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Baby brain!! This might actually hold up this time.

In the UK, the NHS sends you reminders via email or text (or both) to ensure attending the appointment is as foolproof as possible. It’s clearly a significant waste of specialist time and money when appointments are missed. Not to dodge my own administration failures but the time and date were in my calendar, the hospital wasn’t.

Thanks to a lack of dialogue from any of the 3 hospitals I had frequented, I assumed it was me that had made the error. This is where my tenuous defence comes in: this had actually happened before. A month or so earlier I had traipsed 2.5 hours one way, by train and bus (where local buses only run 3 times a day) to an appointment only to be told they had given me the wrong date. So, naturally I assumed the same thing had happened again.

I appreciate there is such thing as a phone, but I wasn’t sure which hospital to call and opted to believe my foggy brain had got it all wrong.

I had not and got a snippy message about missing my appointment. Luckily, I was apologetic enough they gave me a replacement appointment for the same day. It seems they recognised I might have been cognitively impaired.

I arrived, needed the loo, which occurred more frequently now I was hurtling towards my caesarean date.

A short digression here: I always thought the increased peeing was purely a belly-growth issue i.e. the womb crowding out the bladder. But it’s a combo deal. A pregnant body means up to 50% more blood and plasma is produced, meaning the kidneys have more blood to filter thus creating more fluid to be expelled. And in the second instance the babe drops lower towards the end of pregnancy and presses harder on the bladder. Fun times!!

This particular toilet visit somehow swallowed my blue folder, which had all my private notes and doctors’ letters inside it i.e. I left it in the bathroom stall. Realising reasonably quickly I dashed back and retrieved the folder, eye rolling my own self, and went on to the scan appointment.

During the scan (one of my last), Baby V having been awkwardly quiet all weekend decided to go all out with his circus tricks for the audience of one. The second he was no longer being watched he went back to his chill transverse position and usual stealthy self.

During the scan the Sonographer had casually dropped in that bubs belly was measuring slightly larger than average.

WHAT?

It turns out this larger belly reading could also be because Bubba V thinks he’s lying on a couch, Netflixing away. Meaning, as he was transverse the bulk of his weight was in the middle of his body which can make measurements easier to misread.

I then had the doctor appointment immediately after and had loads of questions, most of which I forgot to ask. I did remember to ask re my blood pressure at 103/68 which was slightly higher than normal for me, but I was assured it was a good reading for the birthing process. Anything over 140/90 towards the end of your pregnancy can be a warning sign for pre-eclampsia, so mine was not concerning.

I had also mentioned trace proteins (again) as they had found some on my last test. Proteinuria is also an indicator for potential pre-eclampsia but again I was told the amount was not concerning.

I have mentioned pre-eclampsia a few times in previous blogs, as it was such a medical concern throughout my pregnancy. It was one of the main issues they seemed to worry about and very much age related. So to repeat, for other mature mama’s; if both indicators go higher together i.e. blood pressure and proteinuria, that’s a strong trend that should be noted for preeclampsia, which is more common in older pregnancies, particularly for over 40’s.

Feeling chuffed as the scan had mostly reassured me, I bought some lunch from the cafeteria putting my official hospital notebook down on the table. I was distracted. There was always a tiny devil voice prior to appointments saying the baby might have stopped breathing or a new genetic disorder would be discovered or something horrifically similar before each scan. So, afterwards I would get this huge surge of relief.

And of course I was constantly hungry.

I wolfed down a rather stale sandwich, a clear demonstration of how hungry I was as I have a severe case of bread snootiness. My bread blocks are stale or wet sandwiches, and I get this partiality having grown up in bakeries with outstanding bread.

Blurgh. I stood up and trotted off. Without my official notebook.

The one containing all my different hospitals, doctors’ notes and scan details and which I have to take with me to my caesarean booking. Of course, I didn’t realise until I got to the bus stop, then sighed and waddled back to pick it up.

Unbelievably the women who worked in the stale bread café went to reception to hand it in, as I stood at reception asking a question. She made eye contact as she handed it in, I smiled and watched her hand it in, then we both trotted off in opposite directions. I had made no connection that the blue book in her hand was my blue book. Ugh is baby brain really a concept? Hard to tell with my brain…but it turns out…yes baby brain really is a thing. It’s just not quite what you might think.

During pregnancy the brain is fine tuning itself. We get a reduction in grey matter but white matter strengthens. Scientists think these brain changes are a matter of the brain getting itself ready to keep a newborn alive. The fogginess is less about the brain changing and more about a lack of sleep, significant hormonal shifts and the cognitive load that occurs when preparing for a new baby. So it’s more the lack of sleep, stress and emotional load of the pregnancy and newborn rather than baby brain foggery.

I went home and had a good lie down. Hoping when I finally have a baby, I will never forget about the baby.

Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility:

Sleep and food can help pregnancy brain. Regular sleep times, short naps when you can grab them, and brain foods like eggs, fish, beans and iron-rich stuff aren’t just general pregnancy advice, they’re specifically flagged as memory helpers.

What NOT to do if you are a partner. The advice against joking about pregnancy brain symptoms is a good one to highlight. It’s such an easy trap for partners to fall into, thinking they’re being light-hearted when they’re actually being dismissive. Talk it out people. Help your partner understand what is going through your mind and body.

Watch blood pressure and protein together, not separately. If you're an older mum, this is the one worth making a not about. One raised reading on its own isn't much of a flag, but blood pressure and protein trending up at the same time is the pattern doctors watch for pre-eclampsia, especially over 40.

Are you, like me, carrying your entire pregnancy in a state of organised chaos? Tell me I’m not alone. Forward this to someone who needs it. 💛

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So, unless some babies have a completely different spice going on, I don’t know why someone has made a product to smother this unique essence. And there are loads of these cover ups.

Baby perfumes have been a tradition for centuries though. Egyptians used aromatic oils on infants to ward of pesky spirits and the Moors used distillation techniques, rose water and essential oils for infant hygiene and social standing. When the Moors permeated Spain and Portugal around the 8th century local mamas started emulating the use of perfumes. Which in turn bought the practice to Latin American cultures, although indigenous peoples had bathed infants in regional herbs and spices to ward off disease and drive cleanliness for centuries prior.

Traditionally ‘aguas de colonia’ or ‘colonia infantil’ was based on Lavender or Citrus and often used by the whole household. Mums would splash baby before special occasions like Sunday church to signal respectability and good social graces. In 1946 in Spain it became more commercialised and even hospitals and nurses would use a famous brand called Nenuco (a light lemon scent) on newborns.

Then in 1970 Baby Dior made it globally official by launching an infant focused cologne. It was discontinued over time but revived in 2023 as Bonne Etoile featuring green pear, wild rose, and white musk. Which to be fair sounds rather delicious for whiffing, but like a bottle of wine, any description of ‘ingredient notes’, whether drinking or splooshing, can boil down to personal review. It seems rather pretentious to me that 230 pounds encourages you to cover up a babies natural bouquet.

Most of the baby perfumes are marketed as scented water. They have bold disclaimers against alcoholic or unsafe ingredients to help protect delicate and sensitive skin.

Which leads me into my general question; who is this really for? A baby hasn’t formed an opinion on smells, otherwise they wouldn’t breastfeed at the crack of dawn when adult breath is at its most magnificent.

I appreciate ancient traditions, and indeed historically it made sense without the bathing access and products we have now. But if you look at France ,who are big buyers of baby colognes, it seems the target market is obviously adults. Adults who look at a newborn and think this isn’t good enough for my nostrils.

I also appreciate a clean smelling baby demonstrates a happily cared for baby, but it still leaves me struggling to understand why repackaging the smell of bubs is necessary. The only time a slightly different fragrance would be pleasing is when a volcanic nappy has made a grand entrance. Or the bottom burp has sprouts and sulphur-egg ‘notes’. And that is what bathing is for in my humble opinion.

Thanks to my good friend Tanya, who drummed into me via a sunscreen chat that a babies skin absorbs more chemicals, we need to be more aware of what we put on immature skins. Bringing in some science this fragility is due to the outer skin layer (stratum corneum) being 30% thinner than an adults, and a babies cellular structure being less tightly bound. This vulnerable combination allows topical products and pollutants to easily pass through baby’s skin.

Another negative to foreign ingredients on infant skin is an evolutionary issue where the smell of your baby triggers dopamine in the brain and oxytocin hormones. This helps with bonding and the strong urge to protect, and if that natural smell is covered then we are creating a false armour for crucial and organic signals.

As it’s probably clear, I have never sprayed a baby with anything. And if you have bought baby perfume, we are all sleep-deprived and doing our best but you might need to know, your baby smells perfect. These products are trying to solve an issue that doesn’t really exist.

Found a weird baby product you think I would like to cover? Tell me as my 2am Googling needs some direction and distraction from baby sleep issues.

It was a fire alarm!!?

A calm and immediate scurry to an exit is fire escape 101. Emergency directions never start with ‘ fossick around for spread out possessions’. But, being a single woman, heavily pregnant with an outside life dependant on a laptop (I love using this one), handbag and passport, there was no chance I was leaving without those beauties. So, I scrambled about, having forgotten where I put the necessities, all the while trying to block out the pistol shrimp stuck on shriek mode.

I did have a fleeting thought about putting my phone and passport into a pair of fabulous new shoes but resorted to prudence and turned away from my red/pink Gola’s. And by now I had taken too long thinking about gathering up my lifelines and then gathering up my lifelines, so bolted out the door, deafened, but with my random go bag.

