February 2020
Five months after asking for a coil removal I finally get it taken out via hysteroscopy because it had become dislodged too high for conventional removal. We are excited to start a family. I’ve been working as a midwife at a new hospital since January and I’m just about to launch my coaching business, something I’d been training in over the last year. Joe is also in the final stages of launching his business too.
We are confident and happy.
Life feels fertile.
April 2020
The day before Joe’s birthday we discover I am pregnant, the first time we tried to conceive. I didn’t even have a period after my coil removal. It is a complete shock. A week later I have a small bleed and ask for a scan. It’s the height of the pandemic, so I am alone when eventually, after lots of searching the heartbeat is found and I watch in amazement at a sesame seed sized flickering on screen. To make it easier for the sonographer, because I am below six weeks, I have to hold my breath.
With lungs fit to burst all I want to say is “Wow”.
May 2020
A month after seeing our baby I start bleeding whilst at work as a midwife. A few days later I am told I have experienced a missed miscarriage. I should be eight weeks, but when I am scanned (again without Joe due to the pandemic) nothing is seen.
Our baby has gone.
There is nothing, just a gestational sac. This means the pregnancy ended weeks ago and was reabsorbed by my body. I had been nurturing a ghost.
Later that week, I choose to be medically managed and miscarry at home on a beautiful spring day.
July 2020
After a month off of work I return to spend over 12 hours a day in the exact room where life changed so suddenly. I am looking after women with the same due date as me. They ask me if I have children and I don’t know what to say anymore. I’m grateful to be wearing a mask so I can hide the anguish trying to answer that question.
September 2020
At the beginning of the month we adopt Skyla, our French Bulldog. She brings us fresh purpose and I relish having an outlet for my maternal energy. But by the end of the month, I am unravelling having to work as a midwife, whilst grieving a miscarriage. It is a special kind of hell. I think I should be okay by now, that it’s my job to cope.
October - December 2020
After some annual leave for my birthday, I realise I can’t go back to work. The thought of walking onto the ward is causing severe anxiety. I start therapy and acupuncture because my menstrual cycle is also severely affected by the stress, ranging wildly from 19-76 days.
All I want to be is pregnant, but I know I need to look after myself to achieve that.
I never work as a midwife again.
January- February 2021
After a difficult Christmas feeling forced to celebrate the week I should have been giving birth, I contact my GP to have baseline fertility blood work. I discover that my AMH (Anti-Mullerian Hormone - an indicator of egg reserve) is below 1, which is extremely low and after a private scan I am diagnosed with Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR).
Joe and I are shocked to learn that I have much fewer remaining eggs than normal for my age. My levels are more consistent with being over 40 years old, but I am thankful that I’m not in an early menopause. My other hormones and ability to ovulate are working as they should, just with a severely reduced supply of eggs to work with. We decide to meet with a fertility specialist to gain more clarity.
Discover why I started ‘The Bardo’ and the meaning behind the name
Learn more about my desire to become a mother from childhood to 35
I love that you adopted a dog in the midst of all this. I adopted my 2nd pup after my first two miscarriages, because I so desperately needed something to love. I still call her my baby. ❤️