For the past decade or so every friendship, every emotion, every moment of professional success or failure, every love affair, every social media post, every cat stroked, every book read and Line of Duty series watched has taken place against a backdrop of my failure to have a baby. There is not a single day that I don’t think about it. There is not a single day that I don’t grapple with the sadness and the fear and the anxiety while at the same time mustering up the energy to maintain hope when it feels like all optimism is flagging.
A woman fighting a fertility battle has to wear an armour made up of all these linked, yet conflicting, pieces of chain mail: we are