Everyone was sort of shuffling out to various exits, so I thankfully slowed my own roll as it was clear this was a sceptical exit and not a conviction one. Like me everyone was still half asleep, unlike me none had a bag and a bump.

In the hour spent outside I had time to ruminate on packing a decent go bag for future fleeing (I did indeed do that, taking it on the next 4 inopportune alarm excursions). And more poignantly for me, if this was a real emergency it was another emotional reminder that single pregnancy can be tough. Everyone else was in couple clusters or packs of family. I thought how much I’ve done alone, and a little pang went through me…

Another kind of alarm.

Not every unusual event came with shrieking. A few days earlier I’d had a phone appointment during which I was told my Caesarean date. It was locked in for the 4^th. Funnily enough one of my brothers had always had that date in his head so when he shared that with me, the date seemed especially auspicious.

And just like that, once given a date, the event was real.

I appreciate having a large bump and waddling about would mean things are real, but I often forgot I was pregnant. I booked events like night canoeing with my sister on the Thames, a Sherlock Holmes bar with a tonne of mysterious alcohol (I did not drink at all whilst pregnant) and a horse event with a bestie at The Household Cavalry Museum in a heatwave. None of which I went to.

With the Caesarean date locked in, I started to worry. It seemed too early and I wish I had asked for a later date (I didn’t think I could negotiate with the experts). Originally, I had been told it would be 38 weeks. Most doctors/staff schedule a planned caesarean around 39 full weeks, balancing safety, operating theatre and calendar limits and I felt I just had a chick at the end of the phone juggling a busy calendar. Baby V would be just over 37 weeks when pulled out. And a number of issues seem to be more prevalent if a baby is born before 37 weeks?

With more research I now suspect the factors that caused an earlier caesarian were; Bubba V being transverse + my age.

Being transverse meant he was lying sideways across my belly. I could feel the little unicorn reclining against my right ribs with his head, and kicking the left side of my rib cage with his tootsies. Note, if your baby is still transverse after week 36 it’s nearly impossible to have a natural birth and medical professionals would be worried about an unexpected/spontaneous labour. An unexpected/spontaneous labour creates a higher risk for an umbilical cord prolapse, which can reduce baby’s oxygen supply.

But if you have made it to 36 weeks and bubs is still transverse you will usually be offered an ECV (external cephalic version). Its unusual for a transverse baby to turn naturally due to crowding after 36 weeks hence the option for an ECV. And the good news is that with transverse babies an ECV has a higher success rate than the breech position. The procedure is performed in a hospital with fetal heart rate monitoring, muscle relaxants for mum, professional hands moving the baby, and an emergency room on standby.

So now I had just over 4 weeks to go and I wasn’t ready at all. I oscilated through a variety of emotional peaks and troughs but most of the time I was just bumbling along dreaming about what life might be like with a baby in my arms. The biggest hiccup was the accommodation flux and those damn fire alarms going off late at night and early in the mornings. The rest was going to go how it was meant to go.

Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility

What should I do in emergencies when pregnant? Ok I’m sure if you’ve read this far you will already know a ‘go’ bag is a great idea. After the first fire alarm I started putting my phone, laptop, purse and passports in a bag along with baby essentials (nappies, wipes, change of clothes, first aid kit) beside the door. And if you are travelling or staying somewhere you aren’t familiar with it really can lesson a stress you don’t need to research exits before you need them. I moved 2 months later and one of the first things I did was work out the fire plan re what I would have to do if there was a fire in the building.

Baby Positions. These small changes can sometimes make a difference if your baby is still transverse in late pregnancy. Try and sit in upright positions and with legs open to encourage bubs to focus their head towards your pelvis. And don’t be afraid to ask for more scans if you are worried about a baby positioning as only a scan can safely say what position baby is in.

If this resonated, forward to one person who might need it. 💛

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The world’s least clever walk

I woke up determined to get my walking steps in before the appointment. At this stage of pregnancy, my normal morning routine was an hour-long bump promenade around Russell Square in Bloomsbury. Some days I would get crazy and include Gordon and Tavistock Squares, but on this day, I planned a different route. My lovely homeless buddies would have to wait another day to ask me when I was due (again).

The master plan was outstandingly simple. Walk to the 2^nd bus (over an hour away) instead of the first bus outside my front door. Not much flair in the design but it had steps-in and money savings. Win-win.

Digression for a second. Fitness was a paranoia spot for me. It’s where the angst of being an older mama hammered at my brain. Chafing self-lectures on maintaining a constant level of health, although with the near daily 1–2 hour walks and the gym classes I might have been overdoing it a smidge. I was just determined baby V would have the best start in life and the old-age self-guilt was very real pre-and-during pregnancy.

Back to the GTT. This test is to 1. diagnose diabetes mellitus, a long-term health condition defined by high blood sugar levels caused by Type 1 (your body makes little or no insulin) and Type 2 (your body’s cells become resistant to insulin), or 2. gestational diabetes (usually develops in the 2^nd or 3^rd trimester when hormones produced by the placenta make your body more resistant to insulin and the pancreas can’t keep up) or 3. impaired glucose tolerance a.k.a pre-diabetic (your body struggles to process sugar properly after eating/drinking and your blood sugars are high but not high enough to have a diagnosis of Type 2). A positive diagnosis means a higher risk to adults of heart disease, stroke, damage to small/large blood vessels and permanent harm to eyes, nerves and kidneys. Blurgh!!

The test for gestational is performed on pregnant woman between 24 and 28 weeks, if they think you are at risk (over 40, high BMI, previous large babies over 4.5kgs, sibling/parents with diabetes, certain ethnic backgrounds, weight loss surgery, glucose in your urine, PCOS, certain medications, or have had gestational diabetes before) OR you have symptoms. Ironically if you do have symptoms they replicate normal pregnancy issues e.g. you are feeling very thirsty, tired and pee a lot. I was considered at risk as my mother had Type 2, and a sibling had gestational and of course I was over 40.

But back to my scorching morning, I hadn’t remembered a glucose tolerance test requires fasting. I don’t eat before walking anyways but I usually scoff a big bowl of muesli, fruit and yoghurt immediately after. Not today my friends, pregnancy brain and older-age stress showed a certain commitment to staying fit but a definite stupidity for science. By the time I arrived I’d done over an hour of HOT, brisk walking and over an hour on a SIZZLING bus 7 months pregnant. I was wilted, anxious and nauseous with the lack of oxygen and energy. My blood was going through enough emotional turbulence to impress Nosferatu, but not my nurse to test me earlier sadly. At Queen Charlotte and Chelsea hospital I usually had a long wait before being seen, today of course was no exception.

This will surprise no-one that knows me

There was blood to be taken, which I hate, and my phone was dying because I had repurposed it for significant amounts of drifting orientation. I also hadn’t packed a book, or any kind of mental stimulation, both of which had been highly recommended by the hospital in the GTT preparation notes (along with the fasting of course).

Eventually I got called in. There was another pregnant woman already sitting there, glass in hand, looking fantastically unwell. My blood was taken first to show my fasting level threshold. Then they prepared my drink.

The GTT drink is a highly concentrated glucose drink with a dose of 75 grams of pure sugar to 200-300mls water ratio (depending on the clinic). It is famously described as sickly and sweet and a real struggle to get down. I assumed this was happening to Mother A as I clocked her green aura.

The nurse said to me ‘try and drink the beverage as quickly as possible but most people struggle’. Being dehydrated and hungry those instructions were music to my ringing ears but for reasons I can’t fully justify, I decided they also identified a drinking competition evolving. It was game on between my now nemesis Mother A and myself.

The glucose Olympics

Years of university drinking came screaming back and I sculled the entire thing like a mammoth at a lavish oasis, beating the other mother who had started ahead of me by a good two minutes. Not that I was counting. I was totally counting and I basked in that fleeting glory with little leprechauns kicking their heels up inside my head. My nurse, Mother A, and her nurse were suitably impressed. I received an honourable ‘that was quick’ from the nurses and an envious glance from Mother A. Yes, ladies it was quick. I was the anchor for our sculls team at university. Not rowing but drinking sculls, an honour not bestowed lightly upon those who cannot quaff.

Then came the crash back down to mother earth. I now had two hours of sitting with a dying phone and nothing to do. I thought there was a lovely looking park nearby so I asked my nurse if I could go for a walk, turns out it was The Scrubs prison and I might have been on a sugar high. She lost the lustre of observing a winner and looked at me like I was a fool. Apparently, nausea, vomiting and fainting are all possible reactions, and again in the GTT notes, they strongly suggest you sit quietly for the two hours after your sculls win.

Ugh it was SO tedious. I got excited when a bit of new nausea hit me about an hour in due to the break it offered from boredom. I counted the floor tiles (64 if you don’t mind) and watched the same dental ad about a dozen times on the internal TV, noting I needed a dentist appointment stat. I got to the stage of looking forward to the dreaded blood test to mix up the tedium of sitting.

Finally, they called me in for my final blood test to gauge where my blood sugar levels lay. Blood test over they said they would send results etc (GTTs usually take 1-2 days to get results back). I sprinted, or the pregnancy equivalent of a sprint, straight to the hospital café and put away two sandwiches without pausing for breath. Nom bloody nom.

Given how much bread, ice-cream and sweets I’d been scoffing the past 7 months, my pregnancy anxiety had convinced me to expect bad news, even though this isn’t exactly how diabetes works. Gestational diabetes is more common with certain risk factors as written above, but I had been eating as if risk factors weren’t applicable.

And most importantly the reason diabetes can be an issue during pregnancy is because it can: “ lead to short-term complications such as macrosomia (large babies) and neonatal hypoglycemia (low blood sugar at birth) and long-term risks including obesity (chubby), metabolic syndrome (chub associated issues), cardiovascular dysfunction, and type 2 diabetes”.

