By Miriam Christie
There it was again. A big fat ‘no’. I wasn’t pregnant – and it wasn’t fair. So much invested time, money and hope, to have everything dashed by a pregnancy stick.
Glen and I had started trying for a baby pretty much as soon as we got back from our honeymoon. We both knew we wanted a family and I was well aware that me being 33 meant that the clock was ticking.
After six months of trying, however, I started to worry there was something wrong. I explained the situation to my GP through a mortifying torrent of tears and was referred to a specialist, which is where our five-year journey of assisted fertility began.
Glen had a sperm test and I had a number of checks for issues with my ovaries or fallopian tubes, but nothing showed up. Part of me was relieved there was nothing obviously ‘wrong’ with me. On the other hand, I sort of wished there was somethi
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