After years of life-hindering illness, Lisa was afraid she might never give birth.
After years of ovarian cysts and life-hindering illness, Lisa was afraid she may never be able to fall pregnant and give birth.
Ihave always been a positive person (at least on the outside). I’ve been driven to succeed in my career, be a good person, treat my friends and loved ones as I would like to be treated and, when it feels right, to love unconditionally.
The elements of my life that I’ve had control over, I’ve worked relentlessly to reach goals and have always prided myself on achievements and experiences that have come as a result. But there have been events that I’ve had no control over. At 18, in December 2003, I was due to go on holiday in Australia from my home in the UK. Three days before I was due to fly, I was diagnosed with a large dermoid cyst on my right ovary, the size of a rugby ball.
I was told in no uncertain terms that I couldn’t fly and that it was highly likely that I would lose my ovary as a result of the urgent operation required to save my womb.
I ended up having the surgery in the January and lost my right ovary and fallopian tube, and had another smaller dermoid cyst removed from my surviving left ovary. The recovery was hard; I’d had a vertical incision from my belly button to my pubic bone. I had to miss out on the holiday and take eight weeks off university.
At 21 I started to feel a little poorly, but could not put my finger on what was wrong. I had a routine ultrasound scan booked, when all became clear ... and my world came crashing down once again. I had another dermoid cyst; this time it was the size of a baby’s head and was threatening my remaining left ovary.
To say I was petrified is putting it mildly. I was booked in for surgery within two months and woke up from the operation drowsy, sore and disorientated. My first words were to ask if they’d saved my ovary. They said they’d had to take half, but that it was still viable to have children.
I cried through happiness and relief and went back to sleep. While I was still fertile, I only had half an ovary plus the risk of getting another dermoid, so I became one of the first and youngest candidates for egg freezing on the National Health Service in the UK.
I had the appointment to talk about the process and had lessons on how to inject myself (super scary) to harvest the eggs. I was then told what would happen when they took the eggs from my uterus to be frozen. I was advised that I would be put to sleep for the procedure, which shouldn’t take more than 25 minutes. Injecting myself was quite hard at first: I had to psyche myself up the first time, but I have to be honest in saying that it got easier each time.
After eight days I went to the doctor to see how well my half ovary had performed. I was absolutely shocked, thrilled and excited to hear that the little trooper had produced eight eggs; I was like a proud mum, even at that point!
So there I was, 21, with eight eggs frozen (all of them were viable), and my life ahead of me for the taking. I was told the eggs would be frozen for 10 years at Liverpool Women’s Hospital, so I could go back to enjoying myself and focusing on my career.
Six months later on an ordinary day I noticed that I had a dull ache in my abdomen that seemed all too familiar. I decided to book an appointment at my GP as I’d learned from my previous mistake of not listening to my body.
I have to be honest in saying that I wasn’t massively surprised when I was referred for yet another ultrasound, and they found another dermoid cyst on my remaining dot of an ovary. My dot of an ovary, which had miraculously produced eight eggs just six months prior, was letting me down again. This time they were able to remove the cyst via keyhole surgery so no more opening me up vertically on my abdomen.
A NEW LIFE
Just after that operation I moved to Australia in January 2009, where I worked as a publicist. I’d been living in Sydney for seven years when my gynaecologist picked up a fibroid in my uterus wall at my routine sixmonth scan. I was advised that the fibroid was very large (15cm) and that I would have to have major surgery to save my uterus, and to ensure that I’d at least be able to carry a baby.
I had faced surgery before, so this wasn’t as daunting as maybe it should’ve been. The part that really scared me and was affecting my everyday life was the severe bleeding I was experiencing daily. We’re not talking heavy periods here; I mean haemorrhaging large quantities of blood and clots each day, so much so that I had to take at least two changes of clothes to work every day to change into. Less than ideal.
I briefly had a IUD fitted, on the advice of my gynaecologist, which was meant to make the bleeding easier. Unfortunately I was one of the unlucky ones that it made bleed even more heavily, so I had it promptly removed, along with a polyp in my uterus. It was in October 2012 that I returned back to my Mum’s in the UK in search of a solution for what was becoming a life-hindering condition.