Luckily (and surprisingly to me) my results came back completely clear. A healthy blood glucose level is lower than 140 mg/dL (7.8 mmol/L), a blood glucose level between 140 and 199 mg/dL (7.8 and 11 mmol/L) is considered prediabetes and a blood glucose level of 200 mg/dL (11.1 mmol/L) or higher suggests diabetes.

BUT a positive diagnosis for GD is not the end of the world. It’s very manageable and people close to me who have been diagnosed with it during pregnancy have all gone on to have incredibly smart, very lovable and superbly talented children. And nearly all have gone on to have normal blood sugars after childbirth.

Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility

Fasting is crucial to give a proper reading and hence diagnosis. Don’t do a platinum mum and exercise in the morning as it will cause havoc (heatwave or not) with your systems. You can have small sips of water but our advice would be to try and book an early morning appointment so you can fast overnight and not be forced to fast during the day.

Pack for boredom. That’s just being sensible but often the Wifi or signal can be poor in hospital so it’s a great time to read that book you’ve been meaning to read (or colour in) for ages. Take a power bank (this one is great and light) and some good carb led snacks for afterwards to bring your sugar levels up to normal quickly. I was in the department for over 3 hours in the end, but Queen Charlotte and Chelsea have a café that is conveniently close to the test area.

Know the actual risk factors. The NHS lists things like a raised BMI, a previous large baby, or a family history of diabetes as reasons you’d be offered the test, rather than anything about what you ate that week. My accommodation didn’t have a fridge or a stove at one point so my eating was not as healthy as it usually was. My point is things can change very easily and quickly so don’t beat yourself up when you can’t eat as healthily as you want to. Bubs will take whatever they need from you anyways.

If this resonated, forward to one person who might need it. 💛

At 28 weeks I moved again from the historic, jungle like Crystal Palace Park into central London proper: Bloomsbury, W1s bookish cousin with garden squares and Georgian facades. It was beautiful and I loved being there as it added excitement to pregnancy life by providing options. Food options, work options (the British Library was a quick waddle away where I could channel my ‘woman of letters’ vibe) and crucially for me, gym options.

The gym mattered for more than just body honing. Having a gym nearby meant I could mix up the exercise which up to this point had consisted of walking, walking, and more walking. Staying fit through pregnancy had weighed heavily on me being an older mum. I already knew exercise during pregnancy had positive benefits around blood pressure, caesarean v natural birthing and keeping gestational diabetes at bay. But what I wanted to know is what exercise might do for pregnancies over 40? This 2022 study on rats provided some interesting speculation. When rodent mothers of “advanced maternal age” exercised during pregnancy, their offspring showed better spatial learning, memory, hippocampal neuroplasticity, and mitochondrial function than pups born to older, sedentary mothers. Interesting if that was replicated in humans which is why I’m taking an optimistic hypothetical here.

Fitness First

The fitness focus coincided with my new spirit of shooshing myself up, so I bought my first set of fake nails. Pregnancy had gifted me with a set of hormonal talons I was chuffed with, but pregnancy made me want to make a more significant beautification effort. I got home, glued, misplaced and then refiled the nails. Then trotted off to gym with a cute set of little French inspired fingers, to sample 2 pools, pickle ball courts, weights, yoga, HIIT and spin.

It has an interesting effect coming into a gym class very pregnant. I was constantly side-eyed. My instructor was lovely, uber fit, tanned and not a day younger than 70 (unless a sun bed compulsion skewed assumptions), solicitous but at the same time glaringly concerned about me taking her class. I assured her with some surprising 70’s jargon that I had been ‘well fit’ before pregnancy. A claim resting entirely on a rosy memory of my pre-pregnancy fitness. I was knackered within the first 5 minutes. What I hadn’t factored in was the restriction I had reaching the peddles which meant riding the bike felt like riding a portly pony. My belly girth lent itself to a weird and wide peddling gait which became knackering surprisingly quickly.

I finished my first pregnancy spin class, all proud and glowy. Jumping off I noticed something at the base of the bike, then noticed something in front, then a little something besides my fellow spinner. Scattered around the gym were little French painted nails. My glue job had not had enough load bearing and during the 45 mins of exercise my real nails had divested themselves of the fake nails. I slid the closest one under the bike, bending down would have taken significant time and considerable dignity. The rest I left as evidence of my self-confirmed intense exertion.

Yet another Appointment missed!!

I’d missed another scan. In my defence as I had moved again, I now had another hospital and new maternal team, for the 4^th time, and my brain had not fully processed the details. Three hours of blood draws was incredibly fun, then we had a re-measuring of bubs, at the end of which I was informed Baby V was “large for date“. What? Within seconds I’d convinced myself this was catastrophic on the macrosomia scales. For the record and for anyone else doing similar spirals “large for gestational age” means a baby estimated above the 90th percentile for their stage, which describes approx. 1 in 10 babies born. Most of the time they are entirely fine.

Which brings me to a significant snippet you won’t realise until you are in the thick of it: how mentally untamed pregnancy can make a normally functional woman seem. Being single throughout didn’t help. There was no one to talk me down, or out of my deep google-ising sessions. There is good research around this topic i.e. women who feel they have solid social support during pregnancy report measurably lower anxiety and depressive symptoms than those who don’t (single or partnered). There’s also a well-documented feedback loop where health anxiety in pregnancy drives compulsive symptom-Googling, which reliably makes the anxiety worse, not better. A vicious cycle researchers have plainly termed cyberchondria. I was a a particularly solid case study for this form of chondria.

I missed my family and friends. And underneath that was a stubborn, slightly punishing idea that because I was doing this older and by choice, I ought to be doing it entirely by myself. Asking for help might somehow make the original decision look more selfish? I didn’t want to burden anyone. In hindsight: help was never an issue but asking for it was.

Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibilities

Exercising for Older Pregnancies
The ACOG confirms exercising during pregnancy lowers your odds of high blood pressure, gestational diabetes and a rough birth, regardless of age. What’s more interesting to us is advanced maternal age exercising benefits. The rat study I mentioned earlier is a promising early signal, not proof. I’m sure you wouldn’t build a fitness plan around rodent data!! What matters is to get sign-off from your own care team before you start (especially at 40+), and retire any assumption that your pre-baby fitness level are still golden. As I found out, ‘Well fit’ two years ago does not translate to spin class today, as my knackered 5-minute mark proved. Show up, scale down, and let your actual body, not your memory of it, set the pace.

Signs to Watch For With Baby When Exercising
Most exercise-related pregnancy scares, like my ‘large for date’ spiral, turn out to be nothing. But there is a real list worth knowing, because it’s short and specific: stop and call your care team immediately if you notice reduced or absent movement from baby, any vaginal bleeding or fluid leakage, dizziness or breathlessness well beyond your normal huffing, chest pain, contractions, or calf pain and swelling. Everything else e.g. a racing heart, a sweaty scalp, flying fake nails; is just pregnancy exercise being pregnancy exercise. Knowing the actual red flags in advance means you can stop googling worst-case scenarios mid-set and get on with the workout, or the panic, as appropriate.

Moving Medical Systems Mid-Pregnancy
If a move is unavoidable, don’t rely on your notes following you automatically. As I found out the hard way with hospital number four. Request after each appointment, you details and babies details, and physically carry a copy of that full history yourself. Ask your new team directly what screenings you may have missed and what’s still available to catch up on, since the schedules genuinely differ country to country. Clarify upfront what’s covered publicly versus what you’ll pay for privately, and never assume one system’s standard of care maps onto another’s. Build in extra admin time too as a new team needs to get up to speed on you, and that is easier to manage before you’re sitting in triage wondering why nobody has your file.

It was now the budding month of May, and my pregnancy invisibility had disappeared. I had 4 months to go; the warmup was ending and game mode had been activated.

I was still in a complete head muddle taking this epic journey single. Antenatal classes I contacted assumed I had a husband at home diligently cobbling together a perambulator. Pregnancy books gifted (this one was a good mix of pragmatism and instincts) often chirped about the beauty of team play for night collabs, and hospital visits assumed a partner for nappy commitments and baby entertainment. I was entirely on board with them, wishing I did indeed have an elaborate personnel roster to materialise at 2am.

The struggle is real

During May I moved (again) from the beautiful Batten castle in East Sussex to Crystal Palace Park. I was receiving some help with accommodations and despite the guilty gratefulness, this was not the geographic region I would have chosen. It was 3-4 hours away from any friends and any hospitals I had previously registered with.

Yet it had silver linings; I loved the history. The park hosts the remnants of the re-located Crystal Palace, originally built in Hyde Park to host the 1851 Great Exhibition. At the time it was the largest glass building in the world, designed by the multi-tasking, overachieving gardener Joseph Paxton. It was dismantled from central London in 1852 and moved to my new location in South London. Amongst many brouhaha events it hosted the world’s first official ‘hockey on the ice’ match during the deep freeze of February 1875 (called ‘bandy’ it was one of a number of sports thought to be the predecessor to ice hockey, brought to Canada by Irish and Scots immigrants). In 1936, a fire, watched by Winston Churchill no less, destroyed the building and all that now remains are statues, terraces and stairs.

I loved walking around the park. Figuring out which dinosaur was which from atypically designed 1854 sculptures. I would waddle past the natural amphitheatre, up to the top through the old palace remains, then down through the National Sports Centre (which held many a IAAF Athletics before 2012). The amphitheatre (Crystal Palace Bowl) previously hosted Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, Eric Clapton, The Beach Boys etc and this summer they have Snow Patrol, Alanis Morissette, Tom Jones and other legends entertaining.

