Would you think that cradling the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl could be joyful? No. Think again.
Hours in doctors’ surgeries. Questions. Needles. More questions. Anaesthetics. Hope threading through it all, twining in with the despair of no, and not this time, and maybe….
It’s surprising how quickly, however much you hate needles (and I do), you learn to give yourself the necessary injections. Each one a grimace, each one a step.
Finally, months later, this is my morning ritual. Me, retching. But as the days get colder, you get closer to being born, and my heart is full.