I can honestly say that throughout my experience with cancer I only thought ‘WHY ME?’ one time. That moment came in the office of a fertility specialist four months after being given the all clear. The treatment which had saved my life had also decimated my egg count. Where I should have been at 35 or 40 on the scale of being able to conceive, I was a two. I was a two, and I was pissed off.
The doctor tried to reassure me, explaining that there were other ways, and anyway, it might happen! He told me a few stories of women who conceived naturally despite the odds being stacked against them. I felt like telling him to fuck off. I was in a dark place.
Over the following weeks I shared the bad news with some friends, who all did their best to reassure me. Many of them had their own stories of friends of friends who surprised themselves by getting pregnant when they thought they weren’t able to. I shut them down one by one. I didn’t want to hear about the exceptions, because they were exceptions. I couldn’t bank on being an exception when I knew the probability was that I would be the rule.
Then, a few months after we started trying, I got pregnant. We spent the seven weeks between finding out and going for a scan in total disbelief, barely telling anyone, and trying not to get our hopes up. This wasn’t meant to have happened! Then, last week, we saw our baby wriggling around on a screen in The Rotunda, and now there is simply no denying it. No matter what happens now there is a baby of our creation, and I have become the exception.
We are absolutely delighted and a little bit terrified at the prospect of becoming proper adults, but I gather that’s a normal way to feel. We are also incredibly grateful that we have beaten the odds.