I was on my morning 6km amble when I discovered the café in the park. The perfect workspace AND they had pancakes. I had been craving these oversized pikelets since leaving Vancouver. Odd really having had 3 pancakes in the entire 5 years of living in Canada. I ordered; the verdict was disappointingly inferior. I half-finished and as I eased my belly from the chair, I let out a squeal, taking my own self by surprise. I had been hit by a cement hacky sack in the back of the legs i.e. the world’s worst charley horse. During all my ultra running I had never had cramps, and during the pregnancy although some doozies appeared at night, they never struck during the day. I was more embarrassed at my squeaking than the level of pain and staggering. And my belly hindered any good old hamstring stretch! I had clearly been lax on my magnesium intake which usually helped tremendously. This little cramp attack was oddly one of those times I felt terribly lonely. No-one helped or asked if I was ok.

But it is all OK.

Underneath all the discombobulation of moving again, medical changes, bad pancakes and cramping there was something gradually forming. Having heard the heartbeat hammering like a hen chugging espressos and feeling the delicate flutter kicks, I was realising I was already a mum. Even though the path looked nothing like the one pictured in my 30s.

But this little Viking, fought for across 18 years, frozen eggs and embryos, and a rerouted life was profoundly, unambiguously wanted. The village was forming I realised (too slowly at times) the people who responded to my unconventional circumstances with delight and empathy and ‘how can I help’ were my new tribe. And I was so lucky, there were quite a few of them, spread around the world.

Single again, yup. Older than conventional or desired, absolutely. Fiercely determined and protective, I fully felt the carrying of a small human who will never doubt they were wanted and already loved. Wohooooooooo!

There exists in the baby product world, commercially available and somewhat popular, a line of hairpieces for babies. Available in two unnatural shades of reddish brown or black these synthetic Baby wigs are made mostly in China and have gathered few reviews. I always look at reviews before buying something so if you are contemplating the shaggy baby look, there is no feedback on the scratch factor or slippage issues available.

In my humble opinion they are designed to make your newborn look like a bewildered, pintsized ‘80s’ TV anchor.

One of the marketing taglines I read: “Finally! A baby accessory that will leave everyone speechless.” They’re not wrong.

For those of us who’ve spent years obsessing over egg quality, hormonal health, and embryo grading, the idea that we’d then spend £10.54 ensuring our hard-won miracle was strikingly coiffed at play dates, is mental foppery.

Why would parents buy them? Props and fun, or a possible hirsute point-marker after the fifth time a stranger says ‘what a lovely girl!’ to your bald-headed boy?

My take: After 17 years of paying monthly storage fees for my 21 frozen eggs (and ongoing fees for my little embryos), I will not be buying my baby or future babies any starter wigs. If Hugo is mistaken for a girl (again) I will take it as a compliment (again) as he is after all objectively adorable.

Somewhere in mid-April, wedged between anatomy scan fear-slash-euphoria and ongoing life dishevelment, I had my whooping cough vaccine. Pertussis (whooping cough) is highly contagious and potentially devastating for newborns with possibilities of brain damage and death at its very worst. As expectant mums we need pregnancy protection for bub (and us) due to our whooping cough antibodies being low.

The sweet spot is generally between 20 and 32 weeks, but you can have the shot from 16 weeks onwards and after 32 weeks, it just offers less protection for bubs. I should point out in the UK (and US, Europe, Canada, Australia, NZ etc) the whooping cough vaccine is a combination vaccine (usually ADACEL) adding protection for diphtheria and tetanus too.

For me this was a no brainer. And thus, armed with over-researched Google Doc* knowledge, I dutifully presented myself on a Thursday morning for some itty-bitty impalement and minor unpleasantness.

The NHS information sheet mentioned the usual side effects: soreness, mild fever, perhaps some fatigue. What it neglected to mention was the potential for full-scale respiratory combat, which is precisely what consumed me over the following fortnight. 3 days post jab a slight dry cough developed, curtailing any hearty chuckling. The following morning the dry cough had transformed into a phlegm-producing miscreant leaving me dry heaving between gasps. My already compromised immune system, busy growing a bloody Viking, apparently had no reserves left for whatever grotesquerie had joined the family.

I don’t often get sick and this was sicker than the sickest pooch. My fretting was less about me, well a little self-misery was present, but, I was more worried my severe reaction was harming the baby. IF it was a reaction to the vaccine . The medical response was frustratingly breezy, “Some women have stronger reactions”!!

As my death by coughing, phlegm and vomiting seemed imminent I was offered little beyond “rest and fluids”. But I was given feedback that growing Baby V from stoic stock, he would remain unruffled and butterfly-kick on.

The Visibility Transition

The 2nd trimester marks the shift from is she a burger succubus, to she is definitely gestating (unless she’s a burger succubus). The visibility transition seems to happen so gradually, then, suddenly it’s a mad body gallop. Sort of like realising you’ve been pronouncing a word incorrectly for years (here’s looking at you ‘minutiae’) and when you casually drop it into conversation two gentlemen horselaugh. I’ve let that one go, maybe. Back to the expansion: one week I was peeved no-one observed my little bump, the next, I was getting side-eye from commuters performing optical calculations on seat sacrificing. It helped I started patting and rubbing my own belly when standing on public transport, crafty but effective. But the warmth from people took me by surprise, and I grew to love it.

But the stealthy belly advance brings with it a fascinating social phenomenon i.e. your body becomes a public domain. Strangers seem to find repressed obstetrics talents, commenting on my size (too big, too small, carrying high, carrying low) with absolute confidence. The unsolicited belly touching made me feel like a lucky Buddha at times, and with the many questions, a celebrity interviewee at other times. “When are you due?” (acceptable). “Is this your first?” (surprisingly common given my age). “Where’s the father?” (well, that was a tricky one). I never minded the intrusions. Something about a visible pregnancy made people happy and they expressed it by touch, advice, predictions and friendliness, making it more joyful for me. And despite being 50-something, no-one seemed to judge the age along traditional maternal timelines. They just smiled, rub-a-dub-dubbed and shared.

However, it wasn’t all patting and chatting. There were quiet psychological complexities in being genuinely thrilled about your solo pregnancy yet having imagined a partnered adventure over the past few decades. There were moments I processed grief and guilt for the family structure I’d always envisioned, simultaneously feeling pride in the fierceness of building something new and entirely on my own.

By the 2nd trimester, when everything becomes more visible, some of those contradictions were impossible to compartmentalise. I was often asked “Is your Husband excited?” or “What is your partner hoping for” and at new appointments “Is your partner or husband joining us” etc. People meant well and the questions were perfectly normal so I answered cheerfully and with strength, but occasionally the pang would hit, a flash of guilt for my budding baby and the absence of a traditional father figure.

And then I would think of my family and friends and the extraordinary men who will surround him, guide him and love him. The uncles, the protectors, the mentors and cheerleaders. And that pang would soften and fade just as quickly as it had arrived. It’s a strong and damn fine choice for bubs and his future and I know it will be enough.

* NB: The UK whooping cough pregnancy vaccine programme has used non-live (acellular) vaccines since its introduction in October 2012. The infant whooping cough vaccine in the UK has been non-live (acellular) since 2004. The most recent change in 2024 was to the maternal vaccine specifically ADACEL which replaced Boostrix-IPV as the standard pregnancy vaccine from July 2024

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Once in the room I lay back on the bed, throwing out some tepid pregnancy humour, flippancy being a behaviour I lowered myself to when nervous or anxious. Having missed crucial screenings thanks to my abrupt Canada-to-UK transition, my emotional lead-up to any appointment felt like a Christmas elf on acid.

Scanning Schmanning

My scanner wasn’t buying the one-sided sallies, so I thought to critique the blob on screen myself. All was uncomfortably hushed as Bob (I don’t know if he was called bob but he looked like a bob) measured the heart, brain, head, neck, spine, kidneys, bladder, arms, legs, hands, fingers, feet, toes, lips, chin, nose, eyes, face, chest, lung, stomach and intestines, and I cracked on with some blob decodation. Having only muttered a few hmmmms since scan kick-off, the knotty silence continued as he then recorded the heart rate, checked the umbilical cord for blood flow and attachment to the placenta, then the position of the placenta (for placenta previa) and then the amount of amniotic fluid. All of which can make or break the baby.

A naughty Placenta

A quick side note on placenta previa (PP) as I had no idea what it meant and my placenta, at this point was a low flying one. PP triggers higher risks, particularly in older pregnancies and when assisted reproduction was used (moi and moi). The potential danger is apparently like trying to birth a mammoth through an ice-age bone. That is, if the low-lying placenta doesn’t move to better real estate, it can block the birth canal and cause severe complications. Although, please don’t panic if your 20 week scan highlights a low lying placenta, in this day and age 9 out of 10 births would result in a normal birth.

The scan took an age and when I wasn’t trying to decipher the screen I was trying to analyse Bob’s facial expressions for nuanced twitching. Bob gave me nothing!! I knew it was meant to take around 30 minutes so at 45 minutes later, I was soundlessly panicking. Finally, he said “all looks good” but then “the body is in the upper percentile, but the head is on the small side”. WHAT!! What does that mean? The skull is teeny? Has the brain not grown? WTH? Of COURSE I then spent the next week or so googling and going down the Microcephaly phase. And for the rest of the pregnancy Bob’s casual remark about a dinky head always caused a slight disquiet in the back of my mind.

