In our new series IVF Life Stories, our Guest Speaker – Kate Pleace, Fertility & Menopause Specialist Nurse, talked about her own personal fertility journey. Diagnosed with POI at 34, she has undergone several rounds of fertility treatments, including ovulation induction, IVF, and egg donation. Her story is one of resilience and hope.
The event was hosted by: Tracey Sainsbury, Fertility Counsellor and Co-author of Making Friends with your Fertility.
No, not at all. It was very much when I met the right person. I think very much in my teens and 20s, I was a typical, “I don’t want children. I don’t—that’s not for me.” It was very much when I met the right person. When I met my current husband, Dave, we were in our early 30s, it was then that I thought, “Actually, it would be nice to have children now I’ve met the right person; that would be something that we could look at.” I think I was probably about 31, 32.
Later than I thought it might have been. I’d had a relationship and marriage that had ended before then and then met someone new. A new path had kind of opened up with that right person, it was something that we thought, “That would be something that we’d like to do.”
I’d been working in fertility for probably about four years at that point. I’d worked previously at an IVF clinic; I was living in the Midlands at the time in the UK and then relocated to Essex when I met my future husband. Because as we know with healthcare jobs, it’s really easy for us to relocate; we’re quite fortunate that we’re in demand. So I was able to relocate and get a job at an IVF clinic local to where my partner lived, and then, obviously, it was at that point that we decided that we’d like to think about having children.
I wasn’t. As much as we love our patients, I have to say I wasn’t probably as organized as some of our patients are, who come in with notebooks and information that they found online and various supplements. But I did have a little bit of an idea that it might be a bit of a challenge, and that was because when I was much younger, in my late teens and early 20s, I had irregular periods. It was very, very difficult. I’d had the marina coil in situ for a few years in my early 20s when I started my nurse training. I remember pleading with a gynaecologist, saying, “I’m not planning on having children in my early 20s; I want to do my nurse training. I haven’t got time for really irregular periods and flooding in restaurants and things like that.” I kind of had a little inkling that maybe it might be challenging, but hopefully, it would be fine. I think it was probably about 4 or 5 months, and I think the main issue was because I’d had my coil removed, but then, unfortunately, I hadn’t got any periods back since then. Immediately I thought, “That’s not quite right.” We probably sought help a little bit sooner.
I wanted to take advantage of our wonderful NHS. When we think back, it was probably in about 2013, so things weren’t like they are now. So no, I initially approached my GP. I didn’t kind of think, “Oh hey, I’ll need IVF. I need treatment.” I kind of approached my GP; he was very good and did some initial blood work, but did put the referral in. I think probably from me having a conversation and explaining what was happening, he put the referral in. And you think how things have changed? I think it took a couple of months to get a referral through, whereas now, I’m telling patients we’ll be lucky if it’s in a year. It didn’t take long at all, and coincidentally there was a wonderful doctor who worked sort of hybrid, both with the local IVF clinic and the NHS, and that was the consultant I saw. That was nice because I knew her.
Initially, I very much would say I compartmentalized it. It was almost like I was saying to myself, “Well, you kind of know everything in terms of procedure-wise what to expect, so it should be fairly straightforward. You’re so fortunate compared to your patients.” I did very much compartmentalize it. Initially, I went through all the NHS tests that a lot of our patients go through—those bread-and-butter tests, so blood tests, and Dave, my husband, had his sperm checked. I had a HyCoSy and, as a typical healthcare professional, had that in the morning and then went to work, which probably I wouldn’t recommend, because you want to put up that brave face, and you want to say to yourself, “It’s no problem.” You tell patients that they’ll be fine.
We had a couple of cycles of ovulation induction, but I didn’t respond to the treatment for that at all. It was at that point that the lovely consultant spoke to me and said, “I think more of a route for IVF straight away.” She was pretty forward-thinking; I think she had a feeling. She’d already done an AMH test; she said, “Oh, I’ve put that through. We don’t do it very often on the NHS, but I think it might be useful for you.” I got another inkling. I was on an ultrasound scan, and the sonographer did an AFC count, which was low. So already my ears had pricked up, and I thought, “This is starting to go down a different route.”
