I love to travel. Sometimes I even love to travel alone. I’ve backpacked solo around Thailand, no problem. I’m a grown-ass woman after all: big enough, savvy enough…yep, and ugly enough to take care of myself. Sure, there were moments of loneliness; occasions where I’d watch a particularly breathtaking sunset and wish there was another human sitting alongside me, chugging on a Chang and gazing wistfully out to sea. But by and large I found travelling alone to be liberating and utterly exhilarating.

But there’s one particular journey I’ve undertaken that was excruciatingly lonely and soul-crushingly isolating: my IVF journey.

Although it was more a trip than a journey really. A bad one. The drugs you’re given during an IVF cycle are almost as mind-bending as LSD, for a start. Then there’s the waiting. So. Much. Waiting. Waiting for a year for the GP referral to the clinic in the first place, then another year (if you’re lucky!) on the clinic’s waiting list; waiting for tests…and then the results; waiting for the cycle to begin, the egg retrieval; waiting for news of fertilisation…then the two-week wait to find out if it’s worked. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Even the longest flight I’ve ever taken – to Australia, which seems never-ending – is like seconds compared to the clock-watching agony of waiting for news during each nail-gnawing stage of the IVF process.

And all through that process there’s this sense of solitude that makes you feel as though you’re the sole survivor of a shipwreck, bewildered and blinking in the sunlight; washed-up and alone on a desert island, wondering what the future holds; wondering if you’ll ever be rescued from the grip of infertility that somehow makes time stand still.

Only I wasn’t alone – well, not physically, at least. I’d step out of St Barts Hospital, rivulets of mascara-streaked tears coursing down my cheeks after another failed round of treatment, and be swallowed up by the sea of strangers surging onto the tube at Bank station. It’s funny how you can be surrounded by people, nose-to-nose in a crazily-overcrowded city like London – yet still feel completely alone.

Occasionally I’d spot a ‘Baby on board’ badge being proudly sported by a glowing expectant mum, coat straining over burgeoning bump, and think: “Will I ever get to wear one of those?” (The answer, which came much later, was no). Ironically, the IVF drugs make your stomach bloat, so I’m sure some people mistakenly thought I was already ‘in the club.’

I considered making my own badge, adding a big red ‘NO’ in front of the words ‘Baby on board,’ and a tongue-in-cheek ‘…but can I have your seat anyway?’ after them, followed by a smaller ‘Infertility awareness.’ But then I thought better of it. It would’ve had to have been a pretty big badge for a start, to fit all that on clearly. Saucer-sized, at least. Hardly subtle.

I guess my badge idea was kind of a cry for help, a hope that other women in similar circumstances would see it and strike up a conversation with me; actual, real-life women, instead of just the virtual friends (helpful as they were) that I made online on sites such as Fertility Friends as we consoled and supported one other late at night through our computer screens.

So when I came across the pineapple pin, the simple but genius brainchild of the ladies over at online fertility magazine IVF Babble, I mentally high-fived them and their stylish, subtle approach (as opposed to my bullish one) and instantly headed to Amazon to get my own. As this year marks the 40th anniversary of IVF success, IVF Babble launched their #StrongerTogether campaign during last month’s National Fertility Awareness Week. The pineapple, long since a universal symbol of friendship, warmth and welcome, has become the globally-recognised symbol of good luck in the TTC (trying to conceive) community.

Both Sara Marshall-Page and Tracey Bambrough from IVF Babble are proud mothers of twin girls following their own fertility treatments, so are fully aware of the rollercoaster of emotions that are inevitable during such a personal and life-changing journey. Although I am no longer part of the TTC community myself, having stepped off the fertility treatment carousel some years ago now, I am a vocal supporter of those who are going through treatment and beyond. I am far enough along in my journey to be able to help others: on my blog Life: A Bird’s Eye View, in newspaper and magazine articles, and my Facebook group for childless (or childfree, depending on your outlook) women called The Non-Mum Network.

The pineapple pin is for anyone wanting to offer support to those with fertility issues, as well as the one in six couples experiencing difficulties themselves, with all profits going to Fertility Network UK. Famous supporters include Fearne Cotton, Kate Thornton, and Izzy Judd, wife of McFly drummer Harry, and now a mother of two following her own fertility struggles.

