Set design by Gemma Tickle
By the time Min and Tom got to Guy's hospital, they were pros. As a force of habit of two people working in TV, they'd document the experience, filming themselves making the familiar journey to the assisted conception unit — Min turning to camera and asking, "How many people are going to see my vagina today, Tom?" When there was humour to be found in the IVF process, they'd find it. While the punches of fertility struggles pummel some relationships, Min and Tom's relationship just got stronger.
With a seven-year age gap between them, they always thought they'd have kids before Tom's friends. "My mum, she's quite direct. Actually she's Caribbean so they all are. She was like, 'your biological clock is ticking, you need to get checked out.'" But as Min was on the pill, the GP said there was nothing they could do, and since her twin sister had just had her second child, she thought she'd be fine.
"Looking back to when I was 30, when Tom and I first got together, I wish I knew then what I know now." As is often the case, they put off trying for kids until they felt the time was right. And when that time came along, Min did the usual acupuncture and ovulation monitoring, but to no avail. Tom went to get checked out, the doctor said he was fine. Min went to get checked out, she was fine. But something clearly wasn't. So with Min then 38, they went to Zita West and had the full fertility MOT.
Getting bad news is never easy, but a sensitive delivery goes a long way. A fact that seems lost on some consultants, who underestimate the emotional impact a life-changing infertility result can have. Min's AMH hormone level was 2:1, rather than the expected 20 for someone her age. Which meant getting pregnant naturally was in the highly unlikely bracket. "I got outside and cried inconsolably. I remember thinking, other than death, this is one of the most tragic things that could possibly happen. And then I looked across at Tom and thought, I'm just so glad I'm going through it with him."
The UK's IVF postcode lottery makes no sense at all. You might get one round of IVF on the NHS, three if you live just a few streets away, or none, if you unfortunately live in an area where funding has been removed altogether. And once you've passed 40, the eligibility goalposts shift again. So with Min 39, her and Tom weighed up joining the wait list at Guys and going with a funded round, or starting immediately at Zita West. They forked out 9K and did two rounds, making it to embryo transfer both times. The first time it didn't work they were numb. The second time, they were deciding on where to go for their honeymoon. If they were pregnant, they'd do a road trip in France, and if they weren't, they'd go to Brazil. They got the result — Brazil — and were again left numb.
Even though their treatment wasn't successful, Min raves about Zita West. Other than the initial consultant who delivered the AMH result, they offered a consistently personal approach: Always greeted by someone who remembered them, always seeing the same nurse for the scans, and they even kept the pharmacy open late one night so Min could get there to pick up some urgent IVF medication. If it wasn't for the crippling costs, they would have done another round there, but out of money they headed to one of the best NHS fertility clinics at Guys instead, on the advice of Zita West. This time, they were seen immediately and were able to squeeze in a funded cycle before Min was 40.
Min talks about their experiences of doing IVF in a light I've never seen it. They are probably in the minority of couples who actually enjoyed the process of IVF. Clearly an already tight team, it made them even closer, and fortunately the hormones never affected her in a negative way. Musing over the highs, lows and funny bits of IVF, Min shares a story about being at a wedding while she was doing the stimulation hormones. They had sneaked off to another room so that Tom could give Min her Menopur shot. It was around that time of the night where the music had gone all a bit ABBA. As Tom was drawing up the vile, they could hear two drunken women next door trying to help someone’s gran get her knickers down so she could go to the loo. And through a laughing fit, Tom tried to inject a needle into Min's stomach.
"We haVE friends going through IVF who are as closed as a closed book can be, whereas Tom and I Are like the Internet"
The transfers were always happy occasions, Min says. "Painless, and kind of amazing seeing your embryo being launched into your uterus. But the lows just floored us." Min remembers back to a time when she was at work and realised an embryo transfer hadn't worked. "I went to the loo and saw blood, but tried to remain positive, telling myself that it could be an implantation bleed. But as the morning went on, it was obvious that it was my period. I bottled it up all day because I didn't want to cry at work, but when I got home, Tom was there, and I cried so hard I literally had to hold on to the kitchen sink because I needed that stability." That raw feeling of being stripped to your core with sadness when you hit rock bottom with IVF is pretty dark. "I feel like it took a piece of me every single time," Min laments. That just sums it up really.
After a total of five unsuccessful IVF cycles, they didn’t know what route to go down next. There were two things that Min couldn't face going through again. The first was the egg collection because the impact of the sedation would make her feel so ill for days. And the second: the results. The impact from those took far longer to recover from. So they decided they weren't going to do IVF with Min's eggs anymore. Her younger sister has two kids who are adopted and a close friend has a baby through egg donation, so they knew they had other options. They spoke to a clinic about egg donation in the UK, but when Min gave her ethnicity — Black Afro Caribbean — they were told there weren't any donors. "It's the same with donating blood or bone marrow, kidneys or heart. It's just something the black community don't do as much," Min explains. An egg donation clinic in Barbados looked like a viable option, but the more she sat with the idea, the more she questioned whether she wanted to have a child that was biologically Tom's and not hers — even though people reassured her that she'd be carrying the baby for nine months, so would build that connection.
