This week is Fertility Awareness Week and this year’s initiative highlights the mental health and wellbeing implications of fertility issues. We’d like to thank this member for sharing their story in the hope that it helps and supports someone else on their journey. Contact any committee member if you would like to contribute your own member story on any women’s issue.

Member Story

“When are you having kids then?” I dreaded hearing those words. Married for 4 years and over 30, it seemed like the world and his wife thought my sex life should be a matter of public record.

Infertility is one of those subjects that no one likes to talk about and if you do bring it up you are often met with an uncomfortable silence or well-meaning but, frankly, patronising advice – “Have you just tried relaxing?” was one such pearl of wisdom offered to me.

I am one of the lucky ones, thanks to our wonderful NHS I have been able to have two children but plenty of women, including women I met along my fertility journey who are now close friends, are not as fortunate. According to the NHS, 1 in 7 couples will encounter some type of fertility problem during their journey to parenthood. The stats also tell us that 8 out of 10 couples will conceive, if the woman is under 40, within 2 years as long as they are having regular sex.

But what happens if those months and years go by and you’ve yet to have any success?

My journey on the infertility road began when I failed to have a period in over a year despite coming off hormonal contraception. I was sent for a multitude of tests resulting in a diagnosis of PCOS – Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. I’d never heard of it before, but research told me that it is believed to affect as many as 1 in 10 women. Reading the long list of symptoms, it became clear that I’d been showing signs of the condition since puberty (irregular periods, frequent acne breakouts, unwanted hair, etc). As it is only in recent years that doctors have learned more about it, my symptoms had been dismissed at the time as just “one of those things” and I’d been put on the contraceptive pill at 16.

Whilst the NHS staff I came into contact with were empathetic and unfailingly supportive, especially when I cried on their shoulders through countless appointments, you can’t get away from the indignity of the tests you have to go through – internal scans (sarcastically christened “DildoCam” by one of my fellow “barrens”, as we referred to ourselves), an HSG (where dye is injected into your womb and fallopian tubes to check for blockages – not the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had) and a hysteroscopy (camera inspection of the womb) under general anaesthetic for me, plus countless sperm tests for my husband to make sure he didn’t have issues too.

Infertility is an emotional rollercoaster with occasional highs and soul-destroying lows – no matter how many times you see that “negative” pregnancy test, it still hits you like a punch to the stomach. And all this time you are putting on a brave face to the outside world and smiling “happily” when friends/family/colleagues tell you they are expecting.

Society still seems to think of infertility as taboo and almost shameful – I mean you’re warned about how easy it is to get pregnant during Sex-Ed at school right? Reproduction – it’s a fundamental part of life, and here I am failing at it. Failing at being a woman. At least, that is how it felt to me.

As time went on and appointments became part of my routine I was able to see the funny side, occasionally. If you can’t laugh you’ll cry and I’d already done a lot of that! Having worked in racing and bloodstock for so long I was able to joke with the nurses at the fertility clinic that I knew now how the broodmares felt – poked and prodded, blood samples taken, internal scans to check the number of follicles on my ovaries and injections of hormones to get my cycle going. At least I didn’t have to stand in the stocks!

2.5 years after my diagnosis and after several failed treatment types, I finally conceived on my third month of Ovulation Induction (OI) treatment – similar to IVF in that you have to inject yourself with daily hormones to trigger follicle growth, tracked with scans every few days to make sure you are not overstimulating and then given a trigger injection to force ovulation. At least the act of conception was done the old-fashioned way.

About 18 months later I started the process again for my second child and thankfully, as we knew what my issues were, we were able to jump straight back into OI, after my husband and I had undergone some routine health checks and waited for an available slot at the busy fertility clinic. Again, I conceived on the third cycle of treatment and 3 years and 1 month to the day after Child #1 had arrived, Child #2 made a dramatic entrance into the world – but that is another story.

I was lucky in many ways, not just in having a supportive husband and a handful of close friends to confide in, but once I knew the path I had to go down I informed my employer who couldn’t have been more accommodating in allowing me the necessary time off to attend appointments, and the occasional duvet day when the emotional toll began to get on top of me.

I am more than happy to talk about my experiences now, but in the depths of it all you can feel like you are the only one walking this road. So next time you start to ask a woman that question – “When are you having kids?”, just pause for a moment. She might just be dreading hearing it.

Help and support

For information and support on your own fertility journey you can visit Racing Home here to read advice and guidance. Alternatively just type ‘fertility’ into the search bar on racinghome.org.uk.