We got the referral, and it was at that point that we kind of had an option. Because it was an NHS thing in the UK, you get a choice of maybe 2 or 3 clinics, and we live in North Essex, so it was either the local clinic that I worked at or it would be going to London. I just didn’t fancy going to London; I didn’t. It just put me off either driving or getting the train, and it was at that point I thought, “No, I’m going to find out if I can have treatments at my own clinic,” because it’s around— it’s 20 minutes from my house. My husband works around the corner, so there’s so much more to be had for being local.
I say that to patients all the time. I don’t know about you; I say, “Well, think about how long it is to where you live. My husband works here.” I just thought it was not going to work getting into London at early hours for sperm samples or whatever. I just thought, “I’m going to ask.” I trusted who I worked with implicitly. I used to call them my “born-all family.” and I thought, “I’m going to see if it’s possible.” They said it was.
I don’t think initially that we thought about it. We kind of had an inkling moment when we were planning to start our IVF cycle and got married at Christmas. It was then I kind of had that moment and thought, “Dave’s going to have to hand his sperm sample over to one of the lovely embryologists who was at my wedding, whom I know well.” Initially, I think for me, I kind of took that on board quite a bit. I remember saying to him, “This is gonna be awkward for you. How are you gonna find this?” Dave just took it in his stride and kind of said, “ I don’t have a problem with it. I’m just gonna turn up, do my sperm sample, and that’s what’s gonna happen.” Then he said, “I’m gonna be waiting for you.”
They were thoughtful. They kind of gave me a team of key people, so not everyone participated in my care, which was thoughtful. I had one consultant, a couple of embryologists, and a couple of nurses—not that there were lots of nurses. I was fortunate that I had a continuous team that supported me and Dave. Coincidentally, on the day that we had the first cycle of treatment, my egg collection, there was only me on that day, just purely by coincidence. I think someone was watching upstairs and thought, “Oh, well, that’s fine.” From that point of view, it was much easier to handle.
I think I put a bit of pressure on myself to be at work because you’re always reassuring your patients, saying, “Oh yeah, it’s fine to do normal life and do things.” Often I’d have my monitoring scan first thing in the morning before the other patients, and then I’d load up my locker with whatever fertility drugs I needed. Looking back, actually, I think, I did do that.” I’d see my blood results coming through because back then we used to use a fax machine. I used to just hand them to the nurses and go because I didn’t want to start looking at them and then getting a blurred nurse-patient scenario going, “Well, I’ve looked at my blood results; I’ve decided what we’re doing next.”
I tried to just kind of pass them across and go because I just thought, “No, you can’t start thinking that you can treat yourself.” Because when we’re immediate, we can’t be fully on the line when we’re thinking about ourselves. It’s like me saying, “Well, I’ll do my HRT review,” but if you put on weight, “Oh, never mind,” or if you eat 3 chocolate bars, “Never mind.” You do need professional support, even for you.
The first cycle was okay. I’d known at that point that I had a low AMH and wasn’t likely to respond to treatment. They’d given me medication to induce a bleed, so I knew things wouldn’t be great. But I was hopeful. I thought, “Well, the same as any other patient; you don’t know till you start.” For the first cycle, for a low AMH, it wasn’t too bad. I did have the maximum doses of stimulation, but by the time I had the egg collection, I think they managed to collect four eggs. For me, I thought, “Well, that’s not too bad.” Then fertilization was 2, so that wasn’t too bad. I had 2 embryos replaced, but unfortunately, the quality wasn’t great, so the cycle, unfortunately, wasn’t successful.
I think I was more empathetic. I wasn’t necessarily open with the patients because, as a healthcare professional, you don’t want it to be about you. It’s about them, they’re coming to you. But if they asked me directly, I would answer and tell the truth. I wasn’t necessarily open with them, but I was more empathetic.
I didn’t do theatre duties while I was on my two-week wait, and the clinic was very supportive. They offered me open-ended counseling, which was very helpful. In that first cycle, even though you kind of know what’s going to happen, and you’ve cared for patients for years, you still have hope and that sense of newness. We had that. So, although we were really upset and disappointed, we were still kind of newbies at that point, going through the first cycle, not knowing exactly what to expect.
We thought, “Okay, we have NHS funding,” and left it for about four or five months before deciding to try again. Unfortunately, by the second cycle, I didn’t respond to the treatment at all, so they had to cancel it before getting to egg collection. That was probably just as devastating as a negative result because, at that point, you kind of know that the path is over. I remember sitting in the scan room, crying my eyes out, thinking, “That’s it. Game over.”
