For as long as I can remember, I always thought I’d have a family of my own and it’s been my only dream for almost 3 decades.I was raised and expected to be a good, dutiful wife & mother, just like all the other women in my family. I married the wrong man in my early 20’s and spent my peak fertile years in a place where my desire for a family was used againstme to control my behaviour. The really horrid part is that someone I trusted to love and look after me used my dream for a family to inflict severe emotional & sexual abuse on me for just under two decades. I escaped.

When I was 40, I met a wonderful manand getting pregnant naturally didn’t seem to be a problem; keeping them was the challenge. We went through the loss of 5 pregnancies in few years. One of these was a termination under extreme circumstances which saved my life, and another was an emergency trip to the operating theatre at midnight with a suspected ectopic pregnancy which I then miscarried 2 days later. In the coming months, my two little dogs died too. All the treasured little souls in my life were gone.

I saw so many medical people as we tried to make sense of what my body was doing and exploring possible options including donor eggs.  Icouldn’t stop thinking about what my 20’s & 30’s had left me with as I struggled with yet more trauma.

During one of the medical tests, a clever radiologist discovered a tumour in my kidney, and I was back in hospital. To be honest, I hadn’t left; I was now going from Gynaecology to Urology to Oncology. I blamed this tumour for taking away the last chance I had to be a mum. Six months of yet more surgery and weekly hospital visits took a lot out of me on top of what I’d already been through. I still had a secret and stubborn bit of hope that I could try IVF, knowing yet denying, the chances of success were very slim. I was just finding my strength after the kidney treatment and was approaching 47. The final step happened when the global pandemic locked us all up, closed fertility clinics, hit the economy and my spirit.

I remember the exact moment, day and time, when I accepted that I couldn’t go through anymore.  It was the first Saturday of Lockdown #2 in the UK, November 7th 2020 at 10am. I was boiling the kettle and my partner asked me what was wrong. It all came out in a screeching, whaling mess on the kitchen floor. I’d hit breaking point and could not put myself, my body,or my soul through anything more. I felt like my life had imploded in galactic proportions. My whole world had been shattered and I was in pieces.

I didn’t have the words to describe the depth of the loss I felt. Verbalising a loss that nobody else around me could see made me feel like I’d gone mad; even harder in a community that’s in lockdown when I couldn’t get to my support network.

It still hurts and I suspect it will for some time to come. What I have found however is that I’m not alone. My partner and I are deeply in love and every day we make sure there is a reason to smile. Lots of hugs and togetherness.

I haven’t got it all sorted. I’m still dealing with the acceptance as thoughts are now turning to what my legacy will be……..

Melissa, age 47