So many times I had stood in this exact theatre room, all scrubbed up, ready to receive a baby. And now here I was…….the patient on the table.

“Ok,” I thought, “I’ve either just broken my waters or I’ve peed myself – and I have NEVER peed myself.”

"I can't breathe," I gasped as I rocked back and forth trying to find a comfortable position. Sharp, unbearable pain radiated through my chest.

“DON’T COME IN HERE!” I screamed at my husband through the closed bathroom door. I stared in despair at the disasterous scene before me.

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.

“How are you feeling?” she asked in genuine concern. “Depleted,” I said flatly, “like death warmed up.”

“I can’t do this,” I would moan to my husband, “this is going to kill me. I won’t survive.”

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.