The secret battle facing 1 in 7

1 in 7 couples will struggle with conceiving. Given most teams in the workplace are between 7-10 people, it likely means at least one person in your team has or is likely to struggle with building their family. I hope that is not you. But it has been me.

I do not share my story for any sympathy. I am one of the lucky 30%, and now on maternity leave. Something I never thought I would write. But it has been a 5 year journey, and I consider myself to be in a privileged position where I can help companies and colleagues know how to handle infertility better.

The statistics do not make great reading. Fertility treatment has only a 30% success rate in the UK. The assumption is often made that more have success because it is usually only the good news stories which are shared. There is also the assumption that this is largely a ‘female’ issue - actually infertility is a 50:50 split. On this topic, no one is excluded from the conversation.

Infertility is increasingly being spoken about, but it is still considered ‘taboo’. Certainly, even with some of my closest friends in the insurance industry, I did not confide for fear of judgement and possible assumptions made about my potential lack of focus to my career. It can be an incredibly lonely place. I also knew that if I was asked how I was, it had the likely impact of making me emotional which is something I try to avoid in the workplace.

As I have started to open up about my path to motherhood, so many people have asked me questions which has made me realise I have a responsibility to share more about infertility and how we become more aware and supportive at work.? I thought I would share my ‘typical’ working day during treatment as nothing illustrates the toll it can take on those going through it. To put this into perspective, this was every day for 30 days, every 3 months for the past number of years:

• 5.00am: my alarm went off. I used to get on the first train to London, and then change train and tube twice.
• 7.30am: I would aim to arrive at my fertility clinic on the other side of London, when the doors opened (my clinic doesn’t have an appointment system - first come, first served!). Sometimes there would be 10’s of people in front of me, but I prayed I would be in first for my blood tests and scans. I was always worried about missing any key meetings, so knew every minute of any delay was vital.
• Most days I would sit in the waiting room with my laptop powered up looking for the nearest wi-FI connection (surprisingly rubbish in central London!)
• 8.30am: if I was super lucky I would be out of the clinic within the hour. I then walked 15 minutes to Oxford Circus, jump on the Central Line and across to Bank.
• Between 9.00-10.00am: I aimed always to arrive ‘on time’ at the office. If the stars aligned, I could make a meeting for 9am, but this was often wishful thinking. To be safe, I usually started my meetings at 9.30am. On days when the clinic was super busy, this could be as late as 10. Sometimes my team would make comments such as “Afternoon…” - totally naive to when my day actually started and where I had been.
• Lunchtime: Injection time! I would often have an ice bag in my handbag to allow me to inject at work and take whatever medication I needed.
• 2.00pm-6.00pm: I would be sat by my phone waiting for the call to give me the results from the morning’s blood tests / scans, and for the nurse to give me my instructions for my injections that evening for my tests and scan the next day. Ordinarily to take this call I would have to stop and step outside of the meeting room. I also avoided getting the train home until I received the call due to possible signal issues en-route.
• 7.00pm: on the good days I left the office and went home, but there were regular evenings out to coordinate, hiding the fact that I wasn’t drinking. Or, simply desperate to get home due to the artificial hormones taking over my body.

If I missed the train and couldn’t attend tests, or forgot an injection, that cycle was over. There is zero flexibility.

Coordinating diaries and ensuring business travel did not coincide and hiding appointments in my diary has been the standard protocol. However I was in the incredibly privileged position of having a Personal Assistant and with control over my diary. Most meetings I determined the time and place to suit me. Without this control, or Ellie as my buffer, things would have been so much worse. The reality for the majority.

The worst work days have been those when I learnt another round of IVF had not been successful. I have been through 7 cycles. If this news came on a weekend, it was a small blessing. However one of the worst days of my career was when I was hosting an Executive Offsite with my Board and found out our most recent IVF round had failed… again. I sat in my hotel room and cried, knowing that my make up was going everywhere and downstairs my team were waiting in the bar for me. No one knew. Instead of going home to my husband who felt the pain just as acutely, I reapplied my make up and put a brave face on.

I have also spent the last 5 years with people making assumptions about why I don’t have children (and why I interrupted meetings to take calls, and turned up late on some days). Many have told me I should stop working so hard and instead focus on having a family - completely unaware that this was what I was desperately trying so hard to achieve. People have never been unkind but it perhaps shows that there is so much learning and sharing to do. And why I have decided to post this piece.

So if you are one of the lucky 6 out of 7, what should you say and how can you help with fertility in the workplace? I have three pieces of workplace advice:

1. For colleagues: if one of your team confides in you that they are going through this process, firstly you should feel incredibly honoured. Take care of them and look out for them. If they open up to you, they clearly trust you, so don’t be afraid to ask questions. Infertility is a minefield, but if you are an ally to one of your colleagues please know that you can be a very powerful outlet for someone.
2. For Line Managers: if someone in your team is fighting this battle, please know it is brutal with no guarantees. Your flexibility and kindness during this time will be re-paid in the longer term immeasurably. Work was my ‘outlet’ and I probably pushed myself and my career too far, but others might simply want to check out for short periods of time.
3. For Executives: if you are lucky enough to be able to influence and change your family policies at work, please consider if you are supporting your team members who might be fighting this battle. I was part of a team at HDI who re-wrote the policy and we now have a policy which has flexibility at its core. If you are interested, I am more than happy to share ours. By all means, lift it and drop it in your business! Ultimately I did not use nor take what I was allowed during the last 5 years, but knowing the policy was there was an incredible mental buffer.

And my message for those who are still struggling to build their family:? my husband and I were given a 1 in 100,000 chance of being successful.

Our story is unique, but the reality is, so is yours.?

We personally made the decision to adjust our lives and our future to accept we might never have kids.? We went out of our way to create a network of people without children (some by choice, others not). I also chose not to attend work or personal events where kids were the focus. A baby shower?! No thank you! The annual kid’s Christmas work party? No thank you! Sometimes a “no” is fine!

I definitely don’t ask for your sympathy. But I share my story because as colleagues, line managers and businesses, this is a rare topic where everyone individually can do something to help. You don’t even need to have the answers! Whilst I went through the treatment, my story is also just as applicable to men and women. Infertility does not exclude by gender!

In work, I don’t regret not sharing my story, but I do wish I realised sooner that I wasn’t alone.