Secondary infertility brings a complex mess of emotions: desire, guilt and relentless longing. It affects 1 in 10 women and I’m one of them.

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I remember so acutely the longing for a baby. An unbearable ache in my gut, a constant gnawing in my brain. It was the incessant tick-tock of my body clock, my very biology driving my emotions and desires.

But with severe endometriosis and polycystic ovaries, coupled with my husband’s almost total infertility due to mumps as a child, our chances of conceiving naturally were zero, experts said.

After years of surgery, trying to get pregnant, and failed IVF, the shrill cry of despair in my soul was impossible to quieten. In 2015, I silenced friends’ pregnancy posts on Facebook, muted new mums on social media and stopped socialising.

Anyone who has been through infertility knows these actions do not stem from envy or jealousy. I have always been thrilled for those with babies to enjoy, and understood what a beautiful, special time they were in the thick of.

I just couldn’t bear being without a child of my own to love and cherish, and needed a mental break from it all. I made do with weighted teddies for physical comfort as my empty arms ached so badly for a baby to cuddle. I kept them so that one day I could show my child what I’d done to cope before she or he arrived and how much I’d longed to be a mum.

Isolation

The only people I spent time with were the ones I could share the depth of my emotional anguish with - unhindered, uncensored and unashamed. It was a small circle consisting of my husband Andy, our immediate family and my two best friends.

I opened up more as time went on, unwilling to suffer the unfair taboo of infertility alone, but life sometimes felt meaningless without a baby. I’d wanted to be a mum since I was 15 and I couldn’t wait any more.

After our third round of IVF, we finally reached the stage where our embryo was transferred to my womb - we’d not made it that far previously. Our precious Amelia arrived in the autumn of 2016 and I was deliriously happy. Our long wait to become parents was finally over. 

Millie has been the centre of our universe for three and a half special years. My eyes sting with tears every time we listen to music because it’s a miracle Millie’s here, requesting Bohemian Rhapsody for the fifth time in a row. I am mindful every single day how lucky we are to have her, even when she’s driving me around the bend.

Unexpected feelings

Every now and then however, that screeching, impossible-to-ignore longing for a baby rears its ugly head. It peaked when friends who’d had babies the same time as me announced second babies were on the way. I was happy for them and sad for me. I was sad for Millie too, as I’ve been an only child my whole life and even now as a 33-year-old woman, I hate that I don’t have any siblings. I didn’t want that loneliness for Millie.

I was, of course, happy to see my friends’ beautiful toddlers promoted to big brother or sister. But the complex emotions that come hand-in-hand with secondary infertility - being unable to conceive or maintain a pregnancy after you’ve fallen pregnant previously - began to hit me in waves, badly, when I least expected it.

When I had Millie, I really thought these feelings of longing for a baby wouldn’t surface again. I was so naive. 

Because that pang of pain whenever I saw baby bumps and ultrasound pictures returned, prompting discussions privately between Andy and I. Would we try for another baby? Could we deal with the stresses and strains of IVF again? When would we even have the money for the £5k price-tag of one round?

I’ve suffered chronic pain since I was 15 and things became extra tough during pregnancy. Four years on and sadly I’m in no better a state, despite three more operations since Millie’s birth to fix the problems in my hip, and deal with more endometriosis.

It prompts questions about my physical capacity to be a mum-of-two, as well as whether or not I am ready (or willing) to put my body through the gruelling IVF process again, with all the hormone injections, pills, pessaries and daily dildo cams (if you know, you know).

Gratitude

I am, of course, very grateful to have our precious daughter and am mindful of others who’ve been trying to conceive since before we did and who still do not have a baby. I know many parents who’ve suffered devastating losses through miscarriages, stillbirths and the unbearable grief of losing a child.

I’ve just this week edited a heartbreaking letter from an endometriosis-suffering mum who waited twenty years for her miracle son - yet who now has to wish him a happy birthday in heaven. He died at just 13 weeks old. I am not ignorant of the tragedies that take place. I know they happen all the time. I feel immense sadness for these parents, and guilt for longing in this way for a second baby when some haven’t even had the fortune of a first.

When my natural longing for a second child comes, I hug Millie tight and thank my lucky stars she is here at all. But being grateful doesn’t negate my desire for another baby. Just like many other families, I want my daughter to have a sibling. I don’t want her world to revolve around her parents. She is caring, kind, sweet, big-hearted, nurturing and would make a fantastic big sister. I also want her to have the support only a sibling can bring when Andy and I are old and grey.

But we also need to save loads of money for maternity leave as I’m self employed, and find around £5,000 for one frozen cycle of IVF – and there’s no guarantee it will work. We have six embryos on ice and I often wonder if we’ll ever get to use them. 

Secondary infertility is a complex beast with a mess of emotions. Desire, guilt and relentless longing. The happy endings I hear about couples conceiving naturally after IVF are wonderful, but our infertility can’t be cured. 

So here I am. I’m the one in 10 women dealing with secondary infertility. I can only hope that someday we have another baby. I’ve always dreamt of having at least three children, and the same for Andy.

But, if it doesn’t happen, Millie is enough – absolutely more than enough. She’s a beautiful, sassy, intelligent, wilful, stubborn, funny, gorgeous girl who fills my heart. She made me a mama and for that I’m endlessly grateful.

*If you’re struggling to conceive, the Infertility Network is a great resource.  SANDS and Tommy’s are also available for support and information about miscarriage, stillbirth and child loss.  

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