It’s hard to pinpoint exactly where my story began. I have always wanted children, perhaps this stems from being one of four myself, or the fact that I work with children, but choosing to become a parent was never in itself a difficult decision.
I had a sixth sense that I would become a parent using a donor. I had never had a serious relationship with a man, and had never really wanted one either. By my late twenties, I was in an unconventional same-sex relationship and was blissfully happy… unconventional in the fact that we lived apart (and would continue to do so) and in the big age difference between us… but, we did everything together, she was my best friend, my soulmate and my one and only true love.
Naturally, the conversation eventually began to focus on the idea of having children. I knew I wanted one; she was ambivalent about how the addition of a new little person would change the wonderful life we had built together. However, we soon both realised that this instinct that I had to become a mother wasn’t going away.
I soon became an aunty, twice over, and by the age of about 33/34 I knew that to realise this dream for myself, I would have to be proactive. At very much the same time, I had a health scare. Through a series of randomly and somewhat bizarre connections with a detached retina, I was found to have abnormally high levels of prolactin (the hormone responsible for lactation.) Without this under control, I would not ovulate, and would therefore not conceive. So began onward referrals and months of treatment to normalise my prolactin levels. It was during these rather panicky months that I began to realise that conceiving a child, even through the donor route, was not likely to be straightforward. I shared my concerns with my gynaecologist and explained the situation I was in and was advised to self-refer to a private fertility clinic. By sheer good fortune, this was within about a mile from my home, and so began my journey into the world of donor conception.