My fertility story

Recently I told a friend that I was expecting a baby, and after congratulating me, she joked – “of course, I wouldn’t expect anything else given what you do for a living.”  

Like my friend, you might think that because I work as a fertility nutritionist, I aced getting pregnant straight away. But the truth is, it wasn’t exactly plain sailing. In fact, it was a rocky, winding road to get to where I am now. 

It took us over 18 months from deciding to try for a baby, to making it to the 12-week scan. When we first got pregnant after a few months of trying we were over the moon – we had a couple of early scans where all was looking good, and had started to tell a few close friends and family about the pregnancy. But just as I’d started to feel more relaxed, I woke up on Christmas Eve to find that I was bleeding. Just a bit of blood at first, and I was assured by a midwife on the phone that this was probably normal for this stage of pregnancy. But the next day, when the bleeding got heavier and the blood turned from brown to bright red, I knew something was wrong. I ended up at the hospital on Boxing Day, where they confirmed what I already knew – that sadly I’d lost the baby.  

The weeks that followed were some of the darkest I’ve known, and I went deep into grief. I felt like I’d gone back to the very beginning again – like I was playing snakes and ladders, and I’d landed on the biggest snake that crosses the whole board and takes you right back to square one. 

When we started trying again, nothing happened. As the months passed I began to feel more and more like a fraud. Fertility nutrition was the area of nutrition I was most passionate about, and yet I couldn’t seem to keep a pregnancy myself. So how could I possibly advise clients on the importance of fertility nutrition? 

Unsurprisingly, I did a lot of investigation work on myself over the course of several months, and uncovered a few things about my health that I didn’t know before. For example, I had sub-optimal levels of vitamin B12 and iron, high levels of ureaplasma (a bacteria linked to infertility) and low levels of DHEA and progesterone. Some of these things were easy enough to address, but some were more tricky or time-consuming, and sometimes I felt like I couldn’t see the wood for the trees. I made myself health plans which I printed off and stuck up on the fridge, but sometimes all I wanted to do was open a bottle of wine and eat chocolate.

While we were lucky enough to get a referral from the GP to see a NHS fertility specialist, there was a lot of waiting and wondering between appointments and test results, and it sometimes felt like a battle to get to the bottom of things. After the miscarriage, we were told that to be eligible for NHS-funded IVF we’d have to wait for another two years from the date of the miscarriage (because we had managed to get pregnant, this had reset the timer for IVF) – which would mean waiting until I was 39 years old. All the while I could hear the ticking of my biological clock getting louder and louder. 

At times, it really felt like it might not happen. At times, I lost hope. At times, I honestly wondered why I was doing all the work I was doing. When I was close to losing hope, I would tell myself to focus on what I knew about nutrition and lifestyle – to implement all I’d learned to nourish my body, focusing on stress levels and gentle exercise. So many things were out of my control, but this was one thing I could control. 

When we finally did get the positive pregnancy test in August, both my husband and I failed to see the second line for a few moments. We were so used to not seeing the second line that we must have just blanked it out. In the first few weeks of pregnancy, I felt numb, and every time I went to the loo I was convinced I would see blood. It’s only now at 18 weeks that I’m starting to trust my body again, and to believe it might just happen. 

I know that my story isn’t over yet – I’m fully aware that I’m still on the journey. It feels scary to be sharing this, not knowing the outcome for certain. One thing I have noticed is that people don’t often share the bad news, the sad news, about pregnancy loss, complications, or infertility. We only usually see the polished Instagram announcements or the newborn baby photos. 

But if you do share your story, you might just find someone who’s been through a similar experience. After all, miscarriage occurs in 10-20% of pregnancies, and infertility affects 1 in 7 couples in the UK, so the chances are, some of your friends and family will have. It just takes one person to start the conversation. 

If you’re struggling right now – I get it, I’ve been there. Fertility can be a complex, many-sided puzzle… just when you think you’ve cracked it, something else pops up. It can be infuriating, heartbreaking and lonely. And all the while, life continues regardless – you get up, go to work, smile at cute babies on the bus, go to dinner with friends, plan holidays, attend baby showers, and all the rest of it.

Going on my own journey has made me even more determined to help other couples who want to have a baby. And in a way, I’m glad it wasn’t plain sailing, because I know this is going to make me a more dedicated, understanding, compassionate fertility nutritionist. I’ve experienced the highs and lows, the waiting and wondering, the tracking and testing, the loss, the hope, and all that’s in between. 

For those of you that are in the midst of your fertility journey, I send my thoughts and wishes to you. If you want to walk this road together, please do get in touch. 

Book in for your free 30-minute consultation here.