wait I went to the clinic for a blood test and after another anxious wait, the result of that blood test told me I was pregnant again. Further joy at my six week scan when a heartbeat was detected and again at a reassurance scan at seven weeks as I had a slight discharge but a scan at eight weeks revealed no heartbeat.History had repeated itself. Another medically managed miscarriage was arranged. The dates were very similar to those in 2006. Even the registrar at the hospital got confused.
I had another cycle of IUI in September 2008 which failed and then had a biochemical pregnancy in January 2009. Various investigations started which continued until 2010. By January 2009, my FSH levels were high and the only way forward if I was to continue my quest was donor eggs. I didn’t give it a second thought but I was 42 and too old to go on the waiting list at my then clinic so I had to find another clinic.
I looked at various clinics including two in Spain. I went to The Fertility Show and various Donor Conception Network meetings. For various reasons I didn’t have my first cycle of IVF using donor egg and sperm until June 2013. I was convinced my treatment had worked as was my acupuncturist but I was greeted with a BFN on my test day. More devastation. The slight silver lining was that I was able to freeze two embryos, my frosties who I named Charlie and Lola. They were transferred in February 2014 but they thawed badly and I guess I had a good idea the cycle was doomed but I prayed that they would cling on. I prayed and I visualised and I prayed and I visualised but my test was negative.
Devastation and despair set in. I was 47. My hopes of motherhood were all but gone. I did make some enquiries about adoption but I knew I couldn’t do it, certainly not on my own. I also feared being rejected and didn’t think I would be able to cope with that after IVF failure.
My amazing mother who has been my rock throughout this journey, had funded my treatment so far but I didn’t have sufficient funds of my own to try again. However, a successful PPI claim in 2015 provided another opportunity and in June 2016, two months before my 50th Birthday, I decided to go on the waiting list for an egg donor.
I had a fantastic birthday and enjoyed a holiday in Mallorca. Things were looking good for my sixth decade. I was matched in March 2017 but because I was using an altruistic donor and doing egg share, I had to wait a further three months to find a second recipient. I signed my consents in July 2017 only for the egg donor to pull out a week or so later. I was rematched quickly on the basis that I would be recipient number two. This meant that if the donor did not produce enough eggs, recipient number one would get them all but the clinic said that if that happened, they would defrost five frozen mature eggs for me. I thought I had all eventualities covered.
I was in a great place mind body and spirit but I was simply not prepared for what happened next. I ended up with four mature eggs of which two failed to fertilise and the other two fertilised abnormally. This meant I had no suitable embryos to transfer. I still don’t think I have processed or accepted this injustice. I felt totally and utterly robbed and cheated out of my transfer and cheated out of my two week wait. All my hard work for nothing not to mention all of the money down the drain. . Raw devastation, anger, bitterness, disbelief and fear, great fear set in. How on earth could such a thing happen using donor eggs and donor sperm? How could my journey end in this way? It just wasn’t fair.
I couldn’t let go. I wondered about adoption again but deep down, I knew it wasn’t for me. The five frozen eggs were however still at the clinic and were still reserved for me. I couldn’t get them out of my mind. I could just about afford to have another attempt. I feared I would regret it and always wonder if I didn’t try so I decided to go for it. I used a new sperm donor and had my transfer in June 2018. I was 51 and two months away from my 52nd birthday.
Two weeks later I tested positive. I was over the moon! So was my mother who was with me when I tested and so was the clinic. At long last, 13.5 years after I decided that I would pursue this route, it was my turn. I was going to be a mother. Sadly my happiness was short lived. I started spotting two days later and it continued. Another miscarriage was subsequently confirmed. I felt completely broken. Why me? What had I done wrong to deserve this? What was wrong with me? Why didn’t my body do what it was made to do?
I still couldn’t bear to say ‘it’s over’. It was too painful. I asked the clinic to rematch me although did not know how I was going to fund another attempt. I needed a lottery win. I was offered more counselling and the Dovecote Community was mentioned to me. I was already aware of Gateway Women and More to Life but they were both clubs I did not want to be a member of. I was soon rematched and on paper, both donors were perfect. No compromising as I had had to do with previous donors but I was exhausted mentally, physically and spiritually. I never anticipated I would be still trying at the age of 52.
My cut off age was initially 45 but I kept moving it. I kept reading about ladies in their late 40s, 50s and even 60s being successful. The clinic also increased the upper age limit to beyond the age of 50 which had enabled my treatment in 2017 and 2018 to take place. In the end and with a very heavy heart, I released these donors in January 2019. It was the end of the road.
The future still feels scary. At first it felt like I was being dragged kicking and screaming down a road I never wanted to venture down. The disenfranchised grief and the sense of failure surrounding my journey has been and remains immense but I have now joined Dovecote Community and Gateway Women and but for COVID-19 would have attended a Reignite weekend earlier this year. The support and kindness from ladies in these groups is amazing and whilst the road ahead still feels lonely and challenging, I do sometimes see sunshine amongst the clouds now. This is not the life I planned but hopefully it can still be joyful and fulfilling.
Sarah M