Almost exactly a year ago, in early September 2017, H and I were super egg-cited [sorry bad yoke 😂] to start our first IVF cycle. After a traumatic 11 months of the miscarriage (read my letter to my angel here), the discovery that I had Asherman’s Syndrome (more here), the uterus surgeries and the various hormone therapy treatments (HRTs), we were ready.  It had to be our turn now, surely…

I’d received the drug delivery a week earlier.  Not knowing what to expect, I ordered it to work.  My office used to be located in one of London’s largest shopping centres, so the delivery guy got lost.  He called me (from a withheld number) in the middle of the afternoon and asked that I meet him down a dark alley outside Zara Kids.  (Shady AF, if you ask me.)  I rushed out of the office, not knowing what he looked like.  As it turned out, he wasn’t hard to spot – there was one guy standing next to a HUGE box (see picture on my Instagram).  Et voilà, my first drug exchange was completed.

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