Hunched over the toilet seat of a dank, putrid cubicle, I injected three doses of IVF hormones into my abdomen. This was not what I signed up for when I contemplated IVF as a solo mum by choice. Then again, nothing in the IVF race ever goes as planned.
The grotty toilet was next door to a dance studio crowded with eager students. I was their teacher. We were in the middle of contemporary class. They were oblivious to my extracurricular bathroom anxiety-fest as I concocted, measured and administered each injection carefully but hurriedly.
I couldn't leave them for more than a few minutes. I'd set them a quick choreography task to buy some time.
When the IVF nurse had told me my 'trigger' medication needed to be administered at 7pm precisely, I knew she meant it. 8:30pm knock-off time wouldn't do.
Perhaps I could have cancelled my shift? An easier option if I'd had a partner's income to rely on. But I was working my butt off to pay for endless IVF rounds on my own. Every second of work counted. Nearly every cent of my pay filtered through to the IVF machine, conversely zapping much of my life away.
Watch: Meshel Laurie on going through IVF alone. Post continues below.