The first time I miscarried, I blamed myself. After getting pregnant early on in our relationship, at 34, I had a flash of doubt that my partner Alex and I weren’t ready to be parents. Then, a few weeks later, the pregnancy was over.
My second early loss, just a few months later, hit me harder. We went to a fertility specialist, and the tests on both of us came back clear, but then I couldn’t get pregnant at all.
By the time we married in December 2018, Alex and I had been on a relentless treadmill of fertility interventions for three years. I’d held my breath during my third pregnancy in May 2017, devastated when it ended, only to be followed by a fourth loss a year later, at 10-and-a-half weeks.
Infertility affected every part of my life. I struggled to hang out with girlfriends going through pregnancy and early parenthood. Hearing their valid complaints and worries, when it was all I wanted for myself, was almost physically painful.
It was after my fifth miscarriage, in mid-2019, and with one embryo left in the freezer, that my doctor suggested surrogacy. I felt so many conflicting emotions – hope that it might work, sadness that I was giving up on my body, and relief that the entire responsibility of a pregnancy’s success wouldn’t be on my shoulders.
In Canada, where I live, surrogacy is altruistic, although, as in the UK, expenses are paid. We went through an agency, and when I saw Trish’s photo I felt an incredible connection.
The fact that she lived in New Brunswick, an 18-hour drive away from us in Ontario, didn’t faze us. We developed a deep bond after spending five days together for her medical clearance tests.
Then, in August 2021, I became inexplicably angry with Alex. Aware that pregnancy and PMS felt the same to me, I stomped off to take a test.
Seeing the second line appear, I thought: “Oh my God.” Trish was due to start her fertility medication two weeks later. I assumed that this meant I’d be going through a miscarriage at what should be a happy time. There was no joy or hope that my pregnancy would stick, just devastation at the inevitability of it ending.
When we told Trish, her response was immediate and amazing. Of course she wanted to go ahead, she said, whatever happened with my pregnancy. Watching our embryo being transferred two months later was incredibly emotional. I couldn’t believe what this amazing woman was doing for us. When we heard the pregnancy test was positive, we were all in tears.
We told our thrilled family and friends about Trish when she was seven weeks pregnant, but I couldn’t bring myself to share my news until I reached 17 weeks. Even then I was terrified, although seeing their shocked joy was lovely.
Trish was seven weeks away from her due date when I gave birth to Wilkin in April 2022. Holding my beautiful son was both amazing and surreal. I felt a wave of relief, like I finally knew everything was going to be OK.
Unfortunately, Wilkin’s severe colic made an 18-hour drive impossible, and the pandemic made flying tricky, so I waited at home while my sister went with Alex to be at Trish’s delivery.
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Time crawled as I sat there on FaceTime, waiting for my second baby to be brought into the world. Then there he was, and, 48 hours later, Alex walked into our bedroom with Loic in his arms.
The boys, who are now three and best friends, know that Wilkin grew in my tummy and Loic in Auntie Trish’s. To them it’s totally normal. Trish and I are still great friends, and I will be grateful to her for ever.
People who meet them assume they’re twins. When I have the time, I explain that, no, they’re “twiblings”, siblings born incredibly close together. It’s a wild and wonderful story to share.
I still look at my boys, Wilkin – smart and bubbly – and Loic – sweet and reserved – and can’t believe how lucky I am. I know that not every journey ends with a baby, and I do feel conflicted about my story being exactly the kind of miracle I heard so much about when I was trying to get pregnant. I just want people to know that there are so many of us out there who know the path they’re walking. They are not alone.
As told to Kate Graham
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