The Gender Issue

The positive part of this scan, outside of the berserker bits and bobs developing normally, was the gender reveal. Most people had bump predicted a ‘girl’ but one of my best friends and I, with no scientific basis just moo-juice mystics, felt it was a boy. The milkshake intuition was right; it was a little Viking lad. My shock of his small head turned into a big grin, and I immediately started planning his Academic and Rugby careers. It turns out a low lying placenta often indicates the gender is male.

The April Verdict

I now had confirmation: a healthy (if slightly dinky-headed) baby boy was measuring well, moving and apparently enjoying his womb accommodations. The 2nd trimester was delivering on some small promises with my energy returning and the nausea had largely retreated. In approximately twenty weeks, I’d be meeting my small Viking warrior, and the enormity of solo parenthood at 50-something will shift from beautiful abstract concept to imminent reality.

Next blog: Navigating Vaccines

Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility

The Anatomy Scan Psychological Marathon

The 20-week scan is presented as routine but it’s an emotional crucible where every measurement and every ‘hmm’ from the sonographer triggers catastrophic thinking. The scan can take 30-45 minutes, sometimes longer if baby is in an awkward position so do remember that. And unlike myself, prepare for this by bringing someone who can provide real-time reassurance (or arrange a video call) and remember that sonographers often concentrate in silence which does not indicate problems, just focus. Ask questions at the end rather than interpreting expressions mid-scan.

Microcephaly Panic and Percentile Perspective

If your baby measures in unexpected percentiles for any body part (head, abdomen, femur length), resist the urge to become an overnight expert via Dr. Google. Percentiles are ranges, not absolutes, and ‘small’ or ‘large’ doesn’t automatically indicate a problem, it often just means your baby is proportionally different at this stage. Trust your medical team’s assessment and request follow-up scans if your spider senses are tingling and you are genuinely concerned. Just remember that variation is normal and most babies measuring outside “average” are perfectly healthy.

Gender Reveal Processing When Solo

Learning your baby’s gender during the anatomy scan can trigger unexpected emotions, particularly for solo mothers. Whether you’ve had preferences, hopes, or anxieties about raising a specific gender alone, give yourself permission to process complex feelings. A boy without a father figure, a girl without a mother? These aren’t tragedies, they’re just different family structures. Your child will benefit from your village, your determination, and your love, regardless of chromosomes.

Administrative Advocacy Across Healthcare Systems

If you’ve switched countries mid-pregnancy, become your own fierce advocate for missed screenings and catch-up care. Don’t assume your new system will automatically identify gaps!! You need to explicitly outline what tests you’ve had, what you’ve missed, and what’s still available. Each country will do things differently so bring copies of all previous medical records, even if you’ve already submitted them electronically. Create a timeline document showing your pregnancy journey across systems and present it at every appointment. Bureaucratic persistence isn’t being a difficult parent, it’s ensuring your baby receives comprehensive and consistent care despite geographical complications.

The story was based on an investigation led by 14 European media outlets. Evidence was exposed that over 17 years a single sperm donor had fathered at least 197 children. This bombshell volume had heartbreaking repurcussions. Unbeknownst to the donor, up to 20% of his sperm held a mutation within his TP53 gene. This mutation causes Li-Fraumeni syndrome therefore people carrying this faulty gene can have a 40% chance of developing any cancer by age 18, and a 95% chance of developing any cancer by age 60. Tragically, some children conceived via this sperm have the mutation in every single cell, and a number have already passed away. My heart goes out to the parents whose children have been so randomly and cruelly affected.

This scenario does bring up salient points for those taking the egg or sperm donor routes.

The donor started donating as a student and was known as Donor 7069 or Kjeld. He passed all standard screening at Denmark’s European Sperm Bank (ESB) but unfortunately, the mutation was in his cells before he was born. Clare Turnbull, Professor of Cancer Genetics at the Institute of Cancer Research said “this represents a highly unfortunate coincidence of two exceptionally unusual events”. Referring to the combination of an extremely rare genetic condition and the extraordinary overuse of a single donor. The latter highlights the first challenge of donor conception i.e. regulations.

Each country has their own rules and limitations on donor usage, but there is no international law restricting how many times a donor’s sperm can be used globally. In this case up to 6 countries used his sperm and each country had different adherence to usage limitations e.g. Belgium has a maximum of 6 families per donor, but Kjeld was used in 38 different women resulting in 53 children. Aside from regulation issues there is a complex emotional issue here if you care to imagine what it would be like to discover you have 195 siblings?

For those of us who researched extensively beforehand and chose to use Danish donors, this case strikes close to home. This set of circumstances highlight a second pertinent issue i.e. screening. I spent nearly a year rigorously researching profiles for personality traits, intellect, physical abilities, quirks and medical histories, trusting the limited information the clinic provided. This intelligence was my ultimate source for making one of life’s most important decisions, the creation of a new human. So, to hear of this investigation and the hideous reality that some life-threatening genetics cannot be screened, creates a pang of maternal unease. And I am one of the lucky ones.

To add complexity, clinics reject 90-99% of applicants post screening. Compound this with mounting evidence sperm quality and count has declined around 50% since 1934 it seems donors are a much needed commodity. The significance of all these factors indicates a classic economic conundrum, a shrinking donor pool (supply) and an increasing need for quality donors (demand) both of which are potentially constrained by ethical and regulatory issues.

As someone who fertilised my frozen eggs via a Danish donor, this investigation revealed exhaustive research can still be undone by the losses of a genetic lottery. Without international regulations, extensive screening and donor usage limits, we’re essentially operating in a financially incentivised reproductive frontier. This story raises brutal questions: How many children should a sperm donor father? What happens with a genetic time bomb that wasn’t screened for? Which country’s regulations should be a template for global adherence? For anyone currently researching donors or considering fertility treatment abroad, this investigation should help you understand that even the most reputable clinics and rigorous screening processes cannot eliminate genetic risks we don’t yet understand or can’t yet detect. There will always be a risk that only you can calculate when using a strangers fertility donation.

The Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility:

Screening Issues

Current donor screening, no matter how rigorous, cannot detect all genetic mutations, particularly those that arise in the testes. Accept this limitation before making decisions. We’re not playing with perfect information; we’re making the best choices we can with imperfect science.

International Donor Limits Are Not Regulated

Ask your clinic directly: How many families globally has this donor been used for? How many countries? What happens if limits are exceeded? Don’t assume regulations protect you as currently they don’t. Beyond genetic risks, consider whether you’re comfortable with your child potentially having 50, 100, or even 1,000 half-siblings worldwide. This impacts identity, relationships, and psychological wellbeing in ways we’re only just beginning to understand.

Genetics

If you’re using donor sperm, invest in proper genetic counselling before AND after. Understand what can and cannot be screened. Know the signs of genetic conditions and have a plan for ongoing monitoring. Demanding safer screening reduces donor availability. It’s an impossible balance, but understanding this trade-off helps make informed decisions rather than assuming safety that doesn’t exist.

Document Everything

Keep detailed records of your donor number, clinic information, and all genetic screening results. If issues emerge years later (and they can), you’ll need this information for your child’s medical care.

When I confessed to the 24/7 nausea, I was assured by a variety of professionals, friends and random strangers the second trimester was the golden period of pregnancy. A positive transition from bilious capers into radiant motherhood i.e. the idyllic middle ground between the first trimester’s nausea marathon and the third’s majestic lumbering. Evidently my teeny tiny tenant missed the memo.

It’s hard to communicate just how intense the anticipation for something as simple as a non-rebellious belly was, but unfortunately, I spent another month with my inside’s duelling my tastebuds. And then a minor miracle occurred in my small world. Without changing a thing I woke up one day, scoffed my huge bowl of muesli, braced for the inevitable wave…and nothing!! I still had my little buddy reflux hanging around but nitpicking nausea had scampered off.

It sounds like the pregnancy was a tragic circus but outside of the all-day sickness, the acid reflux, relationship breakdowns, appointment jitters, the constant moving and my superficial blood clot, I really had it easy. I found the journey genuinely peaceful and the slow progress wonderful. And as for being an older mum, that too felt irrelevant to how the pregnancy progressed. The most recent stats show a preliminary success rate of 4% using fresh eggs (if they are over 42 y.o), and less than 1% if you are over 50. Those stats meant I had inadvertently and fortuitously taken a significant chunk of risk out by using my own frozen eggs from years earlier.

The First Medical Milestone:

Hurtling towards the 4-month pregnancy mark, my midwife and consultants were tiresomely blunt about 2^nd trimester milestones; they would either signal progress or raise stressful red flags. They failed to prepare you for the mental whiplash. Relief that followed a positive appointment couple with a double down on stress for future milestones and the new set of potential hurdles.

Since I am sharing a March update my chat is based on the 16-week check-up. Registered at a hospital in Hastings, I took the train and bus for what felt like my weekly pilgrimage. This check-up covered:

1. Blood pressure checks

2. Urine test

3. Review of earlier blood tests, including rhesus status

4. Baby’s heartbeat

5. A chat about the 20-week scan.

The blood pressure is an early check for health and potential pre-eclampsia, and a reading of 140/90 indicates gestational hypertension and needs monitoring. The urine tests for infections, protein count (a count over 300mg per day can also indicate pre-eclampsia) and diabetes. Rhesus factors can potentially affect the baby if the mother is negative and the baby is positive resulting in mama’s immune system creating antibodies against your baby’s blood. This is generally crucial information for follow up pregnancies.

My results were all in the healthy range, many sighs of relief were given, although I am Rhesus negative and bubba berserker was positive, which meant I potentially needed Anti-D injections later in the pregnancy.

