Anonymous
I have always wanted to be a parent. Growing up, my home situation was awful and when things were tough, I told myself one day I would have my own family and life would be better. Being a lesbian, born in a country where LGBT+ equality is evolving too slowly,I knew this was never going come easily.
At 16, I was diagnosed with endometriosis. Post-surgery I was told hormone therapy, to induce menopause for 6 months, was the only treatment option. The consultant said ‘if you want a baby, you should do it in the next 5 years. But don’t let that put you off study’. I was 16, anorexic, living in an abusive home. About to go into my final year of school with university to follow within 12 months. I knew that education was my ticket out of the home situation and bringing a baby into the equation wasn’t an option, so I went with education and hoped the consultant was wrong.
At 25, another six surgeries and a lot of hormone treatment later, my (new) consultant offered me IVF, saying 'I could get you a baby’. I suspect she hadn’t really thought this offer through, as being both single and lesbian meant I wasn’t an ‘ideal’ candidate (many IVF providers at that time, in that country, refused to offer IVF to anyone other than married straight couples). I was told I would have to undergo a psychological assessment to proceed. I failed this assessment, allegedly because of my abusive childhood.
At 27, I moved to the UK because LGBT+ rights were considerably better here compared to my country of birth. It meant leaving a successful career behind and starting over. Once settled, I registered with a GP and at the initial consultation, explained I had endometriosis. ‘Just have a baby, that will take care of it!’ he exclaimed. If only it was so simple.
At 31,finally in a stable job, I wanted to know if IVF was even a possibility. I went to see a consultant who agreed to surgery (my eighth) to check for endometriosis. An administrative error meant I was initially omitted from the waiting list so I had to wait 12 months. After the surgery, the consultant said IVF ‘wouldn’t be a problem’. Then my GP showed me the follow-up letter from the consultant. The first line read ‘[name] is in a homosexual relationship’. My partner and I thought this was an odd thing to include in a letter, after all, how is that relevant? Turned out it was very relevant, because IVF wasn’t available to homosexuals via the NHS, even where medical infertility is present. Had I been straight, I’d have been offered IVF via the NHS and chances are, I wouldn’t be writing this now.
At 37, my wife and I became aware that the NHS was offering IVF to lesbian couples in limited circumstances. We sought a referral from our GP but were refused because homosexuality was against the GP’s personal (religious) beliefs. We changed GP surgeries. We were referred.
Six months of arguments via letter with the CCG ensued. The CCG maintained we would have to undergo 6 rounds of IUI (at our expense) before we could have IVF, despite both my wife and I having medical infertility. We won, well kind of. We were allowed one cycle of IVF on the NHS. We hadn’t realised that in changing GP practice, we had changed CCGs and whereas the previous CCG offered three cycles of IVF, the new CCG offered only one.
Miraculously, IVF worked. Baby paraphernalia was purchased and plans were made. Then, in an instant, it all disappeared.
We contemplated taking out a loan to continue with IVF privately but I’ve always been reluctant to get into debt, money was already tight and the bill for the treatment needed would have been five figures. We stopped trying.
At 41, my wife and I separated. I told her to leave because she was telling me too many lies. I later discovered she was in significant debt, living another life in secret. The amount of her debt exceeded the cost of many, many cycles of IVF.
We are now divorced. ‘It was never a baby anyways, you’re deluded’ was one of the (many) choice phrases she said before we divorced. She has a new partner and our two youngest dogs. She won’t let me see them.
At 46, I’m perimenopausal. I’ve no family, no partner, no next of kin, few friends. I spend a lot of time alone. My two remaining dogs are elderly now and I know our time together is coming to an end. I won’t have more; I worry about what would happen to them if I was seriously ill/injured/dead.
I’ve tried to adopt several times over 2 decades, alone and as a couple. I’ve not gone into it here (there’s only so much folk can take!) but I’ve been unsuccessful each time. No family, no support network, abused as a child, unable to satisfy referencing requirements.... I am not perfect, not enough.
I see more LGBT+ parents with their children nowadays, especially at Pride. I want to be happy for them, but I can’t. I belong to a club that nobody wants to join. Whereas in the past there were many LGBT+ people in my situation, now there are far fewer. Progress towards equality – that same equality I moved across the world for - has either left me behind or come too late.
This is the bit where I’m supposed to say I’ve moved on, I’ve taken up gardening, life is different to what I imagined but it’s good. Unfortunately, this not my reality. I don’t think about the future.
Mine is the story that nobody wants to know.
