Not only is it my fault, but it is my fault SPECIFICALLY because I want children too much.
Don't worry I am not going to start banging on about how my desire to reproduce has inhibited the relaxed state of mind that most people seem to think is the only thing standing between an infertile and a rampant breeder.
For the past four years whilst I have been as impregnable as the Berlin wall (pre-1989) I have had one small crumb of comfort.
It didn’t think my fault. I assumed there was nothing I could have done differently that would have affected my breeding potential. It was just ‘one of those things’.
My age wasn’t a deciding factor. My weight wasn’t a problem. My drug taking had never been more than studenty. And the husband didn’t spend his youth over-heating his spherical sperm sculptors in tight leather trousers.
So when we couldn’t get pregnant and all the tests indicated nothing wrong other than a dodgy womb lining at least I knew it was fate at fault.
However a bit of reading has disabused me of this stance.
To explain I am going to have to take you back to my mid twenties.
*Insert wavy hand motions here.*
The husband and I (then the boyfriend and I) were living happily in sin. We both knew that marriage and kids was a when not if. We were happy with this. (Except every time I got drunk when I'd start haranguing him about when we were going to get married. I drank a lot then. It is a wonder he stayed). But even more so I'd ask him about when we were going to have children. Initially when we'd met aged 18 and 19 respectively I hadenvisaged having children at around 25. I mean that was pretty old, right? Don't worry I didn't share this with him on our first date or else for sure we wouldn't be here today.
I waited for a least three weeks.
By the time I reached 25 I knew the time wasn't right but, at around 26 we talked about kids. I was pushing for 28, he was vehemently against it. We compromised on 30.
At this point, I had four years to wait but I decided the wait wouldn't be in vain. I'd been on the pill for years, far longer than I'd been sexually active – more in a desparete attempt to stem the flow of my terrible teenage acne. Thanks Aunty Poly Cystic-Ovaries.
I was concerned, and my logic went like this:
Birth control = no babies
Birth control for a long period of time = build up of drugs in system
Build up of drugs in system = harder to get pregnant after coming off birth control
So aged 26 I came off chemical birth control and resorted to the barrier method (by which I mean condoms, not a bunch of pillows dissecting our double non-martial bed).
Ladies, this logic is as flawed as my teenage skin.
Here is what actually happened:
Birth control = regular periods
Regular periods = monthly shedding of the womb lining
Stopping birth control = lazy-ass womb who could go happily go three or four months before a period
Lazy ass womb = womb lining clinging on for dear life and generally getting diseased
Diseased womb lining = tenacious womb lining as inhospitable to embryos as a giant panda
Tenacious womb = infertility with a side order of precancerous cells
Cure = birth control to try and dislodge the womb lining.
Since starting trying to get pregnant I have been on birth control for over a year (when you add it all up) over a quarter of the time I have been trying to get pregnant it has been a hormonal impossibility.
And all because I thought I was doing the right thing. Chances are if I'd gone straight from the pill to trying to get knocked up it would have worked.
Do you remember when I said I had very few regrets?
Well now I've got two more:
1) Giving up the pill when I did, and giving my womb a chance to grow and inch but take a mile
2) googling the condition I now have.
Oh, and you know the sweetest irony of the whole thing? The best cure for what I have? Nine months of continual progesterone hormones followed by a massive shedding of the womb lining in the form of a placenta.
Yup, you've got it.