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For months, I had been filling my body with artificial hormones.
Provera, a tablet taken for 5 days to help bring on a period
(I have had PCOS since age 16, so whilst not ever getting my period as a teenager and young adult was considered ‘cool’, I never quite realised the affect and toll it would have on my body as I started trying for children).
So, Provera for 5 days, followed by Letrozole, taken on the third day of a bleed, which assists a woman’s body in ovulating.

Saturday 14th October 2017, we’re getting ready for a wedding.
I’m trying on clothes with 20 minutes to leave feeling frustrated with the weight I’ve gained from the hormone injections.
I’m angry, I feel disgusting. I don’t want to go.
I don’t want to be surrounded by people celebrating, whilst I’m internally suffering.
Am I selfish for having these horrible thoughts?
Does it make me a bad person to not want to join in the happiness of others?
“Nicole, snap out of it”, the other voice in my head, abruptly whispered.
I pull myself together quickly, to avoid Adam seeing me in a state. I wipe my tears on my bare arm and walk from room to room trying on clothes to make me feel somewhat decent for the day.
“Okay I’m ready, let’s go!”
We hop in the car.
Adam tells me he wants me to have a few drinks,
“you deserve it, Nic”.
I turn my head to the window and watch the houses and trees quickly pass by, and under my breath, I bitterly whisper to myself,
“I deserve a baby.”

We arrive.
My social anxiety is at an all time high.
I’m holding Adams hand so tight and sweating so much, he pulls me aside and re-assures me he’ll be right by my side all night.
“Okay, I’m alright, I can do this, let’s go in!”
I put on face. Adam’s got me, and I’ve got this.
We sit down at the table, the waiter starts pouring everyone a glass of wine. As we cheers, I bring it close to my mouth, but something in my gut, tells me to stop. So I stop, put down my wine glass and take a sip of my sparkling water.

The next day (too impatient to wait for my 7.30am Tuesday blood test with the clinic), I would find out via home test, that that something in my gut, was our baby.
I was so anxious, and cautious to get excited for the third time.
“What if it’s a false positive? I can’t tell Adam and then let him down all over again if it’s not real!”
So I pace downstairs and tell him I’m going to the shops for groceries.
He nods, his eyes are glued to his PlayStation game.
But I lied.
The pharmacist, for more tests, was my destination.
I rush into my car, and drive. The 5 minute car ride home was torture. It was the longest 5 minutes ever!
So I start prepping myself. “You’ve been here before, you know you can handle anything, any outcome.
You’re okay, Nic”, on repeat.
I return home, Adam’s still playing his game.
Yes, perfect. No disruptions.
But, not perfect.
Now, I have to wait until morning.
“Dammit. It’s past my first urine of the day, it’s not going to work. Everything is ruined!”, I say to myself.
But, it’s not.
Determined, I force myself to go, and succeed.
The test shows me I’m 1-2 weeks pregnant.
Third time lucky, this was it. This was our lucky number 3!
I run downstairs and jump on Adam with tears, waving the test in his face. He is ecstatic.

Tuesday 17th October, I go in for my blood test.
I’m feeling pretty chuffed. This time, I know I’m pregnant, which eliminates the anxiousness of the 4pm confirmation call.
All things looking ahead, the phone call is followed with a congratulations, an advisement that my levels were rising nicely, and instructions on my fertility doctor wanting to see me at 8 weeks.
I was exactly 4 weeks.

20th November 2017, 8am, we are in our fertility specialists waiting room.
I’m so excited, we, are so excited.
Everything was good, I felt fine, I had all my symptoms, this was it. We were going to see our little flicker on the screen for the first time.
Except, we weren’t.

We saw a sac, we saw our baby, we saw no flicker.
It was silent, and all I heard was the heaviness in my husbands breath. I got off the bed and smiled like I was fine. I couldn’t show him I was breaking, as he was still holding his phone in his left hand, ready to film and show our family and friends, our little ones heartbeat.
I hugged him and went back out into our doctors office.

We lost baby at 5 weeks, 1 day.
A missed miscarriage.
Standard procedure followed.
Adam would kiss my forehead and wait in the hospital for hours, as I was wheeled in for a curette the next day.

The next few days were torture, but, we had one thing to celebrate, our second wedding anniversary.
So, as a deserving reward to us both, we went all out and celebrated.
We celebrated us, and our strength as a married couple over those last 12 months.
We drank, ate, laughed, drank some more, stumbled, laughed a little louder, and then concluded the night.
We woke up the next morning, and spoke.
We promised each other to give ourselves a break.
We needed to, my body couldn’t take anymore, nor could our hearts.
So, we chose to move forward.

December 19th 2017, I receive an unexpected phone call from my fertility specialist.
“Hi Nicole, I have your biopsy report for your last miscarriage.”
“Huh?!”
“As this was your third loss in 11 months, I wanted to take the embryo and test it to further investigate why you may be losing the babies.”

