It’s taken a year for me to find the words for this blog entry. Sorry about the hiatus. It’s been a struggle but here it is. The resurrection of my blog...
A year ago today I was told I will never have a biological child of my own and we were to give up. Give up on my dream of making a mini-me that has my eyes, knobbly elbows and dark brown hair. Even with all my egg pimping which produced a bounty of morphologically perfect eggs that most 25-year old IVFers would be happy with let alone a 39-year old, I was to stop trying to make a baby with my husband using my own eggs. All down to my duff, faulty genes that I only found out about on 15 June 2017. All of our 8-top-grade blastocyst embies weren’t viable with life and would result in miscarriage (which, trust me, I’m in no hurry to repeat).
There’s about a 1% chance of that happening when a parent has a balanced reciprocal translocation like I do - just my luck. The lesser of two evils, find out before you transfer, get another positive and walk on air for 4-10 weeks (while your inner voice tells you to not get too excited - which is impossible btw). Only for it all to end too soon in heartbreak. Yep, I’d still rather know but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.
Somehow out of this mind-blowing news I managed to find some strength and I grabbed life by the horns. I negotiated newborn babies with some trepidation for a while but I chose to try and remember what life was like before we started trying to become parents. I focused on me, I ran a bloody marathon and Lady Luck was on my side and I’m now an M.D. If you told me that would happen a year ago I wouldn’t have believed you. It’s quite an achievement and there’s so much to be grateful for, I’ve got a wicked life, an amazing husband and awesome friends & family and I am generally happy. But I’m still not a Mum. It stings really bad some days and today I am feeling sad. Really, really sad. More friends and family get pregnant, all the babies are growing fast and are delightful little people who I adore. I know there are options but right now I still can’t get my head around the fact that I can’t make a baby with my eggs. WTF? Everyone else finds it so easy, 95% of the people I know who have had IVF got their happy ever after but not me? Doesn’t seem right, does it?
All hope has gone, let it go. Pick yourself up, dust yourself down and carry on. Life is for living. Let’s see where this crazy life will take me in the next 12-months, as what’s clear, nothing can be planned or expected. Friends, when they see me say they are so pleased to see me ‘happy’ but that’s just my happy face you see. I’ve decided to give happiness and the wonder of life a go. A year on from that news I’m getting closer to deciding what path we’ll take - but I’m still reeling from that news.
To everyone who has made their mini-me cherish that little person. They are the miracle of life that we all take for granted. I’m gearing up for my next BIG THING in a quest to give my life meaning. I’m so, so, lucky to have all that I have worked hard to achieve and I’m grateful for what I have. Today, however, I’m mourning all the potential babies we have made over the years, and I’m sorry my faulty genes prevented them from grasping life by the horns.