At the end of the appointment my midwife asked if I had felt the baby ‘flutter’? I had no idea what she was inferring but assumed it meant some form of baby movement. I hadn’t felt anything so far, absolutely nothing womb wise, which seemed strange for such a momentous event. She described it as possibly feeling like gas or bubbles an unhelpful description with my love of baked beans. The relief and serendipity I felt when I got home that night and felt bubba ‘flutter’!! It is indeed hard to describe but it’s a gentle movement that to me felt like a quick belly butterfly. It was a smidge thrilling.

I still had emotional complexity around falling in love with someone I hadn’t met whilst simultaneously mourning a life I had abruptly left behind. But I was now walking a lot, able to work on my start-ups, and slowly growing a fun sized mound. I felt incredibly lucky!

And so ended March, with cautious optimism and a teeny tiny butterfly happy clap. Next blog will focus on the onward journey and the stress of the next scan…

Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility

The Golden Trimester Myth vs Reality

The establishment (friends, medics and randoms) sell the 2nd trimester as a broad reprieve, but individual experiences, like mine, can vary markedly. Some women do achieve that mythical glow and energy surge from weeks 13-14, while others (like me) continue battling nausea or discover entirely new symptoms. It’s hard not to measure your pregnancy against the glossier versions but your body’s timeline is valid whether you’re bedazzling or retching.

Managing 24/7 Nausea Without the Relief of Being Sick

If you’re among the unfortunate mama’s experiencing continuous nausea that never results in the possible relief of vomiting (again like me), you’re in a purging purgatory that defies the “morning sickness” narrative. The absence of purging doesn’t make your experience less valid or debilitating. If its severe please do communicate the situation to your medical team as it can affect nutrition intake and it affects your quality of life. Ginger chews and dry crackers might not be enough. For me I found small frequent carb led meals helped but whatever doesn’t trigger revulsion (even if it’s not ‘healthy’) is more positive than starving.

The Pregnancy Transition and Emotional Dynamics

The 2nd trimester marks the shift from “possibly pregnant or terribly bloated” to “definitely gestating.” It’s a thrill but there are other emotional issues to consider, particularly if you are doing this as a single mum. There is a loneliness to solo pregnancing that compounds in moments where you question how selfish it might be to bring a child into the world without two parents. The difference between feeling you are reckless and feeling courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s proceeding despite it. That goes for motherhood in whatever form it might take.

Movement Monitoring: From Flutter to Kick

Those first tentative movements around 16 weeks (often later for first-time mothers) transition gradually. In the 2nd trimester, movement patterns are still establishing themselves, so don’t panic if you don’t feel any or regular activity yet. For me it began with very occasional flutters and transitioned from there, but it never really became ‘regular’.

Navigating Antenatal Care Across Medical Systems

If you’ve switched countries or medical systems mid-pregnancy (particularly between continents), the 2nd trimester brings administrative and clinical complexities standard guides ignore. Ensure your complete medical history transfers properly (I didn’t), understand what screenings you may have missed versus what’s still available (I found they are different in different countries), and clarify what your new system covers versus requires private payment. Don’t assume equivalent care protocols, for example, the UK NHS antenatal schedules differ significantly from Canadian or Australian systems. Advocate loudly for continuity of care and don’t let crucial screenings slip through geographical cracks like I did.

I am lucky, one could say Irish level lucky despite zero genes in the shamrockery department. I mention this green led boon to point out the extraordinary fortune of having big hearted, generous family and friends. This gift cannot be underestimated. The importance it fosters for mental and physical health, particularly after a relationship breakup when newly pregnant and a subsequent country move.

The various things my personal village provided started with outstanding accommodation. First in Vancouver with a good friend The Barnes, my brilliant neighbour and my ultra partner and someone who always ‘got’ me. Then The wonderful Cosgrave’s stepped up despite my accidental arson attempt gifting their house with the overpowering smell of woodsmoke for weeks. And upon my arrival in the UK, East Sussex, where I transitioned from the 1^st trimester to my 2nd trimester and lived with the beautiful Battens. And consistently in the background, my beautiful family in Australia. Constantly communicating and constantly offering help.

I was asked no questions about duration; I was cooked glorious home-made meals and yet somehow these treasured friends made me feel like I was doing them a favour sharing my late-life pregnancy. Proof that chosen family can be just as powerful as my exceptional biological family.

There is something intensely humbling accepting help when you‘ve hit your 50’s having built a life based on managing yourself amongst different cultures. But at no point was I judged or made to feel a burden, just a vulnerable friend and sibling who was emotionally and physically exhausted trying to bake a baby in the proverbial oven. My initial village ROCKED!!

And so, that vast upheaval during the end of my 1^st trimester became another solid branch of my tree of life adventures. Each morning, I would wake in the Battens East Sussex guest room and ponder at the mix of gratitude and guilt, then trot off down a country lane for a good old British constitutional. Falling asleep at night, my little Vikings heartbeat unheard, it was always a similar mix of emotions. Relief I was still pregnant (despite the extensive stress), gratitude for friends and family who didn’t hesitate to proffer help, and anxiety about the future, the baby and how long I could impose. But with all that physical and emotional turmoil, underneath was a very quiet sense of assuredness. Even though I still had a long way to go I had accomplished a viable mature age pregnancy, hormonal dishevelment, a 6.5-year relationship failure, the loss of connection to 3 beautiful stepchildren and a full-blown country move. All in my first trimester.

East Sussex is a beautiful part of the English countryside near to the Battle of 1066 a date that most of the western world has etched into their minds. It felt apt I was surrounded by history as I made my own small part of history, with my limited possessions and unlimited hope for my new life with baby V. As people provided much needed stability sometimes the Universe’s terrible timing reveals who your real family are and it’s the people that say ‘how can I help’ and mean it!! Team Viking was Building thanks to beautiful family and friends.

Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility

Building Your Village Early When Going Solo Across Continents

Switching countries during pregnancy redefines mental and physical exhaustion. If possible, pre-arrange support on both sides of the Atlantic. Consult with your current doctor and make sure you have all your current maternity records. Having lived in the UK for decades before Canada, and with access to the right Visa’s, I had a legacy support system to lean on. Without it, this transition would never have happened.

Make sure you have a backup plan or another plan; I was lucky enough to have a strong support system in my home, Australia which I also leaned on heavily.

Investigate birth and post-pregnancy support options in your destination area immediately. Research what services you’re entitled to and whether you need private help and/or maternity insurance. Don’t wait until arrival to sort these critical details out. Logistics are incredibly important for feeling supported, mentally and physically.

The Gift of Accepting Help

Pride can be your worst enemy during vulnerable transitions (I was terrible at this).. When people offer genuine help, accept it. Shannon and Dave’s, Tanya and Roger’s, Clara and Adam’s generosity wasn’t charity, it was friendship manifesting as practical support during a crisis point. Learning to receive help with grace is as important as offering it.

Chosen Family Matters

Biological family isn’t always available or appropriate for every situation (in my case it was but I know of several friends where it wasn’t and it ads a layer of extra stress and sadness when it isn’t available). So, reach out to local support groups in your area. You will be surprised at how many there are. Jump on local social media groups (or equivalent). Cultivate friendships that can function as family when needed. These relationships, built on mutual respect and genuine care, can provide essential support during life’s most challenging transitions.

Culinary Violations

The pregnancy food paranoia starts early when a mum-to-be is thrust into the standard ‘non-edibles’ arena: no soft cheese, no pate, no raw fish, no cured fish, no fish with high mercury content, no deli meats, no liver, no haggis, no raw milks + meat to be cooked thoroughly (I’m an MR gal) + no farm eggs + no caffeine/alcohol etc. It sounds simple (ish) but the psychological pull of cravings (or the forgetfulness your 1^st trimester lovingly bestows) isn’t factored in. My cravings were incredibly strong. My occasional less-than-stellar choices were mixed with frightening research around listeriosis and toxoplasmosis, both of which have severe repercussions for bubba, berserker or no berserker blood. I had survived many questionable food choices in life e.g. Tarantulas in Cambodia, sea-cucumbers in Malaysia and home-made bear stew in Canada. Yet my Salmon bagels seemed a big step towards biological warfare and gestational disgrace. Even though the vilification of smoked salmon only became official in 2023 (the FDA changed advice on cured fish that year) I still felt weak willed and idiotically reckless the few times I succumbed.

Shopping often entailed a forensic level of inspection and research when not in a craving vacuum. There was dimly remembered information from mums, friends and other parents on what to avoid, but nowadays with all our science and research capabilities, it’s a jumble of contradictory cataloguing. Do all French woman give up Camembert during pregnancy? Do Norwegians avoid cured salmon? Are the Germans giving up Leberwurst?

You are uniquely vulnerable as an inexperienced higher-risk first timer, desperate to do the best for your developing child. There is a deep sense of guilt when imbibing flawed staples, despite the pull your body exerts to imbibe those staples e.g. Omega 3. I developed an unhealthy fear of hot dogs, papaya (unripe can cause uterine contractions), 10 pineapples (the bromelain softens the cervix and can induce uterine contractions but 1 pineapple won’t affect you), grapes (they get turned into red wine) and anything unpasteurised.

One Finnish report I did hear about that gave me a titanic level of happiness centred around chocolate. They seemed to have found a correlation between eating the food of the cacoa gods whilst pregnant, and a resulting happy baby. Weirdly, despite my addiction to Nutella, Cherry Ripes and Cadbury Snack, my belly avoided it for much of the 1^st semester.