Calling Dave, who was at work, and telling him the news was hard. But on the positive side, we knew that because we didn’t reach egg collection, we could have another cycle under NHS rules, possibly with egg donation. At that point, I wasn’t ready for egg donation. The idea seemed impossible, but stopping at that stage gave us something to consider for the future. We took about 6 or 7 months off and didn’t do anything. Meanwhile, the NHS had to appeal for a change in the requirements for our treatment. Time isn’t a healer, but it helps you gain perspective. Having that gap allowed us to think about things more clearly, and eventually, I was diagnosed with POI (Premature Ovarian Insufficiency). It all started to make sense—low AMH, no response to treatment, irregular periods, and even additional symptoms that I hadn’t recognized at the time.
Dave was still alive, despite my anger and anxiety! But having that break was crucial for us. Many patients want to rush through, but for us, taking the time was essential to decide if egg donation was the right path. After implications counselling, we decided to give it a go. We had one cycle left, and the NHS approved it for egg donation. We were given a rare opportunity, and we felt we should seriously consider it.
By that point, I had moved into managing the egg donation program, which I had been doing for about 18 months. I loved it, and it was something I had always wanted to do. I managed the recipient list and had a great professional relationship with my colleague, Jackie, who ran the donor side. We trusted each other, and when they found a suitable donor, I knew she was right for me.
Yes. It was about carrying it better and thinking, “Right, where do we go from here?”
They reworked the program for me and found a potential donor, which they offered to me. Jackie, my work wife, handled the donor side while I managed the recipients. We had a brilliant professional relationship, and I trusted her to find the right donor. They offered me a donor who was a really good match. I liked that she was much taller than me because my husband’s tall, so it seemed like a perfect fit. We waited about a year, like all the other patients, and when the opportunity came, we were excited.
It felt right. I looked at the important little things like her having a similar hair colour to mine and being taller. Everything else was up to chance, whatever came out of the magic gene pool!
Dave’s a very positive person, so he was excited. He didn’t have the added weight of knowing all the ins and outs like I did. When I explained that this was our opportunity, he was immediately on board and happy to move forward.
This would have been at the end of 2016. Treatment started in 2017, but the offer and planning began in late 2016. It was a fresh synchronized cycle, which is different from today’s process where many clinics freeze eggs first.
No, for us, it was really important. It wasn’t just because of me working in the field. Dave is quite an open person, and I could never work for MI5 because I’d just say everything, and my face would reveal it all! So we had already decided that we would be open. We didn’t feel that it was something that needed to be talked about. The change in the law for us was beneficial, and we liked the idea that it would give that potential child a choice in the future.
Treatment-wise, it was pretty much as expected. I had the normal treatment you would expect from a recipient. I had HRT initially, which gave me a regular cycle, so I was feeling much better, and having a bit more stability. The clinic was using a mock cycle, followed by a fresh, coordinated cycle. My lovely work wife, Jackie, coordinated all of that. I don’t know how she coped with it—probably lots of alcohol and cigarettes!
From that point of view, the treatment went pretty much textbook, and most importantly, for the donor as well. On egg collection day, after Dave had come to the clinic to produce his sample, we did the traditional thing—we went to McDonald’s on the way home. I still remember us sitting in McDonald’s in Colchester, thinking, “This is strange. A lady is having an egg collection for me, and I’m sitting in McDonald’s ordering breakfast and a hashbrown.” Dave had just produced his sample, and then we went home and waited.
I still remember getting the call from the embryologists in the afternoon. They told us they’d collected 6 eggs, and I thought, “Yeah, this feels okay.” The feelings the next morning were just the same as they had been with my own eggs. You’re still on tenterhooks. Even though you know why they’re calling, your brain is split into two—one half is saying, “They’re going to tell you this,” and the other half is like, “Oh, it’s the embryologist, what are they going to say?” So you’re trying to keep calm, but it’s tough.
We had good news—4 out of the 6 fertilized. By the time we came in for our embryo transfer, there were 2 beautiful blastocysts. One was frozen, and the other was transferred. I still have the picture of the embryo on my desk—it’s a beautiful blastocyst and always will be.
