When Rebecca Seal decided at 28 she wanted a baby, she thought she was starting young. She and her partner never dreamed they’d need IVF. Wasn’t infertility an older person’s problem?
The doctor shuffled the papers holding our test results. I had just had the first of what would turn out to be many internal ultrasound scans and was feeling shaken by the brutal indignity of it: the stirrups and the dildo-shaped scanner. “Well, it looks like everything is fine,” he said. “Oh. Ah. No.” He pulled out one of the papers. “No. It’s very unlikely you’ll be able to conceive naturally.”
When I was 28, five years and 48 crushingly regular periods ago, I suddenly and desperately wanted a baby. Two of my closest friends announced they were pregnant and there it was, sharp and inescapable: jealousy. I wanted one, too. It was impractical timing – I was newly and precariously self-employed and the house I rented with my partner, Steve, was tiny – but there was no chance I could be rational. It felt primal and urgent and strange.
Three friends had babies and sent me photos. Unforgivably, I asked them to stop. They mistook my distance for disdain
My need to be a parent filled my thoughts; Steve wondered if he wanted children at all. We were both lonely
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