I Had No Idea that I Would Still be Childless Ten Years On
I was a teenager when I decided that I didn’t want to have kids.
I was 10 years old when my youngest brother was born. He was just so adorable, beautiful and kissable and I loved him to bits. During the early months, I slept in my parents’ room with my mum to help with night feeds and care for him. Before that, I hadn’t known how hard it was to look after a baby. I had begged my mum to have a baby and promised to help if I had another sibling.
I looked after my brother during my school holidays. As he got older it became harder to look after him. He was constantly on the move and I had to run after him as he started to walk, touch and eat everything. It was exhausting. My lie-ins were disrupted as he got up early and wanted to eat.
While my heart melted when I was away from him and he was always on my mind, I just didn’t think being a parent was right for me.
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My perspective changed when I fell in love with my now husband. I wanted us to have babies that were part of us. Emotion and love won over the practicalities of being a parent that had made me reluctant in the past. Those practicalities didn’t matter anymore and would be worth it. After all, I frequently heard parents who were family members, friends, patients, people I met at events, complain about how hard parenting was. However, the complaints almost always end with ‘but I wouldn’t change it for the world’. I knew having our babies would definitely be worth it.
I was approaching my mid 30s when we started trying to conceive. I had never been pregnant before and I knew that the endometriosis I had been diagnosed with at age 10 could affect my fertility. But I convinced myself to be positive and told myself that it was unlikely to be a problem. I expected it could take a year.
Within 6 months I had emergency surgery for a ruptured bleeding ovarian cyst. I became pregnant around 4 months after that surgery; exactly one year after we had started trying to conceive; just like the statistics say, right? In my mind, it was meant to be, and all was good! I had pregnancy symptoms and was going to become a mum!
When I saw some spotting in my underwear a few weeks later I didn’t worry. I then thought, ‘what would you tell your patient?’ I knew the answer. I would have advised they attend the early pregnancy unit just to check. So, I went. I went alone as I thought it was just a reassurance check. During the scan I was so calm; I wasn’t even focused on the possibility something might be wrong. So, when the ultrasonographer told me she couldn’t see a heartbeat and that I had had a missed miscarriage, I was shocked. Then tearful. I remember being in the early pregnancy unit crying. I saw a mum and dad with their baby and a toddler. I felt the blow of seeing them as I had just been told my baby was not alive.
At the time I had no idea that I would go on to have 3 further miscarriages. Some of them would be physically traumatic, but all would result in tears, grief and deep sense of loss. The loss of our babies, the loss of the vision of our family, the loss of sense of belonging.
I also had no idea that I would still be childless 10 years on.
I frequently hear the stories of a friend of a friend or relative of a friend who struggled to become pregnant or had repeated miscarriages and then became pregnant and had a child; it always happens to someone else. I have always hoped this story would be me someday but now I know this will never happen. My endometriosis symptoms became so unbearable that I had to restart hormone treatment. I never want to have a period again; I’d prefer to be pregnant but as that’s not an option, I’ll just take the hormones. I just can’t face the pain.
The bizarre thing is that I felt relieved when I decided that my fertility journey was over. The uncertainty of whether I would ever become pregnant and have a baby was affecting me every day.
I had no idea that my fertility journey would change the trajectory of my career, wear out my body, impact almost every aspect of my life and make me feel excluded and alone.
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There are other options and routes to starting a family. It depends on why one wants children. The why is so important. Some people might not understand your why, but your why determines your motives and actions.
There’s also the other why’s that we ask ourselves over and over again. Why is this happening to me? Why am I losing my babies? Why can’t I get pregnant? And then, when will I have my baby? But we don’t always get the answers.
I needed an answer. So, I decided to create one for myself. I decided that something good had to come from all of my pain. Although infertility and miscarriage had heavily affected my career as a GP and Medical Director, my skills could be used to help people who were also going through the same experience. I could help others feel less alone, help them take care of their needs and help them to feel supported.
This is how I am making peace with the pain of the last 10 years.
I really hope you don’t ever have to live with infertility or lose your baby. If you do my heart goes out to you. Please get help; your mind, your body will appreciate it.
Sending love xx
Belinda Coker, MRCGP, MBBS
Your Trusted Squad