Then there are all the liquids to avoid. Chamomile tea became an instrument of witchery and liquorice laced liquids a double dark friend. Aloe Vera was to be avoided if it had Aloe Latex in it (again can cause uterine contractions). And luckily I didn’t drink much caffeine pre-pregnancy thanks to that lively mind of mine as only 1 to 2 cups max a day are recommended (can lead to low birth weight, preterm delivery and potential miscarriage), and surprisingly to me I didn’t miss my fat reds or vodka tipples either. It should be pointed out the reason to avoid some herbal teas and herbs when pregnant is a lack of studies or data to prove consumption safety rather than proven toxic effects on bubba e.g. Nettle Tea, Rose Hip, Alfalfa, Yellow Dock.

One ingredient they have conducted studies on is Liquorice. Overconsumption has been linked to lower IQ in children years after birth, pre-term birth and high blood pressure. It’s apparently very popular in Finland but you need to be scoffing over a cup per week to worry about the risk association. For those twizzler junkies out there, you are safe, they apparently don’t have glycyrrhizin, the ingredient of concern.

No doubt for every naysaying or frightening ingredient there will be someone who ate or drank it their whole pregnancy and had no issues. Basically, you should be avoiding anything that has negative biochemical potential when crossing the placental barrier. Once you go down the food and drink rabbit hole, it’s a slippery dystopian slope.

The Testing Trauma

I think the enormous psychological weight around tests and scan results can be irrelevant to age, except the age-related ones of course. But missed diagnostics was perhaps my greatest source of panic. As I was undercover with my pregnancy, I processed all these worries in total isolation, so the inability to discuss it with anyone made these mental contractions particularly tortuous at times. My internal dialogue oscillated between the irrational, and although it doesn’t sound like it, the completely chilled!!

During the move from Canada to the UK, my prenatal care transferred between systems, countries, and medical protocols. Whilst the UK had been a decision encouraged by the clinic this meant by the time I’d established proper UK care, some first-trimester screening opportunities had passed. One of these was Down syndrome testing. I had managed a nuchal translucency scan in Canada which came back within a ‘healthy range’ but the chaotic relocation meant a missed UK blood test that would have provided back up evidence for chromosomal normality. The sensible part of me knew that my eggs were young and the donor sperm even younger therefore a duplicate chromosome 21 was unlikely, but my 50 something age continued to infiltrate the psyche and lecture me with ‘what ifs’.

The irony of the chromosome anxiety was that by the 2^nd trimester I had already decided that Baby V was wanted and loved regardless of any genetic variations. The fear wasn’t about potential diagnosis; it was always about my ability to be a wonderful parent under any circumstance given to me.

Thus, there is Wisdom in the Worry

Reflecting on this period of pregnancy paranoia, which reads like it dominated my journey (it didn’t), I recognize that this anxiety served an unconventional purpose. After all the years of uncertainty, catastrophic thinking had become a psychological defence mechanism for certainty. If I worried about everything that could go wrong, surely, I could prevent it through vigilant maternal behaviour. The reality was I had a bizarrely easy implantation and 1^st trimester, even more so regarding the real stressors I operated through. I look back and realise despite the random intrusive thoughts, most of the time I was happy, chilled and quietly excited about a unique journey that involved a small personal miracle. Baby V was going to develop according to his own genetic blueprint and biological timeline, regardless of whether I achieved perfect nutritional compliance or optimal movement monitoring.

Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility

Food Safety Perspective

Pregnancy nutrition guidelines exist for good reasons, but when accidental or rare consumption of something not recommended happens (and it will over 9 months) you need to put things in perspective. The key is making informed decisions rather than living in food-related terror and listening to your body. IF you fall sick after eating or drinking something/anything trot your beautiful self and baby to emergency asap. It is a rare case that anything severely impactful will happen.

Testing Timeline Reality

Missing optimal testing windows doesn’t doom you to uncertainty. Modern prenatal care offers multiple screening and diagnostic options throughout pregnancy. Discuss available alternatives with your healthcare provider rather than catastrophizing about missed opportunities as there is usually another path forward. Particularly in western medicine.

After years of mounting a global fertility tour via London, Vancouver and Sydney, I was curious as to what the first trimester would feel like. For me it wasn’t the glowing joy of blooming gestation. Although exciting, it was a deeply nauseas and food intolerant event. I had already begun to feel the quease from the moment I had started hormonal treatment in November 2024 but assumed it would pass. It did NOT. I was on a ferocious roundabout of all-day sickness. This nausea jamboree involved eating something unhealthy loaded with salt and/or sugar and carbs, preferably refined and white (here’s looking at you Egg and Bacon McMuffins). I would then feel ok for 20 minutes but soon after would find myself welcoming back the waves of dependable nausea. In my initial McDonalds epoch, I did try to limit the unhealthiness to one McMuffty or similar item per day, but it was the battling of my mind that proved a constant curiosity i.e. what will my hostile body crave next. I found I would get addicted to something unhealthy for weeks (as much as I was used to being reasonably healthy), resist, resist, resist, then give in and hoover it, then one day wake up and never want to see or taste it again.

Yet my body never gave into the sickness which I think was unkind of her. I didn’t ever receive the relief of a comfort purge but floated on the pregnancy frontier of Egg McMuffins, Salmon and Cream Cheese Bagels (I know I know re naughty bad listeria fish and you should not risk eating it whilst pregnant), Chinese Takeout and Tiramisu Decaff Lattes. I feel this stoicism reached Marcus Aurelius level recognition. If you remember from prior blogs only one other person knew about this pregnancy attempt, and he was not on board. This meant all the quease assaults had to be kept hidden. The ache in my belly was matched by the ache of womb loneliness in keeping myself quiet and unnoticeable at such a special time.

Christmas Day Buffet 2024

Of all my moments the Christmas day all you can eat buffet was the pinnacle of body revolt. I was at the ‘Top of Vancouver’ revolving restaurant which added some unnecessary vertigo and rotation into the mix. A rich combination of creamy seafoods, roast turkey and Christmas puddings was just the ticket to make myself feel horrendous. It was one of my worst nausea days and one where I had to hide and channel the best of Hepburn acting skills. Side Note: To date, Katherine has won the most Best Actress Oscars. A day that was meant to be filled with joyful excess and love was full of repugnance and biliousness, for which my partner paid a small fortune for (I did feel bad about that). Still I wasn’t physically sick and I ate very little, but for the first time ever on Christmas day, I was hoping I was.

Now I only had to navigate a few more holiday meals and seasonal parties with festive Canadian winter fare, with stellar acting form and some humour and grace.

Packing up 6.5 years via a One-Woman Pregnancy Removal Service.

What I didn’t realise with a baby on the way is how much it collides with physically and mentally packing up a life, a relationship, a country and stress levels. While my body went through profound pregnancy shifts, I worried about worrying about stress. Managing stress was obviously crucial for keeping the baby in the womb.

So, on Superbowl Weekend 2025 at 12 weeks and 3 days pregnant, I faced the logistical feat of uprooting a 6.5-year relationship and 5.5-years of Canada as home. I was by myself, boxing up my shared home while resisting the retch and trying not to lift boxes that were too heavy. Yes, I was feeling entirely sorry for myself with my partner having left for the weekend (it was too heart wrenching for him to watch me pack). Stuffed animals, stepchildren’s art, my extra-large vegemite jars: each belonged to a poignant closing chapter. Toting bits and bobs and memories, I steered my own inner Viking into packing and sorting and had a stress epiphany; every cardboard box was a recyclable talisman for a new family, sort of.

The Odyssey – Pregnant Style

I had mastered both international logistics and mature age pregnancy choreography. Travelling with two large bags and having stored 9 big boxes with my ex the geographical shift felt symbolic; I was travelling solo yet again, but for once I was not alone.

Once in the UK I had the luck and joy of having very good and generous friends who, without hesitation, offered to put me up and look after me for as long as I needed (Clara and Adam). Side Note; please please do follow Clara on Social Media if you haven’t already, as outside of being a stellar human being she is funny, clever and talented and puts a lot of work into her acting, writing and followers: https://www.tiktok.com/@clara_batten_?lang=en https://www.facebook.com/clarabattenofficial/ and https://www.instagram.com/clara_batten_/?hl=en ).

Falling asleep in my new bed with Baby V’s unseen heartbeat for company, I realized I’d managed a feat most people don’t attempt which included a transatlantic relocation, significant emotional triage, and deep hormonal chaos all in the first trimester.

Next blog: The art of building a new routine as a geriatric primigravida. Late-stage motherhood keeps surprising, delighting, and occasionally mortifying.

Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility

Persistent Nausea

If your pregnancy sickness is so relentless you feel it will never end and the ginger chews have lost their effectiveness (they never worked for me) remember: 30% of woman never have it and the rest, it happens early on (around week 6) then disappears (around week 8 to 10) but some women will get it the whole pregnancy or get it severe enough they need medical intervention. Keep snacks close, excuses ready, and know it can be worsened by: stress and anxiety, being overtired, eating or smelling certain foods, motion sickness, heat or warm weather.

Emotional Packing or Unpacking during pregnancy

Leaving behind years of partnership and step-parenting while pregnant is complex on a level few self-help books dare address. Honour both the grief and the gratitude and like everything the hurt and pain will pass, and you will look back and know this was the right thing to happen. Focus on self-care and build or rebuild a robust support system (which may or may not include professional organisations or therapy). In my case I was lucky the father of the child was not my partner which made things a lot easier for him and for me in the long run.

Build the Village Early if going Solo across continents

Switching countries in pregnancy redefines mental and physical exhaustion. If possible, pre-arrange support on both sides of the Atlantic. I didn’t do this but having lived in the UK for 16 years prior to Canada I had a legacy support system which I leaned on heavily. The birth and post-pregnancy support are critical to so you need to investigate what is on offer in the area you are moving to, and what you are entitled too. You may have to look at maternity insurance.

