Isla McGuckin and her husband were unable to conceive, victims of unexplained infertility and she wrote a book about it. But things later took a surprising turn. This is her story as told to DEIRDRE VELDON
WE NEVER thought having children would be an issue. Paul and I were so young when we got married – in our early 20s – that we thought we’d have lots of time to start having children. We knew we wanted them, so it was just a matter of when.
On my 29th birthday, we decided the time was right. We were scared and a bit excited, but we had made the decision to have children. We were young and fit, so we didn’t consider there would be a problem. We didn’t know people who had struggled with their fertility. None of our friends had mentioned it. Only when we said we were having trouble conceiving, we realised others were too.
For the first while, we were fairly laid back about it; assuming things would work out. Then I hit 30 and realised we had been trying for a year.
It dawned on us that we might not have a baby. That was a complete shock. Everything else in my life had fallen so neatly into place. I’d got my qualifications, my husband, a good job, all without any hassle.
We went to our GP, who ran a few preliminary tests. They tested Paul’s sperm and then tested me. My results showed I wasn’t ovulating. Even worse, they thought it was a premature menopause.
When I heard this, my blood ran cold. I couldn’t believe all the time I’d wasted. I was distraught over not trying for a baby earlier and I experienced a huge sense of loss and grief. Later, it emerged the test results were incorrect, because they’d been done at the wrong time, but for a few weeks I believed I was having the menopause.
Fairly quickly, the GP ran out of options. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with either of us. We were referred to a fertility specialist. It seemed very serious all of a sudden.
The consultant concluded we had “unexplained infertility”. All along, we were sure he was going to tell us there had been some sort of misunderstanding and that we didn’t need to see him at all. We didn’t really want him to say “you’re infertile”.
I was sent for a laparoscopy, to check there was nothing physically blocking my womb or fallopian tubes. There wasn’t. I found the lack of conclusiveness of the tests hardest to take.
We started on a fertility drug. I became obsessed with googling others’ experiences and focused on anything negative I saw; the weight gain, the hot flashes. Once we started going down the drugs route, I knew we were running out of choices.
This was by no means a tailor-made solution. We were simply in a process, like so many others, which involved exhausting one option after another, as far as I could see.
Four months in, the drugs weren’t working and we were on to the next stage of IUI or Intrauterine Insemination. Four sessions had been recommended, before starting IVF. I did the third IUI attempt alone as Paul was away for business. Afterwards, I was very upset. I felt this was so far away from how it was supposed to be. And we decided to take a break from it.
In time, we came to the conclusion that we could make some decisions on the basis that we weren’t having children. We quit our jobs and moved to Donegal from England. We saw a house with a homemade ‘for sale’ sign and just knocked on the door. It was a perfect change of pace for us. Both of us needed to grieve for what wasn’t going to be.
It was in Donegal I wrote a book based on our experience of unexplained infertility. Paul re-trained as a photographer. We’d settled into a life. We decided to look at adoption, going through the process and getting approved within two years. Then we took our place on a waiting list for a domestic adoption.
In Ireland we were treated in a more personal way in the medical system. We felt our GP was genuinely rooting for us.
Then, last year, we went to England for a wedding where most of the guests became ill. When I came back to Ireland, I felt ill too.
Regardless, we went ahead with plans to stay in a hotel in the west to celebrate my 37th birthday. However, I spent most of the trip in the toilet. I began to think something was really wrong. A few days later a friend asked whether I was still being ill. I replied that yes, I was, and added that the mornings were particularly bad. It was only then the penny dropped that I might be pregnant.
I did a pregnancy test and jumped around the house, ecstatic, when it was positive. An early scan showed everything was fine. The pregnancy went smoothly from there.
Tallulah arrived in January this year, two weeks late, and after 17 hours of labour. She cried the moment she was born and I don’t think I’ve ever heard so sweet a sound.
I still have no idea why all this happened. It feels miraculous. We’d been told we were infertile and we were well over 35. I think part of the problem was that we had become very focused on it, and had seen it as a failure. It really helped to write the book and not focus on it.
So successfully had we come to terms with it, that once I found out we were expecting a baby, I had to readjust; I’d become used to thinking I wasn’t going to be a parent.
We’ve just spent the last several months staring at Tallulah, marvelling at her. And I still can’t stop smiling.