Undetected endometriosis, menopause at 28 and cyst-covered ovaries – diary of my gruelling six-year struggle to become a mum
THREE years ago, Punteha van Terheyden was sat anxiously in the bathroom waiting for the results of her pregnancy test - when she finally saw the faint blue line appear.
The birth of her daughter Amelia marked the end of a heartbreaking six-year struggle with IVF - marked by chemical menopause, cyst-covered ovaries and even a bout of shingles.
Here the 32-year-old writer, from Hemel, Hertfordshire, shares her diary of that journey with Fabulous Digital...
November 2011:
Sitting alone in my gynaecologist’s office, I hold back tears as the words I’ve been dreading are delivered in the emotionless way only a seasoned surgeon can: “Your fertility is less than five per cent.”
At 26, my suspected endometriosis is severe, having gone undetected and misdiagnosed for a decade.
Keyhole surgery later confirms the diagnosis, whilst extensive laser treatment boosts my chances of falling pregnant to 85 per cent for about a year.
But the diagnosis has pushed into sharp focus that my long-term relationship is finished. I’m single, when I least want to be.
January 2013:
I’ve had more surgery to remove endometriosis adhesions and it’s been physically very tough.
But, happily, romance has bloomed with longstanding friend, Andy, 30, a teacher.
Over dinner, I confess I may need IVF one day. It’s only fair he knows what he’s letting himself in for, even if I risk losing him.
Luckily, he says no matter what lays ahead, he isn’t going anywhere.
June 2014:
Andy’s been by my side through two more surgeries, but my surgeon is exasperated.
"Why haven’t you started trying for a baby yet?" he asks during one consultation - as pregnancy is the most effective way to control endometriosis pain and recurrence.
It’s not that simple though, is it? After a long discussion, Andy and I decide to start trying.
March 2015:
Still no baby, and a nagging worry prompts Andy – now my husband – to have tests himself.
The results are another cruel blow. Most likely due to mumps as a child, Andy’s fertility is practically zero.
We’ve no chance of conceiving naturally and are referred for IVF.
It feels like a never-ending game of snakes and ladders, and every time we roll the dice, we land on a snake. Sliding backwards, never moving forwards.
All around us, friends announce their baby news, some even joking how inconvenient the timing is. They don’t know how lucky they are.
July 2015: Start IVF
We meet our fertility specialist London's Centre for Reproductive and Genetic Health (CRGH) and I begin a barrage of tests and invasive scans.
Aged just 28, hormone treatment pushes me into a temporary chemical menopause. I suffer hot flushes, vertigo, fever and insomnia.
Next, I begin hormone injections, tablets and pessaries, with almost daily blood tests and internal scans. It’s relentless and exhausting.
But success! Fourteen mature eggs are retrieved, and 11 fertilise. Five days later, seven have developed into high quality embryos, ready for transfer or freezing…
September 2015:
I’m gutted. Our embryo transfer was cancelled as I’ve developed a rare risk of IVF - Ovarian Hyper Stimulation Syndrome.
My ovaries are covered in bleeding cysts, and fluid is filling my abdomen. I’m hospitalised for two weeks, unable to breathe and in terrible pain.
I’m so bloated, I look pregnant. It’s a cruel irony. Despite everything I’ve put my body through, there’s still no baby on board.
I pen a letter to my future babies, attempting to keep sight of what all this physical hell is for.
Tonight, we sleep under the same stars. I cannot wait for you to be transferred back into my tummy, love Mummy xxx.
My ovaries are covered in bleeding cysts, and fluid is filling my abdomen. I’m hospitalised for two weeks, unable to breathe and in terrible pain. I’m so bloated, I look pregnant. It’s a cruel irony
Punteha van Terheyden, 32
October 2015:
Finally feeling human again, we begin a frozen cycle. Given my age and my consultant’s personal success rates, there is a 75 per cent chance I will be pregnant by Christmas.
But 24 hours later, I develop shingles and my cycle is cancelled. My consultant urges me to take a few months off.
Reluctantly, I agree but can’t bear to see pregnant women or pictures of my friends’ babies.
I silence my Facebook news feed, instead joining closed IVF support groups, feeling more alone than ever.
January 2016:
After therapy with a fertility counsellor, we have a third go at IVF.
Our best embryo is defrosted and we travel to CRGH to see a picture of it. That little grey dot fills us with immense hope.
I watch on the monitor as the embryo is placed in my womb, guided by ultrasound. I pray it will stick, but I won’t know for 16 days. The wait is torture…
Five days later...
Just five days later, I sneak into the bathroom at 5am to do a pregnancy test. Andy wanted to wait, but in the early morning light, I see a faint blue line.
I wake Andy up and we celebrate. I’m finally pregnant!
March 2016:
During our first scan, we see our 10-week-old baby. It looks like a tiny, wriggling gummy bear and I cry as the sound of our baby’s heartbeat fills the room.
April 2016:
We pay for an early gender scan, having already chosen our baby’s possible names. It's a girl!
We paint Amelia’s nursery, and I fill her wardrobe with clothes. I cannot wait to meet her.
But as the weeks go on, I flit between elation and crippling fear. What if my baby doesn’t make it?
I am haunted by the thought she’ll die and I’ll have to shut her nursery door forever.
I count down each day until Amelia’s viable at 24 weeks, then every week till I go into labour.
September 25, 2016:
My water’s break but Amelia is in distress, and there is meconium (the baby's first stool) in my waters.
I tell the registrar our story and beg them to make sure my baby comes home with us.
Amelia arrives by emergency Caesarean Section at University College Hospital London, her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck three times.
Then, she lets out an almighty cry.
As her little face is pressed next to mine, a midwife snaps our first picture as a family of three.
I break down, a mixture of joy and relief. She’s here! She’s safe!
August 2017:
Almost a year after Millie arrived, we throw a huge wedding celebration with our daughter as flower girl.
We’d purposefully had a small register office ceremony two years earlier, longing to repeat it one day with our baby by our sides.
Afterwards, we jet off on honeymoon to Tenerife with Millie - our first holiday with her.
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September 2018:
We celebrate Millie’s 2nd birthday with a Moana party. Our house is packed with friends and family and as I watch our stubborn, wilful, hilarious toddler, I feel immensely lucky.
During this journey, I’ve formed friendships with women around the world, brought together by our shared heartache.
Hearing about their IVF successes, even against all odds, gave me hope.
If you’re going through this, please don’t suffer alone. Join support groups and keep faith that one day, you too will have the family you long for.
Today a midwife slammed those who use fake pregnancy announcements as an April Fool's gag - saying "one in four of your friends has lost a baby".