Catching The Bus

Catching The Bus

After a couple of years it was time to give the Pickle a sibling. I thought it would be easy, but the heartache was about to begin. I had a series of early miscarriages then nothing. We went back to the consultant and I was not eligible for IVF on the NHS, besides, having heard the gruesome stories I was unsure if I could go through it. Discouraged, I felt that we had run out of palatable options. To make matters worse I was on a deadline, the Hubster confirmed that he was fully mortal and that any babies should be born while he was still in his forties.

Our 90th birthday came and went, in a blaze of live music and bunting, celebrating his 50th and my 40th Birthdays. Still no sibling for the Pickle. Rationale told me that I was lucky, I had a wonderful daughter and husband that I adore – but inside I was a mess. I was struggling to mourn the miscarriages in a society when acknowledgment is not the done thing and I felt barren – a lesser class of woman.

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