Sarah’s story
Meet the man of your dreams, fall in love, settle down and have children. Live happily ever after, or so the fairy tales you are told as a child would have you believe. But life is not a fairy tale, and so often does not work out that way. I have always opted to walk the road less travelled. Therefore, when Prince Charming did not come knocking at my door, or maybe he did but could not find me, as I spent my thirties sailing around the oceans, travelling the world. But I knew I needed to take steps into my own hands if my dream of motherhood was to become a reality. I strongly believe it is better to regret things you tried and failed than regret the things you didn’t have the courage to even try. I made the decision to become a solo mother by choice and take the chance of getting pregnant by IVF via sperm donation.
Finally, at the age of 39, I started IVF on 3rd July 2023. However, the week before I started the injection, my father, whom I had been estranged from for nearly 20 years, made contact to inform us that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer but was hoping to start chemotherapy and was optimistic he could beat it. I knew only too well the prognosis of this type of cancer, so I had to decide whether to continue along my path to motherhood and whether to allow my father back into my life at what was a pivotal point.
I made the difficult decision to continue as planned, only now I was not only hoping that the IVF worked, but that my father survived long enough for us to reconcile. One of my wishes came true.
I completed the first month of my injections, but my father rapidly deteriorated. Although I was unable to get answers to some of the questions that had shaped my life, I visited him in the hospital, granting him his greatest wish: to see me. A few days later, on 1st August 2023, I received the call that he did not have long to live. I set off to see him one last time. He died surrounded by his friends. I did not make it in time. They say IVF is a rollercoaster, but I never anticipated my father dying. Luckily, I had my father’s grit and determination, or stubbornness as some would say, so stopping never even entered my head. I just knew that in a few weeks I would be pregnant for the first time in my life.
So, I ploughed forward with my egg collection and was relieved to find out that I had 13 eggs retrieved. I then had five days to see if any made it to the blastocyst stage. During this time, I spent my days at my father’s home, and what I found there helped heal the wounds left from my childhood. His house was a shrine to his children, whom he had kept an eye on over the years. This allowed for all the happy memories growing up to come flooding back and for me to see things clearly for the first time in my life.
On 14th August, I found out that two embryos had made it to high-grade blastocysts. I was overjoyed but also disappointed, for I had this feeling that I needed three. Everything had gone perfectly, and I had a fresh embryo transferred. I will never forget the first time I tested positive, although I knew from the moment I walked out of the clinic, I wasn’t just PUPO, I was with absolute certainty PREGNANT. My baby felt like a gift, like my father had died to make space on earth for his grandchild. Hearing the baby’s heartbeat for the first time was magical.
Due to a severe weather warning, I attended my 12-week scan alone on 19th October, a date that would forever change the picture of my life I had in my mind. I had none of the usual anxieties as I had seen baby two weeks earlier, on discharge from the IVF clinic. People say that your life can change in seconds. Well, hearing the words ‘there is something wrong with your baby’ was all it took to force me down the hardest road I have ever walked in my life. They said words ‘cystic hygroma, megacystis, necrotic kidneys’, I heard them, but it was like I was paralysed, unable to even breathe. I do not remember getting home, but the next words I did hear were from my mum, ‘I’m on my way’.
The weeks that followed were like a living nightmare; my baby was diagnosed with megacystis, and I was referred to fetal medicine. In between appointments, I spent my time researching the condition. If there was a way to help and save my baby, then I was determined to find it. At this point, the beacon of light that is ‘hope’ still shone bright. Unfortunately, with each article I read, that light dimmed a little more. I returned to fetal medicine, knowing my baby’s bladder should be less than 11mm. When I looked at the screen and saw this big black area, I knew immediately that it was not. It was 22mm at 13 weeks, so I asked, ‘Can you get us to 24 weeks with some degree of lung function?’ My consultant took the time to explain what she could do to help the baby, but that it could not be done until 16 weeks of gestation. I refused to accept what I knew to be true. I needed more time. So, I took another week to consider my options.
On returning to fetal medicine, my baby’s bladder had doubled in size. I turned to the consultant, saying I have come here asking for hope, and you have given me none. I have never met someone able to annihilate your hope in such an empathetic manner. I signed a consent form to terminate the pregnancy for medical reasons. It was only then that she said words that brought me the most comfort, and I share them hoping they do the same for others: ‘You have not changed the outcome, you have taken control of the timing’.
I delivered my son at 13:39 on the 7th November 2023. I was 14+6 weeks. I got to see him and hold him. I made a promise to him that would become my source of strength. I told him that although I am broken, losing him will not break me; my love for him will allow me to keep moving forward. He will be the greatest love of my life, always and forever. I named him ‘Murphy’, meaning warrior of the seas.
I do not remember much of what happened over the next few months. The grief became all-consuming. As soon as I could, I pushed forward into another embryo transfer. I just needed to be pregnant for my 40th Birthday. I remember crying on the table as they transferred the embryo into my now-empty womb. The transfer did not work.
The rage that comes with grief was so intense, for you see, at this point, I would have not only watched the world burn, but I would be the one lighting the fuse. I searched desperately for help, but everywhere I looked, help was directed at couples; there was no one like me, a solo mum living with the burden of the ‘choice’ she had been forced to make alone. At this point, I was unable to process things clearly, for my heart was too broken to feel anything but pain. I just felt rage and hatred for everyone around me, especially towards people I had deemed unworthy of having children.
I just wanted the pain to stop, and although I was never suicidal, I suffered from intrusive thoughts. So much so that when I committed to doing a sky dive to mark Murphy’s due date, 1st May 2024, I really didn’t care if the parachute opened. For that would mark the end of the pain that grief brings. I did not expect what happened, for as cliché as it sounds, it’s only when you hit rock bottom that you can start to build yourself back up. Instead, I found the sky dive exhilarating, which marked a turning point in my journey. For it was the first time since losing my son that I felt like I was living and not merely surviving.
After this, I reminded myself of the promise to him and just kept moving. For I had started to believe that no matter what happened in my journey, I knew that I would honour that promise by creating a happy life for myself. I had my final embryo waiting for me, and when I felt ready, I took a chance and had it transferred on 17th May 2024. I knew that Murphy was guiding me, and so the transfer would work.
Only those who have endured pregnancy after loss will ever understand the anxiety you experience. Unable to really settle, relax and enjoy the experience. I am not ashamed to admit I needed various kinds of therapy to help me cope with being pregnant, to not let the fear overwhelm me. Therapy helped me process that there is never a reason for someone to lose a baby or child. Therapy helped me to realise that everyone’s loss is special because it is unique to them. You instantly become a member of a club that no one wants to be in, where only the members can understand each other’s pain. I stopped seeing termination for medical reasons as a burden to carry, but as the greatest act of love I could ever give my baby, who had a terminal prognosis. For I had taken the lifetime of pain away and with it set him free. For it is only the power of a mother’s love that gives you the strength needed to survive a TFMR.
After everything, I still consider myself exceptionally lucky. I gave birth to my beautiful baby daughter, who was kissed by an angel and born on 27th January 2025. She is the very best of me and is healing me in ways I didn’t even know I needed. Forever the light of my life, who helped me find my way out of the darkness.
I am eternally grateful to my children. My son, for giving me the greatest gift of all and awakening a mother’s love. To my daughter for coming to me when I needed her and allowing me to love her every day of her life, for she has my entire heart.
For anyone struggling, these words helped me:
Grief is just love with nowhere to go. You must learn to walk with grief, for where there is grief, there is love. He lived a perfect life for all he knew was you, so all he knew was love.