In the beginning

MiniM scan at 12 weeksAn alternative title to this would be “How MiniM was made”‘ but let’s not go there!

This post came about, because someone I know told me that his partner was pregnant after a few months of trying. So I thought I would tell the story of MrsM and I.

When MrsM and I got together, we didn’t talk about children. I had had a vasectomy in a previous relationship, had children and thought that MrsM knew and understood that there wouldn’t be any children in our marriage. After a few years MrsM turned her mind to nest-building, and eventually after a lot of arguments and me being selfish and stubborn, we decided that the time was right to start a family.

But, there was the problem of the vasectomy!

Not a problem, argued MrsM. We spoke to Doctors and made countless enquiries, and eventually found a Surgeon who had a very good success rate. But he was expensive. And in Northumbria.

The appointment was made, and we travelled up to Northumbria, and had a consultation with him. He was very good and suggested that if things went well, there was a 40% chance that the reversal would be successful. Yes, that’s right. 40%!! But we decided that we wanted a family so much that it was worth it for these odds.

I went under the knife (subject of a different story) and following a period of recovery (6 weeks with no ‘activity’) sent my first ‘sample’ off which came back as positive! The operation had been successful. That was really good news and we commenced ‘Operation Fertilise’ in earnest.

To begin with it was fun, let’s be honest isn’t it always? But then we weren’t pregnant, and we wanted to be.

So we started trying to work out when MrsM was at her most fertile. We bought testing kits, thermometers, books, magazines, you name it, we had it. But still every month we had the “I’ve started” followed by tears, hugs and “never mind” platitudes.

There were some funny moments, when for example, I was expected to ‘perform’ when my Parents were over and in the next bedroom. But we dreaded coming up to that time of the month, and we were on tenterhooks.

After about 9 months of nothing happening (I mean in the pregnancy stakes) we went to the Doctor to suggest that we go for IVF. Time was pressing and we couldn’t afford the luxury of taking our time. Our Doctor was very good, and suggested some tests first to make sure everything was working properly. MrsM tested first and she was found to be in good working order, so that meant it was down to me.

I provided my little sample and left it at the hospital for the sperms to be counted. When we rang the Doctor for the result, he told us that there were no sperms! Floods of tears later, we found ourselves in the Doctors surgery again, being told that if I had no sperms, then there was no chance of babies. But as he talked to us and showed us the results, I noticed that the hospital had messed up my sample. It should have been tested within 24 hours of ‘collection’ but they hadn’t. As a result, my poor little sperms had all died.

A new sample revealed that I was, in fact, quite fertile and fully functioning thank you very much. So off we went, counting days, taking temperatures and not feeling dreadfully romantic about the whole process.

And the roller coaster of emotions continued. Each month we would say “This is it, it’ll be this month. I can feel it” and each month our hopes and expectations would be crashed and crushed.

A couple more months of heartache and tears passed and we had an appointment to seeFirst ever photo of MiniM the Doctor to finalise arrangements for him to refer us to the Specialist for IVF. As we sat down in the Doctors room, he opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him and said. “We won’t need that appointment, we’re pregnant”.

We had done the tests, several times. We had done the whooping round the house. We had hugged, kissed, laughed and cried. We were pregnant!

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