Having gone through my own meandering IVF journey, taking the scenic route to happiness, albeit without the fairytale visit from the stork at the end, I can say that anything that offers support to those people – both men and women – going through fertility treatment has to be a good thing. UK IVF success rates currently stand at around 1 in 3 per cycle for women under 35, with well over 250,000 babies born in the UK though IVF in the past 25 years.

So if you’re sitting at the bus stop or on the tube and you see someone wearing the pin, give them a smile. You may both be on the same journey – in more ways than one.

Would you like to show your support for this campaign? Order your pineapple pin now from Amazon below….

This article has also appeared in the Lifestyle section of the Huffington Post UK here.

Sam x

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Pining For A Baby? The Pineapple Pin That Says ‘You’re Not Alone.’ appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

….’free.’

I know, I know! How silly to let a lovely little fella like Free bother me, when he’s such a gentle little guy, who’s usually greeted warmly and ushered inside: “Oh look who’s here everyone – it’s Free!” Who wouldn’t welcome Free to a party? We all love Freddie Freebie….don’t we? Well, usually, I’d agree. I’m the first one to buy a magazine I have zero interest in because, well, there’s something free on the front….or to rush to join a crowd at the station on my way home from work because a company is dishing out ‘free stuff’ to careworn commuters.

But on this occasion the word ‘free’ was used after another one: child. I am a woman without children. So why would being described as ‘childfree’ bother me? Until now, it hasn’t, really. I preferred it to childless, because I felt that being described as ‘a childless woman’ made me sound like I was lacking; less than. It sounded sad, as though a life without children is a wasted opportunity, when we all know that isn’t the case. If anything, I’ve probably been able to do a lot of things that I wouldn’t have been able to, had I dedicated myself to family life: travel the world, go clubbing regularly (even to this day, in my forties – I know, disgraceful!), be spontaneous, take risks, spend money on frivolities, and so forth.

That’s not to say I didn’t want children, or try my damnedest to get them – quite the opposite, in fact: I was desperate to be a mother. Like any passionate clubber, I wanted to cross the red rope into the plush VIP lounge. But it turned out there was one members-only club I’d never gain access to: the Mum Club. Despite trying everything – including arduous fertility treatment – my name was never added to the guest list; I wasn’t welcome. The door was rudely slammed in my face on each occasion. Eventually I conceded defeat and started my own club, a Facebook group called The Non-Mum Network. It attracted women without children for a whole variety of reasons: some by choice, some by circumstance, some unable to, like myself.

Despite all having that one thing in common, there is one key word that separates us women without kids into two camps: choice. Generally, those that choose not to give birth refer to themselves as ‘childfree,’ whereas those who had their non-mum status thrust upon them without a choice see themselves as ‘childless.’ Some would say it’s a small detail, but nonetheless it’s an important one. Choice is everything. A situation of your own making, rather than one you’ve unwittingly found yourself in, dramatically alters your perception of it. It turns out that childfree and childless are poles apart. Chalk and cheese. Night and day. It’s the difference between choosing to stay in, and being grounded. Choice.

That’s not to say we don’t get along, or respect one another’s situation, because generally, and in my Non-Mum group, at least – we do. We have a lot in common, after all. Yet recently the divide was brought into sharp focus.

Last year I took part in a project with acclaimed British photographer, Denise Felkin. Entitled Mum’s Not The Word, she photographed childless (childfree?!) women, naked and in the foetal position, to highlight the stigma attached to not giving birth. Each woman, including myself here, bravely disrobed and curled up on her own duvet, brought from home and transported to Denise’s Brighton studio, to represent women without children everywhere – a section of society largely ignored and disregarded in a family-centric world. Each gave her reason for not being a mother, captioned alongside her photograph. Well, pregnant women are often photographed naked, I figured, so why not us? We deserve a voice too, and what better way to be represented honestly than naked – tastefully of course – in all our vulnerable glory? Parents or not, we’re all just human at the end of the day; mere mortals. Being naked illustrates that point perfectly. It is a powerful image which has seen Denise nominated for multiple awards, and which has divided public opinion: are the women childless, or childfree? Since Denise appeared on the BBC about her project last week, the light discussion has become a war of words…

Having largely overcome my sorrow around not being a mother and (I thought) fully accepted the situation, I’d shrugged off my childless chrysalis and started to view myself as a childfree butterfly. Yet the furious response from those childfree-by-choice to the Mum’s Not The Word project sometimes being described by the media as representing ‘childless women’ made me realise I’m not one of them. I’m actually not childfree at all. I never will be, not really. I didn’t choose this life, although I’m determined to make the most of it. Our outlooks are entirely different. I will always be a bit childless. And they will always be proudly waving the childfree banner. I can see how being described as ‘childless’ has negative connotations, yet to describe myself as childfree would be to deny the fact that I did actually want children. We are not the same. So what was originally one artist’s striking use of imagery around parenthood vs non-parenthood, has morphed into a fierce debate about whether women without children should be referred to as childless or childfree. And that is the beauty of thought-provoking art.