I remember going home with the picture, and the consultant said to me, “Just go home and relax.” I did, at least for that day. Dave and I watched some TV, relaxed, and waited. Like every patient, I carried on working to keep busy, and Dave carried on as normal. My mum was horrified that I was still running at that point, but I thought, “Why wouldn’t I?” It was February, the weather wasn’t too bad, so I kept going out for runs and getting fresh air. Everything was pretty much routine.
On the day of the pregnancy test, Dave went and ran cross country in the morning, while I sat and watched him, drinking hot chocolate. I didn’t want to do the test before he ran, so we waited until he got back. I remember us coming back, doing the test, and I thought, “Oh, I don’t think it’s worked. Furthermore, I can’t see another line.” I had never seen another line on a test for me, so I thought, “No, it didn’t work.”
I handed the test to Dave, and he said, “Let me have another look.” I thought, “Stop being ridiculous!” But then he shone a torch from his phone on it, and I was sitting in the other room. He said, “No, you’re wrong!” I said, “What do you mean?” And he said, “There’s a line!” I couldn’t believe it, but there was—a faint line! I thought, “Wowsers!” But I might have said another word out of shock! It was surreal because it had never happened to me before—it always happened to my friends or patients. But here it was!
The early days were quite good. Those couple of days, I remember going back to work, and I remember I was optimistic, and obviously, everyone was, really happy and supportive, which was great. So, I’m breaking it down into days because you’ll understand why. But initially, the first couple of days, yeah, really quite optimistic, and I thought, okay, I started to feel a little bit sick and a bit strange. I thought, well, this must be what it’s all about. I remember sitting in the scan room scanning patients thinking I felt a bit sick. Okay, that’s fine, and then I thought, no, you’re imagining it. You know, Dr. Google. No, but no, initially the first couple of days, were quite positive.
I think it was at that point that I think I told my mum because I’ve been a bit naughty, and we hadn’t mentioned a lot to family and friends about what we were doing. They knew that it was happening, but they didn’t know when because we just didn’t want loads of extra, “Have you had a scan? What’s happening? Have you had this?” So they knew that it was coming, but they didn’t know when. So I think it was then that, yeah, Dave told his parents, and I told my mum, and she went, I knew you were up to something. And that excitement can just sometimes put more pressure on you, and sometimes you can just all celebrate together. Yeah, that was the plan. At that point, family and friends were kind of all new. Dave’s very open; he just likes to say it as it is. The first few days were optimistic.
Everyone was supportive. Very much a family affair—cautiously optimistic but supportive. We had a lot of hugs.
That is where things got a bit more interesting. I think probably by about maybe 5 days a week after that, things started to change. I started to feel quite unwell, and again initially, I thought, you’re just probably being a wimp, and it’s just being pregnant, and you know you’ll get used to it. It wasn’t really what I was expecting. So, and apologies to those who are listening who might be eating or have eaten their dinner, but it started with quite personal symptoms. I started to get severe genital swelling, itching, and pain to the point where it just felt really, really painful and almost like my genitals were on fire. That’s the only way I can describe it, and it just appeared out of nowhere.
It started very small. I just remember sitting there thinking, this is uncomfortable. So I spoke to a lovely team. I’m going to call them the team; it’s easier. And straight away, they changed my medication because why wouldn’t you just think the obvious? You’re just reacting, or your hormones are a little bit out of balance. We’ve all had thrush and various kinds of things happen. Yeah, that’ll solve it. Yeah, I just thought, yeah, that’ll sort it out. But I think by then, things started to progress at lightning speed. I tried again with a different medication, but the swelling and the pain got worse to the point where I was sitting on ice packs most of the day. If I wasn’t doing that, it was painful. And then you’re in that conundrum in early pregnancy.
You don’t want to take too much, and you don’t want to put anything at risk. But equally, you’re sitting there thinking, I can’t cope with this. I can’t sit in a hot or cold bath all day or just stay under a shower or an ice pack. So again, went back to the team, and changed my medication to injectable progesterone. Not pleasant, but a lot of the patients do it well, and at that point, you will do anything. You’ll think, yep, that’s fine. I can put up with it. It wasn’t too bad. He wouldn’t line up for it.