I had no idea. But I wasn’t mad about it.
In short, discovered, was that I carry a certain which in turn, produces more unhealthy chromosomes, rather than healthy. In this case, our third little angel had what is called, Trisomy 21, a form of Down Syndrome.
My specialist was also able to tell me, that our little angel was infact, a ‘he’.

Suddenly, I felt light.
All questions I had, all guilt, all embarrassment, all emotion but relief, left my body. To finally receive an answer, but to also know, that as hard as it was to accept, my body was doing its job. Protecting my little ones from entering a world, where it wouldn’t have been a joyful one, for them.
It was the only way we could look at it.
But it will never take away the brokenness inside us, as parents.

We decided to go away to New York the following year for my birthday in February. I was taking no medication, I was back to my healthy self, we were happy, content and ready to start a year of nothing, but happiness and new memories.

And so, our 16 day holiday had start and ended.
It was bliss.
We were happy, relaxed, full of food and wine, and more importantly, we were ‘us’, again.
We didn’t talk about anything of the year before, at all.
And it was, in the simplest form, a breath of fresh air.

We arrive back home, and my fertility doctor phones me one week later, purely to check in on how Adam and I were feeling, and in that phonecall, we discuss the possibility of our next step, IVF.

Monday 16th April 2018, I started my injections.
Twice a day, same time, same area on my stomach, for three weeks. It was fine. It became part of my everyday routine, as well as the horrible side effects. But, it didn’t matter to me.
Everything I did was one step closer to meeting our baby, and I wasn’t stopping until the doctors told me to.

Fast forward to June, in- between April and then, my body was a whirlwind of hormones.
Triple the dosage of a normal, everyday woman.
But, it was fine. It was all working, and I had a good feeling.
We got 6 eggs. 5 fertilised, and all 5 were then sent in for genetic testing. From there, we got 2 eggs that were healthy, and at 12.45pm on the 18th June 2018, we decided to go ahead with implanting.

I thought I’d be a mess during the well known ‘11 day torturous wait’, but I knew before going into this, that as long as I was healthy and doing things right, there was nothing else I could do.
So I let go of all fear, and trusted the process.
We told nobody about that day.
It was the only secret we have ever aced at keeping.

June 25th 2018, I woke up feeling ‘off’.
I know this feeling, I’m familiar with it, but it feels different.
I’m out of breath walking up the stairs, my breasts have doubled in size, my appetite is nonexistent.
I took a test, against the nurses and my specialists will.

I’m pregnant.
I’m beside myself, I’m happy, but I’m nervous.

Adams birthday was a week later, and this time, it was different.
We knew we had a healthy baby growing inside me, we didn’t know the outcome, but we chose to believe it was going to be the start of something good.
So July 3rd, we told our close friends and family.
It was truly, a beautiful moment.
Our baby is already so loved, if only he/she knew.

My regular ultrasound visits were still always nerve-racking.
Being high-risk, weekly scans from 5-11 weeks, were crucial.
Each, showing me a stronger heartbeat than the week before. And at 11.5 weeks, we were given the OK, to go ahead with announcing.

I haven’t had the easiest 9 months, in a dignifying explanation, I never got the ‘glow’, or the second trimester bliss, but, I didn’t care. I’m growing a little human, and I would take feeling crappy any day of the week, for him/her.

When I started writing in 2017, I promised to stay raw, and chose to be open through my journey not for anyone, but myself.
Speaking openly about loss, has helped me push through, and learn never to feel embarrassed or ashamed for something out of my control.
My journey taught me a lot in a short amount of time.
That pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.
That some doors are better remained, shut.
It taught me that strength, does not come from winning.
When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that, is strength.
My struggles, developed my strengths.
But at most, it tutored me on self-value.
And that, is something no one, can ever take from me.

Today, on the 12th February 2019 as I write this, it’s 7.36am.
I’m laying in bed with my kitten to one side of me, and on the other, our baby’s pure white, bassinet.

I’m feeling our little blessing kick.
Watching my stomach stretch from one side to another, as I poke small sections in wait for a little nudge of response, as I whisper “hi baby, I love you”.
I’m excited. I’m happy. I’m ready. I’m content.

I feel accomplished. I did it.
Life gave me a womb, and I made it a home.
And with our date booked in for a planned caesarean, I know in 2 weeks time, watching my husband hold our child for the very first time, will be my greatest accomplishment, yet.

This is me, yesterday.
Today, I am 36 weeks 6 days.

Thank you, God.

​To our little blessing:

Daddy and I never knew it was possible, to love so hard.
You have taught us how.
And one day, when you’re old enough, we will tell you, all about you, and your three guardian angels that will forever, be watching over you.

Thank you for choosing us.

Love forever and always,
Mummy & Daddy.