I take my hat (and the rest of my clothes) off to you, Denise. Job done.

Childless or Childfree? Denise herself says: “I am forty-eight and childfree. I do not want or have never wanted children. I have had a few pregnancy scares in my life. Each time I prayed to the universe it would not happen to me. Thankfully the result always came back negative. I am now too old to reproduce. The wish I made in my younger years is almost true. Occasionally I question myself if I made the right decision? Am I infertile? How would a child have changed my life? How would having a child have affected my career as an artist? Why would I want to bring a child into a world of uncertainty? Mum’s Not The Word is a photographic project which debates the social stigmatisation of women, whom by choice or for medical reasons, friction against the instinct of childbirth and maternal productivity. The project brings together images of the female form, positioned in the foetus position, in reverse. I choose foetus shaped bodies to connect the typologies and to represent divisions of women’s experience between the female reproductive system and menopause. I photograph women of an array of ages, skin tones, body shapes, to document the attitude towards the negative position of the foetus within society today.” 

Are you a woman without children? Are you childless or childfree? I’d love to hear your opinions on this. 

This article has also appeared on the front page of the Huffington Post UK here.

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

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The post The Four-letter Word that Changes Everything appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

I’m no stranger to those NHS letters dropping onto my mat; over the years I’ve had more than my fair share of “invitations for cervical screening.” Not the most popular of invites, admittedly; I’d much rather it was a wedding invitation – or at least a birthday party. But cervical screening, or  the ‘smear test‘ as it’s otherwise known, is a necessary procedure. There’s not that much I take seriously in life; I’m a fun-loving kinda gal with a strong sense of humour, but I know that medical investigations are to be ignored at your peril – and I never have.Despite my diligence in attending these appointments I had stage 3 CIN and subsequent treatment around 16 years ago, when I was 24 years old. I went on to develop an infection which saw me later have a partial hysterectomy and 3 failed cycles of IVF. It’s taken time to accept that I will never be a mother. But do I regret attending the screening that diagnosed the pre-cancerous cells in the first place? Of course not. Had I not attended and simply carried on with my life in blissful ignorance, there’s a high likelihood I wouldn’t be here now. I had no symptoms, and the chances are that by the time I did, the cancer would have been fully established and may even have spread to the surrounding organs.I have a filing cabinet stuffed full of correspondence relating to my ongoing treatment: the six-monthly screens and colposcopies…gradually moving to annual check-ups and eventually three-yearly smears. Occasionally I’d have an abnormal result again and need closer monitoring, but I’ve never had to have more cells removed; since my loop cone biopsy, they’ve returned to normal by themselves. As you can imagine, 16 years’ worth of such treatment has resulted in quite a lot of paperwork.

So when my latest invitation arrived a few days ago I knew instantly what it was and tore it open eagerly (which may sound surprising, but no checks for three years has left me feeling anxious – like walking a tightrope between skyscrapers without a safety net).

Since I know the wording of these letters off by heart, I instantly saw the difference. My heart sank. Instead of being told clearly that my cervical screening test is due being (politely but encouragingly) asked to attend and given the telephone number to call, the new version of the letter takes an altogether more casual tone: Your choice. It’s upto you whether or not to have cervical screening.

Wait, what?! No encouragement, no advice? The new letter has also been made completely impersonal with no signatory, no date of last smear or due date (as there was on the bottom of my 2012 letter) – not even a mention of the telephone number you need to call to make your appointment…

 

Over the years I’ve been vocal in my support of the screening. In recent months I have written about my experience on my blog (which got over 6k hits in the first week), had the article published on the front page of Huffington Post UK, and campaigned via social media to encourage women to attend. My campaigning has been picked up by several cervical cancer and gynae charities and women’s health groups.