I think looking back there was, and again, anyone who knows me, I stopped eating. Anyone who knows me, I’m a bit of a chocoholic. I know I’m supposed to be talking to patients about being healthy, but I’m a bit of a chocoholic. I like my cakes and cookies. Furthermore, I shouldn’t be eating as many as I am.
I stopped eating pretty much. I couldn’t look at food, and initially, I thought, “Oh, it’s just… that’s just being pregnant,” but couldn’t be a thing. Furthermore, I think I used to live on an apple, a bit of porridge, and water, and that was it for the day. The amount of weight I lost—it’s unheard of, never happened to me.
Probably about 2 weeks. I really couldn’t eat. Then at that point, I couldn’t sleep, and again, I didn’t initially put that down to anything serious. I thought it was just anxiety or being worried, but yeah, it didn’t matter what I did—I couldn’t sleep at all. It was only after having a conversation with Dave that I realized something was wrong. It went from me being relatively calm to feeling like someone had cranked me up.
I changed onto injectable progesterone, and at that point, I had also been down to the gynaecology department at Colchester with one of the wonderful team members there. They got me in to see another consultant, who gave me steroids and creams to treat the genital issue. They worked well. I had also been to a walk-in centre over the weekend, and bless them, they had no idea. They were asking, “Is it an STI?” and I said, “No, I don’t think so.” They gave me steroids, and they started to work.
Then I went back to see another consultant, and they gave me more high-dose steroid creams, which worked. By then, I had switched to the injectable medication, and Dave and I thought we could get a hold of this, that it was just a nasty reaction. I remember he said, “Why don’t you take another pregnancy test?” I said, “Why would I do that?” He just said, “Take one and see.” So off he goes, came back, and we took the test. The red line came up straight away, not with the torchlight this time, and we both thought, “Yes, this will turn around now.”
We had a couple of days when things weren’t too bad. I was still wearing loose trousers, and I don’t think I was working at that point. I had stopped working because I just couldn’t wear my uniform. So we thought, “Yeah, things will turn around.” But within about 2 days of being on the injectables, I remember sitting with Dave’s parents. It was February, and I was sitting in a t-shirt with my back against a cold patio door. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was starting to overheat again. This time, it wasn’t just in the pelvic area—it was all over my body. I remember leaving his parents’ place, and I scratched my neck. Almost instantly, I was covered in this horrible rash—bizarre, really bizarre—all over my trunk, groin, back, neck, and ears.
Not really. I’ve seen patients have mild rashes or reactions to medications, just like any medic has. We would offer steroids or antihistamines, but I hadn’t seen anyone with all of these symptoms: severe rashes, hormonal and cognitive symptoms, genital swelling, and non-functionality, to the point where you just can’t function. I’d wake up in the morning, sit in a cold bath, and then try to function throughout the day—but really, I wasn’t functioning.
Looking back, I’m not sure I was thinking clearly. I mean, you wouldn’t be if you hadn’t been sleeping, and had been dealing with a rollercoaster of emotions, hormones, and various drugs. I think I went into survival mode. Furthermore, I wanted to hide at home and see if I could deal with it. That’s exactly what I tried to do, which probably wasn’t great. My mum was on holiday at the time, bless her. I think she called me one morning, and I wasn’t doing great. She said, “Right, I’m coming back. I’ll come and look after you.” You know it’s serious when your mum, when you’re 37, says she’s coming back from holiday. It was nice for Dave because he didn’t get much of a break from it. He worked nights, and when he’d come back, I’d be in some degree of not functioning. Bless him, he probably thought, “What am I coming home to?” So it was good for him to have some pressure taken off.
It was a huge roller coaster. At that point, the team at the clinic and I had a lot of conversations. To be honest, I don’t think I told them how ill I was. Looking back, I think I was afraid to admit that I had no idea what was happening and that I couldn’t handle it. You try to put on a brave face. I’ve always used humour as a coping mechanism; that’s just me. It helps when you’re working in healthcare. But looking back, I don’t think I could admit to myself how bad it was. So, I think that was part of the issue. It was a roller coaster, but by the time I was getting close to being about 6 weeks, it felt like an eternity. Every day just felt like it would never end.
