The surgery took quite a while to recover from. If I wasn’t a professional singer, it may not have been that noticeable, but I use my abdominal muscles to brace and they all felt traumatised. Getting through a handful of songs was a huge effort.
My surgeon suggested a 2 month break before trying to fall pregnant again. Fine by me! Although you can’t escape the ticking as another birthday looms. We weren’t trying. We weren’t NOT trying. But somehow I was pregnant again, 3 weeks after the surgery.
I was very cautious this time. My period wasn’t even late but I had an inkling and did a home test anyway. I rang my IVF doctor to arrange a blood test. The nurse rang to give me the results. Yes you are pregnant, so congratulations, but your doctor wants to speak to you. I bit my lip and waited til I was able to call. Once you fall pregnant, the pregnancy hormones rise rapidly with each day, and this gives them an idea of whether it’s a viable pregnancy.
Mine was not a viable pregnancy.
It made me think that perhaps if we did early pregnancy tests every month, that there would be a lot of false alarms. I resolved not to do any more early tests. I would wait until my period was well and truly late.
I realised that in the space of a year I’d had a laproscopy, 3 rounds of IVF, 2 natural pregnancies, 2 miscarriages and 1 surgery. I was hurtling towards my mental cut-off age of 42 and I was starting to get a bit scared about trying anymore. If, according to the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, 42 is the answer to the meaning of life, then for me at this moment, it was feeling like a prophecy. If I could jump back in time to age 35, 30, 25, and was in a position relationship-wise to fall pregnant, would I have had the same problems with fertility? Would this have happened anyway? Was the universe telling me that not only had it sent me a fabulous husband, but he came with 3 lovely children as well, giving me the family I wanted? Perhaps.