In 2021, we shared our fertility journey during Fertility Week. At that stage, we were in the thick of treatment and had just qualified for publicly funded fertility treatment. Nearly four years later, we thought it was time for an update.
The story continued…
I’m not even sure where to start.
What a journey this has been since we last shared. I’m currently lying on the floor, forgetting all my adult responsibilities, acting as a crash pad for our 15kg son while our eldest remains hypnotised by Peppa Pig. My wife, Holly, and our developing foetus are napping after a day of fuelling growing children (both in and out of utero). Our soccer mum van is parked outside after a reluctant trade-in from the blacked-out sports model we used to rock around in. I guess we’ve seen some light in the middle of our turbulent journey to parenthood.
After 43 blood tests, 11 scans, a year of our lives and around $18K, we decided Holly would have one last attempt at IUI before taking a break and waiting our turn for publicly funded fertility treatment. It’s like the universe could sense how down we were at this stage in our rollercoaster because the test was POSITIVE! We lived in baby bliss until the 12-week scan. We both had a really bad gut feeling about how this scan might go, neither of us voiced our feelings to the other as to not put a dark cloud over what should have been a happy, reassuring day.
It turns out our instinct was right. We learned that the baby we so longed for had stopped growing at 8 weeks, and there was no heartbeat. Even though, to this point, there were no signs that anything was going wrong, we knew in our hearts that today would be devastating. Aside from the medical interventions required, we were quite empty. Tears obviously came first. Little did we know the trauma from this, which might seem minor to others, and a normal risk, would weigh on us for quite some time. I think we still carry this lost life with us and honour it every year on its estimated due date.
Testing on the surgically removed tissue showed that it was a molar pregnancy, a random mash-up of genetic material that would never have created life anyway. This diagnosis entailed months of follow-up due to the various risks attached. A full work-up, x-rays, regular bloodwork and the limitation that Holly couldn’t undergo any further fertility treatments until her HCG (pregnancy hormone) dropped to zero. We were told this could take around six months, assuming there were no other complications.
I don’t know why Holly and I ever decided to keep thoughts from each other, we’re always on the same page. One night in the kitchen, she came in and said hesitantly, “I’ve been thinking”. I had been thinking too… about the possibility of me trying to conceive. As hard as it was to grieve the loss of what she had carried, we decided I would attempt an IUI because all we wanted at this stage was to start a family, and it hurt us more that we hadn’t been able to yet, despite all our attempts.
Whoever’s in charge up in the clouds has a quirky way of only allowing things to happen when the timing is right, when you’ve grown enough as a person and are ready for the challenges the next chapter may throw at you. This loss changed us as people and as a couple, and I think we needed that to help us raise a child.
My first attempt at IUI was successful, and our daughter, Ledger, was born in June 2022. The parallel story is that Holly’s public funding also became available that same month. As I quickly laboured our daughter out, Holly was injecting her IVF drugs in the corner. We copped a fair whack of judgment for this and were initially scared to tell our ever-so-patient, understanding midwife of our plans. Part of us was so scarred by our previous failures that we didn’t want to delay IVF in case we encountered more, so we tried for #2 before #1 even took her first breaths of that sweet, polluted earth air.
In May 2023, our son was born 😅. It has been really tough, but nothing is as sh*tty as the emotional journey it took to get here. The overwhelming feeling of love for our miracles and knowing how lucky we are to have the opportunity to raise two healthy kids gets us through.
So, yes… Holly is now pregnant with our third child. We have every hope that they too will be a healthy wee gremlin. It’s early days, and we know the potential for loss that this path hides, so we’re just living day by day and enjoying the two sweet angels we physically have to hold.
Mostly, people are supportive of how we live our lives and the decisions we make, especially those close to us and those we’ve let into our circle. It continues to blow my mind when respect and support are conditional though.
Two kids are normal, but three… ”Are you sure?“
Less than a year gap is very small… ”How will you manage?“
”You’ve both carried a child now, you must be done”
”Oh, you want to breastfeed the child your wife birthed? I think you’ll need to have a consultation with our lactation specialist, I don’t know if you can do that”
Something that has helped us both with society’s reactions is the idea that this is our island, our tree hut in the jungle, and we can choose who we let in. Not only have we felt the emotions of this adventure first-hand, but also having to answer to everyone else is a pain. I’ve adopted the same method of smiling (but internally ignoring people) to raising our kids. So far, it’s worked.
We are both mentally stable, the kids seem to be thriving in between tantrums, and we have a safe roof over our heads…
It doesn’t really get much better.