I recently attended an event organised by The Eve Appeal during Gynae Cancer Awareness Month. It’s common knowledge that attendance rates for screening are in decline, yet not once has anyone mentioned this change in the way women are invited for testing as a possible contributory factor. I had no idea the letter had changed until I received my own a few days ago.

I’m all for freedom of choice, but during my campaigning I’ve discovered that most women know very little about their own bodies, cervical cancer causes and symptoms – or even how important the screening really is. Even some of my own friends – intelligent 40-something mothers who have witnessed my own traumatic experiences first-hand – admitted to me that they were clueless until they read my article. It seems that women are not attending mainly due to fear, ignorance or embarrassment:

Amending the letter in this way to dilute the message and imply that it’s something that you can simply decide to ignore if you like, is at best irresponsible and at worst, negligent. We should be encouraging women to attend more, not less.

I intend to take this further. I need to find out why the wording has been changed at a time when diagnoses are up and attendance down. If the answer is not satisfactory, I will campaign to have the wording amended. The government may be willing to accept these women’s deaths, the hundreds of heartbroken families left in their wake…but I’m not.

And to the 3.7million women in the UK who haven’t attended their smear appointment in the last 5 years: do you really want to be next?

This article has also appeared in The Huffington Post UK.

Please SIGN MY PETITION to get the cervical screening letter amended and support my #AtYourCervix campaign…

The post Cancer Isn’t Soft, So Why Is This New Approach? appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

My regular blog readers will know that women’s reproductive health and gynae cancers are matters close to my heart, having shared my cervical cancer experience and subsequent infertility with you here on my blog and also via the Huffington Post. So I was particularly proud and excited when the invitation to attend an event at The Detox Kitchen in association with The Eve Appeal pinged into my inbox recently. The Eve Appeal is a charity whose main aim is raising awareness and funding research in the five gynaecological cancers – ovarian, womb, cervical, vaginal and vulval.

Athena Lamnisos, CEO of The Eve Appeal charity, had read my article via Twitter and subsequent tweets around raising awareness, and so invited me along to the event. Of course I immediately accepted and attended last night, accompanied by one of my besties, Kez Wells.

The evening was fantastic from start to finish: we were warmly welcomed with a glass of bubbly and some delicious healthy canapes, before mingling with fellow supporters of the charity and actress/comediennes Jane Horrocks and Helen Lederer.

Athena kicked off with a passionate speech about the vital work of the charity, highlighting the fact that 21000 women are diagnosed with gynae cancer in the UK each year, with 21 dying daily, before handing the floor over to Cherry Healey. 

Cherry, TV presenter and author of Letters to my Fanny, gave a lively talk about the importance of knowing the various parts of our own anatomy as women, and the cringe-factor that we still feel when discussing what goes on “down below.” Despite having had a child and being in her mid-thirties, she still experienced embarrassment when talking to her doctor. This gave her the impetus to confront the stigma and write the book – one which I’ve now added to my ever-increasing reading list.

Next up was Caroline Presho, whose life has been greatly affected by cancer, (despite never having had it herself), due to her family history and being a carrier of the BRCA mutation, giving her and her sister an 87% chance of contracting the disease themselves. She told her moving story – culminating in a preventative double mastectomy and partial hysterectomy – with humour and grace. Fortunately she was able to have 4 children prior to the surgery, but spoke of her obvious concerns for her own 2 daughters; full credit to her for sharing her story and campaigning to educate and protect others. Find further information and support over at The BRCA Umbrella.

There was just time to have a gorgeous manicure (I opted for brick red polish complete with tiny heart-shaped diamantes) by mobile beauty specialists Perfect 10 using Essie products before the raffle was drawn…which I won!

I was presented with a gift voucher for a pampering home visit by Perfect 10. I can’t wait to get it booked into my diary – I’m off to Ibiza at the weekend so am eagerly eyeing up the full-body massage, which will be very gratefully received after an exhausting weekend’s clubbing.

There was just time for a informative chat with a few of the Eve Appeal’s staff about the essential work they do before it was time for us to head out into the autumn evening, carrying our ‘Stop Ovary Acting’ tote bags filled with period-related supplies and a host of goodies courtesy of Pinkparcel.

  

A huge thank you to all at The Detox Kitchen and The Eve Appeal for an inspiring and memorable evening, full of invaluable information which I will definitely be using in the future in my ongoing mission to help other women avoid gynae cancers.

You can support the valuable work of The Eve Appeal by donating here 

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post An Evening with The Eve Appeal appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.