After years of trying for a baby, I was no closer to becoming a mum. But then a miracle — or three — happened! By Laura Thornley, 34
Gazing at yet another negative pregnancy test, I tossed it in the bin, heartbroken.
‘Not again,’ I cried to my partner Pete as he held me close.
Pete and I had found love 10 years earlier, in the aisles of the local Tesco where we worked.
For the past three years, we’d tried for a baby but nothing had happened.
‘Let’s look into it,’ Pete suggested.
What if I never get to be a mummy? I thought, as I watched friends and colleagues have babies.
IVF wasn’t an option because Pete already had a child from a previous relationship, meaning that we didn’t qualify under the NHS.
My tummy swirled with anxiety as I punched in the number for the doctor’s surgery.
Eventually, I was booked in for blood tests, a meeting with a gynaecologist and later, an endocrinologist.
‘Your symptoms include irregular periods and very little ovulation,’ explained the consultant. ‘It all points to polycystic ovary syndrome, or PCOS. It’s likely to be behind your problems conceiving.’
At last, I had an answer.
But I was still in the dark about whether it was going to be possible for me to fall pregnant.
‘I’m going to put you on the drug metformin to regulate your insulin levels, which should help with the symptoms of PCOS,’ continued the consultant.
As soon as I got home, I joined some PCOS online support groups, keen to learn from other women’s experiences. The success stories and photos of longed-for babies gave me such a boost.
After a year on metformin, I had lost weight and felt more energetic.
One day, I went for a check-up with my doctor.
‘We are going to try Clomid instead,’ explained the doctor.
But there was more heartbreak when our first attempt was unsuccessful.
A few weeks later, I decided to track my ovulation — if I was releasing eggs — by taking my temperature.
As I looked at the thermometer, I noticed a huge spike. And my period was a week late, too.
With Pete at work, I rushed to the bathroom to do a pregnancy test.
As I stared at the stick, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
I was pregnant!
Happy tears streamed down my face as I tucked the test in a little box.
Pete was about to come home and I couldn’t wait to surprise him.
As soon as his key turned in the door, I accosted him excitedly.
‘I’ve got something for you,’
I grinned.
‘What’s this then?’ asked Pete as I handed over the box.
As he lifted the lid, a huge smile lit up his face.
‘We’re having a baby,’ I gushed.
Pete was just as emotional as I was!
We rushed over to my parents’ house and told them the good news.
They were thrilled for us, knowing all the hurdles we’d overcome.
I could barely believe that after years of heartache, I was finally going to be
a mum.
At seven weeks, we booked a private scan.
Only, as the sonographer rubbed the cool gel over my tummy, she paused.
‘Everything OK?’ I asked.
‘It looks like there are two heartbeats here,’ she said.
‘Twins!’ I squealed, amazed.
‘We’re going to have to get a bigger car,’ joked Pete as we flung our arms around each other.
We felt so blessed to be having a ready-made family.
At 12 weeks, we went for another scan.
‘How are my twins?’ I asked.
‘Hold on,’ said the sonographer, before returning with a doctor.
‘Is everything OK?’ I said, feeling a tingle of dread.
‘We’ve got a little surprise for you,’ she said, smiling. ‘You’re having triplets!’
‘What?’ I cried, my head spinning.
The next few minutes were a haze as we sat down in the waiting room.
‘We’re having triplets,’ I kept saying as Pete paced up and down the room.
We were told we’d have to go to hospital for check-ups every two weeks as it was a high-risk pregnancy.
And then the doctor said something that sent me reeling.
‘You’ll also have to decide if you want to terminate one of the embryos,’ he said, explaining that it might mean the other babies would have better odds of making it.
Pete and I looked at one another and shook our heads.
There was absolutely no way we were getting rid of any of our babies.
We’d come this far and wanted to give them all the best chance.
For the rest of my pregnancy, I treated myself with kid gloves.
At one of our check-ups, we found out we were having two girls and a boy.
As the weeks went by, my bump looked enormous. I was exhausted and just wanted to meet my little trio.
At 34 weeks, I was booked in for my Caesarean.
There were more than 24 medics in the delivery room — with a doctor and a midwife for each baby!
My bump was so huge I couldn’t even lie down properly.
In time, I heard the sweetest cry.
My little girl Esther arrived first weighing 3lb 2oz, followed by her brother Henry at 4lb. Last but not least was Eleanor, who was 4lb 2oz.
‘They’re tiny and perfect,’ I cried, as they were whisked away to be checked over.
I’d lost a lot of blood, but all I could think about were my little miracles.
Henry needed oxygen and they all had to be fed by a feeding tube.
However, they were all doing brilliantly.
Pete even managed to give them a quick cuddle.
‘How are they?’ I asked him.
‘They’re doing so well,’ he replied.
I finally got to meet them that evening after what felt like an eternity. They were worth the wait.
We learnt how to change their feeding tubes under the watchful eyes of the nurse.
After only 13 days in the hospital, we were able take our mini marvels home.
Now the triplets are 20 months old and doing well.
It’s a huge juggling act having three new babies to look after, but Pete and I are
a great team — with lots of support from Grandma.
I can already see their personalities blossom. Esther is the mischievous one and our little copycat. Henry is our cheeky chappy and laughs at everything. Eleanor likes to study what’s going on and looks like butter wouldn’t melt.
Now, we can’t wait to celebrate Christmas with our three miracles. Last year, they were just 10 months old but this time round, they’ll be much more excited by all the festivities.
Pete and I can’t believe our luck and can’t wait to watch our terrific trio thrive.