Yes, we had that conversation—whether to carry on or stop the medication. We thought it might be the medication causing the issues. Dave and I talked, and I also went to see my GP to make sure we weren’t missing anything. To be fair, my GP was excellent. He saw me, did blood tests, and even called me two or three times. When I walked in, he could tell something was wrong. So, from that point of view, we felt we had covered everything. We made the agonizing decision to stop the medication because I just didn’t think I could continue. I don’t think I could have carried on.
Initially, you think about the short-term things. My immediate thought was to stop the pain and symptoms I was experiencing. From Dave’s point of view, he didn’t want me to keep suffering. We focused on the short-term relief. We knew deep down that long-term it would be difficult because without the medication, and with POI (Premature Ovarian Insufficiency), I don’t have my own hormones to fall back on. Once you stop the progesterone and other medications, we know the chances aren’t great. But we weighed it up, and that was the decision we made.
It took a long time. Initially, I thought, “Great, I’ll stop the medication, and maybe things will cling on.” I would drive to work, playing certain songs in my car, trying to stay positive with powerful music.
Yes, I think I was working at that point, or at least trying to. They were trying to send me home, but it wasn’t them—it was me. I was desperate for normality. I wanted my normal routine, my normal support networks both at work and at home. It was almost like a need to regain some control over my life. As crazy as it sounds, I went to visit a friend that evening. I knew what was happening, but didn’t tell her. I just wasn’t ready to admit it. She’d probably ask me now, “Why didn’t you say anything?” But if I said it, that would mean it was real. So, I had a cup of tea with her and went home.
I waited until Dave got home to tell him because there was no point in telling him while he was at work. It wouldn’t have helped him. Breaking the news to him was probably the lowest point. You go through all of that, and it doesn’t work. Even though I hadn’t had my scan yet, I just knew it was game over.
No, it’s an important question. It all happened naturally and quite quickly. For me, it wasn’t uncomfortable or that painful. I did go for my scan the week after, just to make sure. That was hard because all of my lovely work family knew, and we had a little cry together.
Initially, there were some really dark times. Often, we try to focus on the positives, but…I struggled. I still had skin rashes, and couldn’t sleep. At that point, I wasn’t putting on any weight. So, yeah, and there were a lot of cognitive symptoms. I’d been back to the GP, who kind of didn’t know what to do, and I was in a little bit of limbo.
At that point, I was kind of in denial, like, “No, I’m just really unlucky.” Then I thought, “No, actually, I should.” So I went to see a specialist, a professor in reproductive medicine, and that was a really important moment because I got a diagnosis of severe progesterone hypersensitivity.
You kind of know it’s something unusual when the professor gets his iPad out and starts making notes, and you think, “This is interesting to him.” He was very good; he had seen it before, though not in many patients. His first suggestion stuck with us, which was—because we still had that embryo in storage, always in the back of our minds—he said, “I can’t tell you when you’ll feel better, because everyone is different, and not many people have had this severity. But, hopefully, over time, you will.”
I asked, and he said straight away, “Use a surrogate,” because of the severity of the reaction. I wasn’t sure that was what we wanted to do and bless him, he did go away and come up with a plan using a variety of medications, trying different progesterones, steroids, antihistamines, and various things. He put a plan together, which was great.
Yes, I had been so unwell, and I’d spent so long working on feeling better again. I was really lucky—I had counselling, and cognitive behaviour therapy because I was conscious that these symptoms weren’t going to go away immediately. I had to learn to live with it for a bit and work it through, rather than getting into a meltdown about not feeling well or not being able to sleep. Likewise, I worked on understanding how to deal with it better, giving myself a bit more of an opportunity.
Yes, I worked on getting a routine with my own hormones again and tried various things—meditation, and lots of different methods to start feeling better. That took quite a long time, but I think it was the right move. Ultimately, we made the decision not to continue because we felt it would be too much. I wasn’t overly keen on using a surrogate, and Dave understandably didn’t want me to go through that again.
Yes, there were moments when I was so ill, that I thought, “I wonder if I’ll be here tomorrow.” We realized that wasn’t the plan for us. It wasn’t an easy decision. We kept the frozen embryo in storage for about a year before making the final decision, but for us, it was time to stop. It ended with us.
It was difficult, but I routinely say to clients in counselling, “Don’t try to plan it all in your head; your head is like a spreadsheet, but if your body isn’t carrying you forward, you need to pause and listen to it.” For me, giving myself that gift of time to move at my own pace was important. I tried lots of things, but time was key in making sure we felt it was the right choice.
