When the first whispers of YOU MIGHT HAVE PROBLEMS MAKING BABIES started coming in from my polycystic ovary syndrome Google searches, I knew I wanted a definite answer.
I knew that for me, making babies and having kids wasn’t something that I could dismiss from my brain with ‘meh, I’ll think about it in the future’ or ‘I’ll just see what happens when I start trying’. Because although there are 384564875 things I want to do with my life before I start arguing over possible baby names, I’ve always known that I’d drop those things in an instant to be able to have children. I would rather have them right now than not at all.
I opted to have my fertility MOT at a place called CREATE near Raynes Park, just outside London. It’d been recommended to me, and included an internal ultrasound, consultation and results all within an hour for £200.
I toyed with other clinics I found on the internet, I toyed with reaching out as a blogger, but when it came down to it, I wanted the opportunity to not have to write about it.
Imagine they took one look at me and were like soz Miss Gale you don’t actually have a womb, you can’t have kids, and then I’d have to write a review whilst choking on tears and vodka and pizza.
No cheers pal.
So I headed off to Raynes Park in an Uber last Friday with a family member for moral support ( I had to convince Chris to save his annual leave without shouting BECAUSE WE ARE GOING TO NEW YORK IN MAY AND YOU DON’T KNOW YET, lol).
I was particularly apprehensive because what does it feel like to have someone stick an ultrasound thingy inside you? And also because I had the first ahem, signs, of my period. Yum.
(I’d called ahead to check, but you can in fact have the ultrasound performed at any time in your cycle, so that’s nice).
And, after a quick chat about signs, symptoms and contraception, I was lying on a bed in the dark with my pants and tights off, letting a nice stranger poke about in my lady parts.
Dreamy Friday morning, amm’I right?
It didn’t hurt, but wasn’t altogether the most comfortable experience of my life. Like, I’d have rather been taking a nap on the sofa surrounded by Yankee Candles and bowls of macaroni cheese, but hey, whatcha gonna do.
I would describe the sensation as kinda like having a sexy toy put inside you without y’know, being aroused. Is that too much information? My bad.
The doctor showed me my ultrasound screen and pointed things out as he went along. Although to be fair, everything looked like a grainy grey blob to me, so y’know. He showed me my ‘fantastic looking’ womb lining and my unblocked fallopian tubes and my wonderful blood supply to everywhere I apparently need a blood supply.
He showed me both ovaries and counted the egg follicles (13 on one side and 14 on the other – which apparently means I’m laden with eggs), he told me he could see signs of ovulation and he was generally pretty positive.
Now, here’s where it gets juicy.
Wait, no, maybe that’s the wrong use of words. Barf.
After I’d pulled my undies back on and settled myself back in a non horizontal chair, we went through the results.
And ya know what he told me? He told me that he didn’t think I had PCOS at all. He said that 1 in 5 woman look like they have it (because of their egg follicles or something), but because he could see signs of ovulation and because of where the follicles were positioned, he said he was fairly certain I didn’t have it.
And to be honest, I’m trusting the man with about 12 different qualification letters after his name, rather than the nurse practitioner at my local GP office.
He told me that when I want to have kids, I shouldn’t have any problems conceiving, that everything looks pretty spot on for a woman of 26.
I was feeling pretty smug and a bit like GUUUUUURL IS GETTING AN EXTRA LARGE COFFEE ON THE WAY HOME TO CELEBRATE.
And then he said: ‘There shouldn’t be a problem with you leaving it a couple more years. But I will say sooner rather than later. I wouldn’t recommend any woman leaving it later than 30 to try for a baby’.
And then I felt mildly panicked and freaked out inside.
I feel like by even thinking about kids at 26, by even having them so much as a teeny tiny part on my radar, I’m being mega early about the whole thing, but nope.
Here was a man, who is approximately 47653 times more educated in fertility and gynecological health than anyone I’ve ever met in my life, telling me that to be sure that I would be able to conceive naturally, I would need to get the party started within the next year or two.
No, YOU’RE freaking out.
I feel like I should Whatsapp all my friends and peer pressure them into getting pregnant right now (lol I jk I jk, I’m not that crazy, or am I?).
So yeah, got the train home and bought one of those mini bottles of prosecco to toast my sterling reproductive system, and then tried not to nap the entire way through Game Of Thrones on the sofa.
I am happy. I am feeling like an annoying little weight has been lifted off my shoulders. And I feel like Chris and I are in a much better place because we have a better understanding of where we stand, of where my body stands, rather than being stuck in a fertility limbo.
So for the next year, I’m going to go full-speed at every dream, adventure and ambition, and then maybe next year, or the year after that, I’ll reassess my maternal feelings.
And on that note, I’m off to see if my bank balance likes the idea of my first ever trip to Paris this year or nah.