Amid the coronavirus crisis, the IVF dreams of many have been destroyed

It’s fair to say that coronavirus truly has changed life as we once knew it. The strain placed on so many of our industries of combatting a global health pandemic, with a less than organised approach from the government, is hitting the headlines on a daily basis. We’ve seen retailers such as Debenhams, John Lewis and Laura Ashley struggle like never before. People’s livelihoods have been destroyed by a lack of trade, and it’s heartbreaking to think of the local businesses in my constituency in South Wales that will never reopen or even begin to financially recover. We are now living in an age of restriction – at the time of writing, our very movements are being limited all in an effort to contain a global pandemic that should have been on our radar much sooner.

Personally, social isolation has caused me to feel just about every emotion on the spectrum over the last few weeks. I have felt angry and frustrated at not being able to live my life or do the bits of my job that I love the most – meeting people in and around the constituency. I’ve felt loneliness and, while I love my husband and little boy Sullivan, I’m missing my stepsons, friends and wider family like mad. At times I have felt unmotivated, which for anyone who knows me may come as a surprise, as I am usually a classic ‘type-A’ personality through and through. Most of all, though, the lockdown has made me reflect on the wonderful things that surround me every day, which ordinarily I might be too busy to miss.

We have all seen the headlines – some more accurate than others – about the positive impacts that social isolation is having on climate change. And we must not forget that, once things ‘return to normal’, it is possible to live a more environmentally-friendly lifestyle. I am sure that others would, at this point, be able to highlight some other positives to be taken from this stranger-than-strange period, but I’m struggling. With a one-year-old sat on my lap as I write, I can’t help but think of the impact Covid-19 is having on children everywhere. With schools across the country closed and hundreds of thousands missing out on what were some of the best years of my life, I can’t help but thank my lucky stars that my Sulley is still too young to notice. As long as Hey Duggee continues to play uninterrupted on television, he’s a happy boy.

While our economy and the often bleak future predictions of what so many of our industries will look like post-coronavirus are justifiably receiving the majority of media coverage, it’s the stories revolving around people that have resonated with me the most. Since the election in December, I have been determined to do politics differently, and an important part of that was being honest and open about my own personal struggles with fertility. It is a scary thing to do, to open yourself up to judgement from the keyboard warriors who will stop at almost nothing in their insults – Twitter, I’m looking at you, but Facebook you’re a close second. It is even scarier to talk about a process that in just three simple letters opens a huge conversation and a barrage of difficult and emotional questions: IVF, or in vitro fertilisation.

I have been fairly open about my experience of IVF, and know that in the grand scheme of things I was one of the lucky ones. I’ve always known that I would struggle with conceiving without medical assistance, yet nothing can ever prepare you for the difficult conversations that surround all things fertility. Sadly, IVF treatment through our beloved NHS is still generally a postcode lottery with a number of restrictions, and so many are forced to borrow money to fund treatment privately. I think that most would be shocked by the hidden costs associated with IVF: it truly is a long-term investment, especially if you are planning ahead for the future too. Indeed, recent research from The Fertility Network and Middlesex University suggested that the average cost of private treatment is between £5,000-8,000 per cycle.

It took me years to save up before I began my IVF journey, and I know the same can be said for many others who choose the same route. But coronavirus has ground all non-urgent procedures to a halt, and ruined the IVF dreams and ambitions of so many along the way. It is difficult to truly convey to people just how much of an emotional investment IVF is. It takes over your every waking moment and thought and, if you’re like me, will leave you with many sleepless nights. There’s the pressure, the constant barrage of questions from family, friends, the milkman. It felt like everybody knew about my difficulties in conceiving and, what’s more, everybody wanted an update and to be the first to know as soon as there was any news.

There is real shame, too. I certainly went through phases of feeling like I had let myself and my family down. I felt ashamed that my body was unable produce the child that I so desperately wanted without medical assistance, and it sounds awful to admit but there were times where I really questioned my own womanhood. The pandemic has brought a new wave of shame to the debate. On a global level, doctors are being asked to prioritise tackling the virus. Clearly this is an entirely valid course of action, but it doesn’t detract from the devastating impact that cancellations have had on thousands of people who have put their life – and often their finances – on the line to begin IVF treatment.

I first began IVF in 2018, and I cannot explain how many times over the last few months I have reminded myself of just how lucky I am to have had my ‘happy ending’ before coronavirus was ever on the cards. After just one round of IVF, and against all the odds, my only surviving embryo, my one in a million arrived… And was quickly whisked off to the neonatal intensive care unit where he spent two weeks fighting for his life. When I recall the story, people are often quick to say ‘how awful’, or ‘that must have been so difficult for you’. Without sounding entirely ungrateful, those sentiments just don’t quite cut the mustard of the utter heartbreak and sheer ups and downs that IVF often entails. It doesn’t end at birth either. Covid-19 has highlighted so many issues with the current policies surrounding IVF and egg freezing. I am reminded of one when I receive the £1,500 bill each year that ensures my eggs remain viable and frozen.

What people may not know is that IVF has its limits. There are age restrictions for those seeking treatment on the NHS, and there are financial limitations if you’re unable to fund private treatment. Even if you can jump through all of the hoops, eggs are only kept frozen for ten years in the UK. I know that everyone’s experiences are unique, and there are plenty of non-IVF related reasons for which people choose to have their eggs frozen. From someone who, aged 21, freezes her eggs because of a cancer scare, to a woman in her late 20s like me wanting to freeze her eggs in case a sibling is on the cards – ten years seems to be such an arbitrary, and limited time frame. We are seeing many parents have children much later in life, and I’ve read so many gut-wrenching stories from people across the country who are seeing their eggs ‘expire’ without being able to access them to begin fertility treatment.

When life does ‘return to normal’, our mental health services are also going to suffer as a consequence of the virus. I know that so many of my own friends and family are really struggling with distancing. Add to the mix the emotional stress and strain of IVF, and we’ve got a recipe for disaster. IVF and fertility issues may not be relevant to everyone, but from experience, I can truly say that it was one of the most emotionally turbulent times of my life and put a huge strain on my relationships with pretty much everyone. And while it’s great to see that IVF clinics will soon be able to apply to reopen, for many this will be too little, too late.

To anyone who has seen their IVF journey affected by coronavirus, please know that I am thinking of you and I have huge hope that things will get better. I sincerely hope that life after Covid-19 is one where we can reflect on issues such as IVF and how we can make the treatment more flexible and sustainable. More widely, I hope that there will not be another ‘surprise’ global health pandemic arriving at our doorsteps any time soon – but perhaps I’ll leave that to the Prime Minister to fully explain.