I think this was one positive. We hadn’t donated the embryo to research yet or officially ended things, but after seeing the professor, we had an idea this was what we wanted. As ridiculous as it sounds, we said, “Let’s get a dog.” I went to have my hair cut, and my hairdresser mentioned a great rescue nearby. So, of course, we went down there. They brought out this lovely little 17-week-old puppy, but someone else was going to have her. Then they decided they weren’t sure about the original owners, and they asked if we’d like to be considered.
Dave immediately said yes—he was like a kid in a sweet shop. He was messaging me non-stop when I went to a nurse’s conference in Leeds, asking, “When are we having the home check?” When are they coming? When are we getting the dog? Why isn’t the dog here? When’s the dog coming?
I think it was a real positive, and we were just given such positivity because she’s unbiased, she’s a lovely dog. Those who know her, her name is Lottie. She loves everyone, she’s got a great nature. She was just given to us at such an important time when we needed something else to focus on, something else to love and fill the hole, and that’s what she did. Not only that, but she filled the place in our hearts.
We then went from 1 to 4, but that wasn’t straight away, that was over some time. I’m smiling now because we’ve got 3, apologies, I can just hear them in the background. If you’ve got a bit of warping going on in the background there, just think about that. Just the physicality of you sharing about Dave’s excitement and enthusiasm. I think sometimes you require that positivity, don’t you? You require something tangible that you can physically hold on to.
I think it was really significant because no matter what they say, I genuinely think that men and women deal with things in different ways. I did have a lot of counselling, and I took that up, but Dave had a couple of sessions of counselling, but not so much. So, I think the way that we process things can be different, and for him, it was like the key in the lock. It gave him purpose, something to focus on. He’d take the dog for a walk, and it got him… I think if he hadn’t had that, he would have found it difficult because it gets you out, into nature, talking to people, and it gives you a routine.
Our dogs, if anyone who knows us, Dave treats our dogs like queens and kings.
It was difficult. I probably wasn’t that kind to myself, looking back. Again, because I was craving normality, I was craving to go back to where I was. Initially, I think my thought process was, “Well, I want to erase everything that’s happened and go back to a routine where it wasn’t a horrible experience.” So, I did have time off at that point, a few weeks off. We went on holiday, and then I went back to work on a phased return. Physically, I would have struggled otherwise, but yeah, I did go back to work.
Then things carried on. I then changed jobs, because again, I found it quite difficult just being in the same space, and I’ve always wondered whether my work family found that difficult as well. So, it was a bit of a bumpy ride.
Yes, I’ve claimed lots of different families now.
I think my takeaway points would be, if you’re worried about a particular symptom if you’re a patient or something unusual, it can be really scary. But do ask the team. The team I had didn’t know all the answers, but they supported me. And I think if I could stress enough if you’re worried about a symptom, we don’t always know the answers, but support is there.
Also, never assume things are always run-of-the-mill. This is an extraordinary case, if you look at it from a medical point of view. It’s not going to happen to lots of people, but it has a huge impact. So, I think understanding is key. I’m just an ordinary girl; these things happen. It’s never an easy decision to end a path, end a journey, or stop treatment that you know is likely to end the pregnancy, but sometimes those hard decisions have to be made.
You might seem okay on the outside, and you usually are, but even now, seven years down the line, there are still triggers that occasionally throw me off guard, and you think, “Oh, you’re back.” It’s with you all the time, and it’s a huge learning experience. Nobody knows all the answers, but it’s a huge learning curve.
And if healthcare professionals are watching this, and they take one thing away from this, it’s to know that there are rarities like me, where your body doesn’t like your own hormones. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens, and you never know who the next person might be.
I think if I hadn’t gone through this experience, I’m not sure I would be on this path now. I wouldn’t be doing a PhD. I probably wouldn’t be lecturing and educating. I just don’t think that would have happened. It made me think that there is a positive I can do here. I can pursue a passion and give it my best shot. Also, I’m stubborn! I want this mashed brain to get working again. It’s not going to just sit there full of hormones it doesn’t like. I’m going to get it up and running again—which took a lot of time. I had a lot of cognitive symptoms: memory problems, and brain fog. So finding something for me was important.
