“Why me?” The complicated question that strangely embodies both sadness and happiness.

Having active strategies to help us cope emotionally, communicate better and support each through our infertility would have made a profound difference on our journey.

My heart was racing. I felt breathless with the tiniest amount of exertion. I felt intense anxiety for, what I felt like, no good reason. I felt like I was having panic attacks – ALL the time.

After seeing the dietician, I became extremely interested – or rather, obsessed – in learning about vitamin supplementation in pregnancy.

My hands were shaking so violently that I almost spilled my ginger beer as I waited for the train. I was convinced it was all going to kill me.

When I saw that I had missed the phone call from the fertility clinic I could hardly breathe. My hands were shaking so violently that I couldn’t hold the phone.

Despair was consuming me, and yet the tiniest tinge of relief was starting to seep through the cracks of my broken heart; I was desperate for this torture to end.

“I am so sorry hun, your pregnancy test was negative.” I gulped. I wanted to vomit, and yet I had expected it.

“I’m only doing this for closure,” I’d staunchly say to myself, as if articulating the words out loud would convince my little fragile, hopeful heart.

When I woke up in recovery I had the number “16” written on my hand and I nearly burst into tears. As we drove home we allowed ourselves to relish the sensation of hope again…

I was a little bit hotter, a little bit angrier and a little bit less tolerant every day. Fighting invigorated me – Confrontation felt so GOOD.

So many women are afraid to change doctors as they don’t want to “offend” their current doctor, but for me, this was a decision of life or death – the life or death of my future children.

If I were to be completely honest – painfully transparent in fact – my struggle with people was nothing compared to my struggle with God.

Life or death – that is EXACTLY how I viewed it. I wanted to be taken seriously; this “casual” approach was making me furious.

I’d had many episodes over the last few years where I felt “depressed”, but nothing quite like this. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I felt sad – I just felt unbelievably tired.

I was excited, yet terrified – I wanted to meet her baby before I left, yet it seemed way too confronting.

It would send me into a frenzy of weeping until all the anger, envy, fury, disappointment and bitterness would leave me.

I gulped again. I was terrible at saying no. I was terrible at self-care. I was terrible at setting boundaries. I cared too much about what people thought of me.

“Break?” he scoffed, “You don’t have time for a break! I know you feel exhausted and depleted now, but you’re not going to feel any better in a few months.”

I got out of the shower and sat, exhausted, on the couch. I felt like I was losing my mind. I really didn’t know if Jarod was ever going to come home.