"I feel like IVF took a piece of me every single time"
Adoption it was. They went to an open evening, found Corum and loved them straightaway. It just felt like the right path to be on. They were told that the process would take nine months but the reality is that it takes a lot longer. Min and Tom started the process in January 2016. They got their son, Kali, in September 2017.
Most people looking to adopt want a baby, so it's quite competitive. "We also wanted a mixed-race child, because we're a mixed-race couple, and preferably a child from Caribbean heritage — which luckily Kali is." But before anything, Coram has to approve you for adoption. Which involves having your DBS (police records) checked, and a social worker visiting your house to perform health and safety checks. "They pointed at every plant in the garden asking if it was poisonous, we had to get rid of an 80s bar we had, make the stairs safety-proof, that kind of thing." Then came the grilling, whereby Min and Tom had to recall their life story from their earliest memory to what they had for lunch that day. Details of every address, school, and job were required, the environment in which they were raised, and how they were disciplined became topics of interest. "Our experiences are pretty different, I grew up in a Jamaican working class family, Tom's from a white middle class family. And all that builds a picture of what child you'd be best matched with," Min tells me.
Once you're approved you're given access to a website which sounds a bit like a dating one, with profiles like 'Billy, aged 2, likes cuddles, Pepper Pig, and has a strong personality.' Their social worker would breakdown what a 'strong personality' meant and help them navigate the profiles they were inundated with. It was through this site that they were contacted about Kali. Their social worker encouraged them to go in and read his file, which they did. A file so thick that went into detail about his biological mother, and her parents, and her parents' parents. It was an emotional read, Tom and Min would have to take it in turns to read it out loud.
"And I looked across and thought, I'm so glad that I'm going through this with him"
It was obvious they were the perfect match for Kali . They told their social worker they were interested in moving forward, a process that involves more checks and panels deliberating. All this time Kali was living with his foster family, who he had been with since his first 12 hours. Min talks about them affectionately. They're still in contact. "It's important for us to know who looked after our son for the first year of his life, and it's important for him to know who his foster family were." A pretty amazing family, by Min's accounts. Who made Kali's transition from their home to Min and Tom's as seamless as possible.
The introduction lasted about 10 days and consisted of a considered and supportive structure. "We were told to laminate pictures of us, and buy a toy — Gerry the giraffe, who's up in his cot. Then, feeling like two weirdos, we had to go to the park and take photos of ourselves with Gerry on the swings. Gerry even had to sleep in our bed for a few weeks before wrapping him in a Ziploc bag, because at that age, it's all about smell and sensory things".
Min and Tom stayed up in Sheffield — where the family live — for a week. The visits and contact with Kali built up over that time. The very first time they met him, Min, Tom, and their social worker, the foster carers, and their social worker, and Kali, and his social worker were all crammed into the foster family's living room. Min and Tom weren't allowed to interact with him too much at first, just sit on the sofa and let Kali come to them. "He came up to us and gave us a toy. I touched his hand on purpose, just to touch him," Min remembers. It then gradually built up so they would arrive early before Kali was awake, and when he woke up, they would be the ones to pick him up from his cot.
Tom and Min became Kali's parents four days after his first birthday. They kept his schedule the same, used the same washing powder and strictly followed all the advice from their social worker. Cocooning Kali with love and continuity. Bonding is a two-way thing though. The rush of love wasn't instant for Min. Something she's honest about. And it's perfectly natural for parents with biological children to not experience that initial rush of love either – not that everyone's open to admit this. I have a few friends who say they cared for their babies but found that the love was built through the mundane rhythm of caring for their child. Min talks about an occasion where she took Kali to nursery and saw him bawl his eyes out. And that's when her mother bear instinct kicked in. "In that moment, I was like 'oh my god, I really love my son!'" she beams.
Min was 36 when she and Tom started trying for a baby; at 42 she became a mother. It's been a long ride, where life's mostly felt on hold. During that time, friends were falling pregnant all around them. There was the friend who had a honeymoon baby — they literally had sex once. "My gut just fell when Tom told me," Min says. She recalls when her sister-in-law was in labour and they'd received the text to say it was happening. Min, caught up with the excitement of the moment, and the motions of what she must be going through with labour, just broke down when her phone pinged with the newborn picture. Even though they were at the time going through their own journey to get Kali, her mum was right — she'd never get over not being pregnant.
What's apparent from speaking to Min is that her and Tom are really good at acknowledging and discussing their feelings. "We have a very good relationship in that aspect. We talk if there's something that needs to be talked through." And that's the advice Min concludes with."Talk. It's key. Find someone you can talk to, talk to find out more information. Talk about it emotionally with your friends, or with family. Talk with your partner, even if that means sitting in a room with a therapist. Just talk."
The fertility diety — Zita West — is a practising midwife, acupuncturist and nutritional expert, so you're in good hands here. www.zitawest.com
One of the recommended NHS fertility clinics for Pre Genetic Diagnosis. They do all their lab work onsite, but they don't offer Pre Genetic Screening. You can also go to Guy’s as private patients: www.guysandstthomas.nhs.uk/our-services/acu/overview.aspx
The non-profit adoption and fostering service: www.coram.org.uk
