When my husband and I met over 17 years ago, one of the first things we talked about was starting a family together. Yet after nearly a decade of trying – and around £50,000 spent – we are no closer than where we started. Thanks to an NHS postcode lottery, we were able to have just one round of funded IVF (instead of the three we should be eligible for) – an issue that means only 24 per cent of women in London get help, compared to 61 per cent in the North East, according to data from the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority (HFEA).
We started trying when I was 31, and six months later, I remember worries creeping into the back of my mind that nothing had happened. I brushed those thoughts off, but after a year, had some basic tests done. The doctors found nothing obviously wrong with my hormone levels, but I was suffering from bad pains, which would later turn out to be endometriosis – a condition where tissue similar to the lining of the womb grows in other places, like the fallopian tubes and ovaries, and makes 30-50 per cent of sufferers infertile. It was a massive shock and a lot to process, and there was little support offered. Still, I was told that “I was a great candidate for IVF”, so that seemed our best option.
After two initial operations for my endometriosis, I’d spent six months on the waitlist by the time I had my first round of IVF in Croydon in 2015. The experience was awful: I think they had made a makeshift area for IVF due to not having space in the hospital, and you could hear the doctors’ conversations with other patients, which was ridiculous.
As she did my scan, the doctor said she couldn’t see many follicles in my ovaries (the higher the count, the better the success rate). I questioned whether it was worth going ahead, but was told “we’ll just keep going because you have endometriosis, and this [follicle] is all you’re likely to get”. Women with endometriosis do have babies, so this felt unfair. But when my husband gave his sperm sample, they told him right away that my follicle had no egg in it and the doctor said we should consider using an egg donor instead. But that’s not something I want to consider. There really was no empathy at all, in spite of how devastating the news was.
After that first attempt, I needed a break; the process had been really detrimental to my mental health, leaving me with a low mood and depression, fearing that I’d never be able to have the family we wanted. We were told another NHS round wasn’t an option (as Croydon only offered one; it then ceased all IVF in 2017), so we began pursuing the private route. The experience was completely different – the doctors were very positive, encouraging and quite hopeful – and I was throwing everything at it: having acupuncture, counselling and reflexology treatments, anything that might up our chances, no matter the cost. My friends were shocked at how much we were spending, but I was willing to do everything in my control.
Sarah Carter is a health and wellness expert residing in the UK. With a background in healthcare, she offers evidence-based advice on fitness, nutrition, and mental well-being, promoting healthier living for readers.