My plan was to return to Sydney in three months. However, my body had other ideas.
Three months of consistent bleeding and feeling fatigued and being prescribed iron tables to combat what was becoming quite severe anaemia meant that I’d decided that I needed to be looked after by my Mum, take a rest from work and to speak to my specialist in the UK about my options there.
I had my first appointment with my specialist at Liverpool Women’s Hospital, which didn’t go as planned. I was told that I would have to have a hysterectomy if I wanted the fibroid removed. I was in utter shock: I hadn’t envisaged this at all! He explained that as the fibroid was now over 20cm, they wouldn’t be able to save my uterus. I was devastated.
Nonetheless, undeterred and with my health and fertility top of mind (I was only 27) I decided to get second opinion.
The second specialist said he would be able to save my uterus and that he would remove the cyst. He was confident I would be able to conceive after the procedure. The only element that I was unsure of was that I had to be put into an early menopause, that would be temporary (three months) but that preventing the production of oestrogen would shrink the fibroid, thus making the saving of my uterus more likely. I opted to go ahead and had the injection to put me into a premature menopause that very same day.
I’d love to say that the injection worked. However, a scan revealed that rather than the fibroid shrinking, it had in fact grown. It got to the point where I just wanted the fibroid out of me and was willing to face the recovery. I was becoming increasingly fatigued with the daily blood loss, the anaemia and my growing uterus (which now resembled a six-month pregnancy). I awoke from the operation and, despite feeling groggy, I was relieved that it was over and felt happy when the nurse told me all had gone as planned. I could still carry a child ... result!
A FATEFUL MEETING
In July 2015, while travelling with my Mum, I met Stephen on a plane in Abu Dhabi. We hit it off straight away. Three months after we met I started to feel a little under the weather, so I decided to book an appointment at the doctor to make sure everything was okay. The first thing the doctor asked me was when my last period was. I explained that I only had a dot of an ovary and had eight eggs frozen in the UK due to my uncertain fertility. To my complete shock, she asked me to take a pregnancy test. Which I did. To my amazement, it came up positive almost immediately. To say I was surprised was an understatement. After everything I’d been through I didn’t think I could get pregnant, let alone so quickly after meeting someone, no matter how special they seemed to be.
I couldn’t believe that in a matter of six months, a chance meeting with a handsome stranger on a plane had led to this exciting new beginning. I couldn’t have been happier with the outcome. At my 19-week scan, I learned all was perfect with the baby, but there was another dermoid cyst on my dot of a remaining ovary. When talking through the results of the scan, my doctor said he wasn’t concerned about the dermoid as it was so small, but they’d keep a close eye on it. He determined that the stabbing pain would be from adhesions from previous surgeries and that it would probably only get worse before it got better as the pregnancy progressed. He also explained that he didn’t want me to have a natural labour due to the removal of the fibroid two years previous from my uterus wall. He explained that the trauma of birth on my uterus could be too much and that he didn’t want me to take the risk.
It took a while for me to come to terms with the fact that I wouldn’t have a ‘normal’ birth experience. Yet I felt so privileged to be able to even carry a child, so I focussed my energy on that.
I went into the hospital on 4 July, the date I picked as it was the day I would ‘lose’ my independence (ha!). The procedure was the most amazing experience of my life. My best friend Sophie was my midwife and delivered my healthy, beautiful baby boy called Albie in July 2016, named after my grandpa Albert. He was perfect. A Wonderful World was playing as he lay on me skin-to-skin and I breastfed for the first time. It was magical.
I was up and about the day after he was born and it didn’t impact me at all, other than not being able to drive. Albie is now nearly five years old, and he is the most gorgeous person, inside and out. While Stephen and I didn’t work out romantically, I can’t help but think that fate dealt us a winning hand the day we met as we were able to bring Albie into the world, despite the odds being stacked against us.
I still have regular scans to keep an eye on my ‘dot’ of an ovary, and still have my eggs frozen in the UK. I extended for another five years. Who knows what the future may hold.