I was deeply honoured to have been invited onto The Fertility Podcast to record an interview about my infertility journey, the importance of finding your tribe for support (from other members of the club no one wants to join), and what I’m hoping to achieve with this book project (and how you can contribute by sharing your story)
I wrote an article for The Guardian about the language of miscarriage for Baby Loss Awareness Week 2018. I know. The bloody Guardian!! I sent off a pitch obviously not expecting that they would get back to me, let alone accept it — but they did.
First thought: Holy poo.
Second thought: Don’t mess this up. This is really really important.
If you’re struggling to have a baby, it can feel overwhelming to know what you should and shouldn’t do, to give yourself the best chance of success.
Well fear not! Having conducted a full meta-analysis of one leading UK tabloid newspaper (Jan 17-Aug 18), here is a summary of its bulletproof guidance and absolutely rock solid health advice, guaranteed to give you the miracle baby of your dreams.*
*disclaimer: may not be bulletproof guidance, rock solid health advice, or guaranteed to give you the miracle baby of your dreams.
You never know true love until you have a child”
This quote is definitely a podium winner when it comes to ‘hurtful comments people say when you’re childless not by choice’
Let’s dissect this sentence, shall we?
‘Well, Ms Lindemann, you are, without doubt, the weirdest case I have ever seen’
So said the eminent Professor and world-leading researcher in infertility and miscarriage. I was one of the thousands of women who came to his clinic from all over the country — even the world. He’d been a specialist in reproductive medicine for well over 20 years, but I was the strangest case he’d ever seen.
Infertility is shit.
It’s really, really shit.
(Spoiler alert: this isn’t going to be crammed with motivational affirmations about infertility. There also will be swearing. Lots. Though you’ve probably already guessed that bit.)
Infertility can be traumatic, heartbreaking, brutal, and utterly unrelenting.
Yet whenever people talk about infertility, any meaningful acknowledgement of the deep emotional distress it causes seems utterly conspicuous by its absence.
Last month I volunteered at Fertility Fest - the world’s first art festival dedicated to fertility, infertility, modern families and the science of making babies. The London 2018 festival took place at The Bush Theatre London from 8-13 May with 40 events over 6 days with 200 artists and fertility experts.
I'd attended the inaugural Fertility Fest in 2016 - quite memorably, just 48h after egg collection for our third IVF cycle (so not only was I so bloated that I resembled a spacehopper, but I also spent the morning sessions semi-watching my phone like a bomb detonator, nervously waiting for THE CALL from the embryology lab with the Day 2 update).
It was a truly amazing day. I laughed, I cried - but most of all, I felt like I was with my tribe. With people who just got it.