In early March, we found ourselves sitting in a consultant’s room in a private fertility clinic. With my 37th birthday approaching, I needed to understand if there was a reason why Mother Nature had chosen not to bestow another child upon us.
The results of an ultrasound scan and some simple blood tests revealed that there was no medical reason why we hadn’t conceived again. I had a good ovarian egg reserve, and for a woman of my age, the ultrasound scan showed an excellent number of follicles. It felt a slightly odd experience as they waved at me through the monitor, like anemones floating in a deep, dark sea. As I looked back at the screen, silently I prayed to them; "One of you must be hiding a good egg in there. Let me have it, please." Nothing but quiet filled the room. I wondered if, by some ethearal or higher force, my message had reached them, or indeed, whether finally, I was just losing the plot.
We left the clinic agreeing that the next course of action we would proceed with in the short term was an HSG (Hysterosalpingogram); a procedure that would be carried out under a local anaesthetic to identify if there were any blockages in my fallopian tubes.
Even when you’re trying to do something as important as conceive a baby, life sometimes gets in the way. Our already booked holiday and my cycle times, meant the HSG would have to wait until our return. A small part of me welcomed a break from the emotional roller coaster before we started the next part of our journey. A new halo of hope shone on the horizon, but in the period in between, there was a chance to have one week, where I wouldn’t feel guilty or anxious about what I ate or drank in case I was pregnant; a week where I could truly relax. My husband understood; we agreed that the holiday would be our ‘Last Hurrah’. We’d leave the fertility monitor at home and just enjoy ourselves. And on our return, we’d pick up our journey again, with renewed purpose and positivity.
I so needed that holiday. The sun, the sea, the time with my boys. I felt more relaxed than I’d felt for ages. Knowing that once we returned we would be taking positive steps towards our goal, and taking control of the situation, made me feel liberated. It was as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Once we returned home, I awaited my period, so I could then call the clinic to arrange a date for the HCG. But it never came. And last week, at 13 weeks, I finally got to see the lasting legacy of our last hurrah, bouncing around in black and white on a monitor. Finally, I can say those words, and believe it. I’m pregnant.
Maybe one of those little follicles heard my prayer. Or perhaps, all I needed to do was turn off the fertility monitor and relax instead. Either way, I feel blessed. x