There are two questions I get asked a lot at work.

How long have you been doing this job?

Cue my standard answer ‘X number of years plus 3 years training.’ I sometimes elaborate on how long I have been doing CT or that I started working in my local hospital as a cleaner when I was 16. Occasionally, I even talk about how I was told I wasn’t clever enough to be a Radiographer when I was at school.

These answers roll off the tongue. It is an easy response and is even a conversation starter. Dare I say that I feel quite pleased when I get asked about my career, I am proud that I have progressed into a management position.

Then there is the second question....

Have you got children?

An innocent question that I am asked daily. The answer to this question has evolved somewhat over the years.

There has been the ‘no, no yet.’ To which I received the ‘oh, you’re still young,’ ‘you’ve got time,’ or my personal favourite ‘it will happen when it’s meant to.’

Of course, I appreciated the sentiment behind these replies. I would put on a smile, nod and agree. Whilst on the inside I am saying ‘I am not young’ ‘I haven't got time’ and ‘why won’t it happen now.’ Ultimately, I would answer politely whilst my insides were churning, and I just wanted to cry.

I then progressed to a strong ‘no.’ This was straight after I had lost a baby at 12 weeks. I did not want to even entertain the conversation. Selfishly, I didn’t want to hear about other people's children or grandchildren. This lasted a long time. When I was asked ‘the question’ during this time I would avoid eye contact, I would look at the floor and the topic of conversation would change in a nano second. I would sometimes have to ask a colleague to take over and on a very regular basis I would be in the work toilets in floods of tears.

During this time, I distinctly remember one patient telling me how awful it is that relatives were not allowed into the hospital due to covid restrictions. I empathised and understood. She kept talking about it and I let slip that I had been in hospital at the start of the pandemic. She asked if I was ok, I said I hoped I would be and that I had lost a baby. I don’t know why I said it, even now, I have no idea why I told her about my loss. I was embarrassed that I had let it slip. She then shared that she lost a baby. We exchanged a few words about our experiences, I found a lot of comfort in sharing my loss. She was very kind. After she left, I was in the toilet crying again, this time I remember sobbing uncontrollably.

The next two years that followed included three rounds of IVF, all unsuccessful. Two mental health challenges with an additional breakdown after two pregnancy announcements in a week at work. It was the saddest, loneliest place I have ever been. I had completely lost myself. I didn’t know who I was or what I enjoyed doing anymore. I had hit the metaphorical wall.

Fast forward 6 months, medication, a counsellor who is worth her weight in gold, an excellent GP and a very patient husband.

Now, when I am asked ‘Do you have children?’ my answer flows ‘No, I can’t have children, but I have three cats.’ I don’t go into details and say I have unexplained infertility, there is a lot I could say. I guess I tell people I can’t have children to raise awareness, I would love it if people realised that those four words can be incredibly triggering and the pathway to children and a family is not always straightforward. I am sad I can’t have children, that will always be there, but I am no longer embarrassed.

Becky

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