This story deals with pregnancy loss and could be triggering for some readers.
My boyfriend was finally sober and serious about staying that way. We were tentatively back together, but trying to do it "healthily" - you know, give each other space, keep our own interests, etc. On impulse, we booked some cheap flights and went on holiday.
It was a wonderful trip - full of laughter, crystal clear warm waters, snorkeling and diving, and… amazing holiday sex.
Before we left, I’d looked into getting my eggs frozen. I knew my chances of getting pregnant reduced by half the minute I hit 42. Now I was 42 and 43 was barreling towards me like a runaway train. A runaway Bullet Train with a biological time-bomb strapped to its undercarriage - every menstrual cycle another second to countdown.
Watch: Tina Arena speaks to Mia Freedman about her miscarriage. Post continues below.
I also knew that the “honey, we need to have kids. NOW”, talk wasn’t a good idea with someone newly sober. Talk about pressure. So I thought maybe freezing some eggs might buy us some time while he got sober and I saved some money.
The good news was that apparently my hormone levels were good. The bad news was that I might have a Uterine polyp or something. Along with my irregular cycle, family history and general paranoia about getting pregnant in my 20s, it wasn’t a surprise that despite some efforts with my second husband, I’d never been pregnant before.
It was another cycle before I could get a specialist doctor’s appointment, so they could recommend a special ultrasound. And another before I could get the special ultrasound - it also had to wait until after we got back from holiday. Tick, tick, tick. BOOM.