Four months to go!!

Eighteen years ago I froze my eggs. Now, in my 50s, I'm using them. Pregnant for the first time, doing it as a single woman, and building an alternatives channel along the way. I share the story.

4 months to go!!

It was now the budding month of May, and my pregnancy invisibility had disappeared. I had 4 months to go; the warmup was ending and game mode had been activated.

I was still in a complete head muddle taking this epic journey single. Antenatal classes I contacted assumed I had a husband at home diligently cobbling together a perambulator. Pregnancy books gifted (this one was a good mix of pragmatism and instincts) often chirped about the beauty of team play for night collabs, and hospital visits assumed a partner for nappy commitments and baby entertainment. I was entirely on board with them, wishing I did indeed have an elaborate personnel roster to materialise at 2am.

The struggle is real

During May I moved (again) from the beautiful Batten castle in East Sussex to Crystal Palace Park. I was receiving some help with accommodations and despite the guilty gratefulness, this was not the geographic region I would have chosen. It was 3-4 hours away from any friends and any hospitals I had previously registered with.

Yet it had silver linings; I loved the history. The park hosts the remnants of the re-located Crystal Palace, originally built in Hyde Park to host the 1851 Great Exhibition. At the time it was the largest glass building in the world, designed by the multi-tasking, overachieving gardener Joseph Paxton. It was dismantled from central London in 1852 and moved to my new location in South London. Amongst many brouhaha events it hosted the world’s first official ‘hockey on the ice’ match during the deep freeze of February 1875 (called ‘bandy’ it was one of a number of sports thought to be the predecessor to ice hockey, brought to Canada by Irish and Scots immigrants). In 1936, a fire, watched by Winston Churchill no less, destroyed the building and all that now remains are statues, terraces and stairs.

I loved walking around the park. Figuring out which dinosaur was which from atypically designed 1854 sculptures. I would waddle past the natural amphitheatre, up to the top through the old palace remains, then down through the National Sports Centre (which held many a IAAF Athletics before 2012). The amphitheatre (Crystal Palace Bowl) previously hosted Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, Eric Clapton, The Beach Boys etc and this summer they have Snow Patrol, Alanis Morissette, Tom Jones and other legends entertaining.

I was on my morning 6km amble when I discovered the café in the park. The perfect workspace AND they had pancakes. I had been craving these oversized pikelets since leaving Vancouver. Odd really having had 3 pancakes in the entire 5 years of living in Canada. I ordered; the verdict was disappointingly inferior. I half-finished and as I eased my belly from the chair, I let out a squeal, taking my own self by surprise. I had been hit by a cement hacky sack in the back of the legs i.e. the world’s worst charley horse. During all my ultra running I had never had cramps, and during the pregnancy although some doozies appeared at night, they never struck during the day. I was more embarrassed at my squeaking than the level of pain and staggering. And my belly hindered any good old hamstring stretch! I had clearly been lax on my magnesium intake which usually helped tremendously. This little cramp attack was oddly one of those times I felt terribly lonely. No-one helped or asked if I was ok.

But it is all OK.

Underneath all the discombobulation of moving again, medical changes, bad pancakes and cramping there was something gradually forming. Having heard the heartbeat hammering like a hen chugging espressos and feeling the delicate flutter kicks, I was realising I was already a mum. Even though the path looked nothing like the one pictured in my 30s.

But this little Viking, fought for across 18 years, frozen eggs and embryos, and a rerouted life was profoundly, unambiguously wanted. The village was forming I realised (too slowly at times) the people who responded to my unconventional circumstances with delight and empathy and ‘how can I help’ were my new tribe. And I was so lucky, there were quite a few of them, spread around the world.

Single again, yup. Older than conventional or desired, absolutely. Fiercely determined and protective, I fully felt the carrying of a small human who will never doubt they were wanted and already loved. Wohooooooooo!