Unexpected Situations can bring out your fear and courage.

Managing heartbreak, physical upheaval, and pregnancy hormones all at once? Congratulate yourself. The real test isn’t avoiding disappointment, it’s persevering with dignity (and perhaps, a small supply of Canadian maple syrup for emergencies).

January 2025, post the longest December in self-recorded history, I finally had an 11-week scan. This scan would be my first official ‘pregnancy’ test. Not the faint now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t-line assignment from weeks earlier. This professional test would show my life journey in the worlds shortest black and white film.

At the clinic it all happened fairly quickly and I was legs askew having an internal scan (I was told this was more accurate than an abdominal scan in earlier stages). As my partner waited outside, an image appeared on the screen and the sound of a super-fast berserker heart drummed through my soul. There was a definite little human shape, a very excited scanner and me, all perfectly bemused and staring at each other. It was hard not to beam stupidly, partly at the scanner who was young and overjoyed. She couldn’t believe my age and baby viability, and this was my first experience of someone being terribly excited for me. It was contagious as that happy shape represented years of dreaming and it now seemed my little Viking warrior had officially taken up residence.

A blood test later and the clinic confirmed what the stick had teased: strong beta HCG levels (Human Chorionic Gonadotropin) doubling beautifully over the following days. A side note for other potential mothers; HCG levels might not be accurate until they have reached at least 2,000 mIU/mL so always be cautious with numbers until you have professional feedback.

Of course, the constant nausea that had been plaguing me for weeks made complete sense, as did the breast tenderness where bra donning feel like an Olympic sport. My body had been trying to tell me what my psyche was too anxious to believe: we'd done it.

The same week I discovered Baby V was settling in for the long haul, my partner delivered his own news: he couldn't be a part of this journey. As usual my life timing was masterful. Although I respected his own dreams and decisions, it was confusing to experience two of the most pivotal moments of my life simultaneously: finally pregnant and suddenly single. This emotional teeter-tottering was confronting but as I was a big believer of love and life giving you what is right, I knew this was how it was meant to be. After years of strategic planning around different long term partner's timelines, I was now operating via my own schedule but losing both a partner and beautiful stepchildren did feel like losing a family twice over. Yet underneath the heartache was something unexpected: optimism, I no longer had to navigate someone else’s life and had freedom to build a life around my own teeny tiny potential family. Baby V and I were going solo which was terrifying but oddly exciting too.

I was finally, impossibly, pregnant. At 50-something, effectively single, and completely terrified but expecting, nonetheless. Sometimes the universe has a twisted sense of humour, delivering your greatest dream wrapped around rare sorrow. But as I watched that little heartbeat flicker on the screen, I realized something profound: I'd rather be frightened and pregnant than safe and regretful.

Next blog: Navigating early pregnancy as a geriatric primagravida (because apparently that's what they call us mature first-time mothers).

The Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility:

Expect the Emotional Rollercoaster: Positive pregnancy news after fertility treatments can trigger unexpected responses which could be a mix of relief, terror, joy, and grief all at once. This is completely normal after years of hoping and planning.

Relationships Under Pressure: Fertility journeys reveal relationship truths. Sometimes love isn't enough when fundamental life goals diverge. It's better to discover this incompatibility now than after a child arrives.

Trust Your Instincts: If something feels off in your support system during such a vulnerable time, listen to that instinct. You deserve unwavering support during this monumentally challenging journey.

The Infamous Wait Begins

As I left the clinic and walked through London’s December streets, carrying my little berserker photo, I had a flutter of joy. Obviously, it was very early days, but this fleeting and precious moment was charged with quiet delight and undignified belly rubbing. It felt strange but right, and whether Bjorn decided to make himself at home or not, I had finally given myself a fighting chance to avoid one gigantic life regret.

The next phase was the legendary "wait" phase which I knew was going to be difficult. Mentally preparing for a life-changing event with extreme 50/50 consequences, still on hormones and yet to fly back to Canada and deep personal murkiness.

The clinic had provided some stats on the chances of a live birth for a woman over 42, but mostly those stats involved the use of their own 42-year-old eggs (success rates are typically below 10%). Even using eggs from woman under 35 years of age was still only a 40-50% live birth rate average. No-one could give me a fully researched stat that related to my unique circumstance, over 50 using my own much younger eggs and a young donor but 20% had been casually mentioned.

Normally to confirm an FET pregnancy the wait is around 2 -3 weeks but, in my case, it was quietly suggested to prolong the wait as the hormones could potentially provide a false positive result. This icesheet movement of time was an endurance test, the muted irony being the 16 years from egg freezing made the last month feel like another 16. And what I wasn’t prepared for was the immediate shift from "thinking about pregnancy" to "potentially being pregnant." For years (and years) my focus had been on overcoming different procedural obstacles from freezing, storage, donor selection, hormone preparation and timing logistics. Suddenly, success had become a possibility, bringing with it an entirely new category of anxiety.

From the moment of implantation, each symptom or absence of symptoms was analysed with Nancy Drew intensity and of course Pregnancy-Google was mined deeply for comfort and/or unexpected distress. Despite my investigative ferocity it was a 6^th sense that indicated it may have worked. I am no pregnancy oracle but I had significant symptoms early on, particularly with the distressed mammaries, constant nausea and unplanned for tiredness.

Once I was back in Canada, I became a symptom savant with numerous googlings including ‘is too much nausea a positive or negative pregnancy sign’ or ‘why am I craving daily Egg McMuffins when I don’t like McDonalds’. I was already confused on implantation date versus pregnancy viability dates so of course I snuck in a test after about 2 weeks. It turned out to be more confusing than definitive as the line was so faint I had to get a monocle to see it. My action protocol was another google search which bluntly informed me a faint line could still indicate a negative result (or the trigger shot medication was still in my system or a chemical pregnancy). I also had some small bleeds, which unbeknownst to me at the time, can be one of the first signs of pregnancy re positive implantation. But with the bleeds I was questioning my previously heartfelt soothsaying.

The Achy Breaky Part

At the same time, I was having to keep this beautiful scary time a secret, hiding my symptoms from my partner so as not to hurt him further, and keeping any joy or nerves from everyone else whilst waiting for results. This was complex for a self-confessed foodie navigating Christmas parties, seasonal soirees and family gatherings. Christmas lunch was the pinnacle where the nausea and my waistline fought a significant war over the blandest of restaurant turkeys to see who would be victorious.

As it was, I found myself navigating the end of this 6.5-year relationship, it was sad, as I was potentially pregnant for the first time in my life, while simultaneously watching a relationship I'd cherished dissolve. Out of respect for him and those he loves it’s not fair to share blistering details but despite conversations about marriage and his declarations of ‘true love’ we ultimately couldn’t find our way to the ‘let’s work this out together’ scenario. Neither of us was at fault but it did reveal communication cross wiring, and my own overly romantic belief love would conquer all. He had known my dream from our very first date, but from his perspective, I had known his i.e. a life already filled with 3 wonderful children and no more. No bad people, just very different dreams. My biggest angst was changing the relationship I had with those 3 wonderful children of his (but don’t feel too sorry for him, he moved on quickly and is far happier now, which does make me glad for him and puts our relationship in a different healing perspective)!! We are working on a platonic friendship.

Cryptic Body Messages

I had significant nausea from the pre-implantation phase due to the mix of oestrogen and progesterone I was on. By day-five post transfer, the nausea level I thought was horrendous was amped up to threat level 10. There was no gentle morning sickness, it was 24/7 sickness that never resulted in the relief of being sick. It meant that whatever didn’t make me want to heave like a filibuster caught short, was ingested immediately, a lot of ice-creams and a lot of egg McMuffins. It’s such an irony that when your body needs you to nourish it most, it produces the most squeamishness and unhealthy cravings. It also produced a metallic taste for me that rendered cravee foods slightly skewed on normal taste levels.

Meanwhile my breasts became so sensitive a gentle breeze could wreak havoc. They were so sore that putting on a bra required strategic planning, architectural holstering and some weird shoulder rolling. Meanwhile the progesterone showed up in various forms of bloating and fatigue. I was navigating all of this with nothing but a bewildering inner knowing and the exhausting effort of keeping it all secret

Emotionally, I’m not going to lie, it was tough. My self-imposed silence was an attempt to not hurt people I cared about but I was always quietly hoping it would all work out. This isolation was perhaps the hardest part as I couldn't share either the hope or the heartbreak with family or friends who might have provided perspective and support. Sleep was elusive and I had a lot of intense conversations with myself whilst walking the beautiful Canadian trails. I was promising my potential viking tot, if I was pregnant, I would try to be enough parent for both of us while secretly terrified I was setting him up for a life of disappointment.

But it was all up to fate, biology, chemistry, and whatever cosmic forces determined whether Danish DNA and Australian genetics could successfully collaborate after 16 years of cryogenic fortitude and patience.

Next blog: The big reveal.

The Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility:

1. The Two-Week Wait: Your Mind Matters Most Those fourteen days between transfer and testing feel endless, and your mind can become your own worst enemy. Instead of falling down research rabbit holes or testing obsessively at home, fill your days with gentle distractions that bring you peace. Remember that symptoms—or lack thereof—don't predict your outcome, so try to treat your body and mind with extra kindness during this interesting time.

2. Love Under Pressure: When Relationships Reveal Their Truth Fertility journeys don't just test your body; they test your partnerships too. The cocktail of hormones, financial stress, and emotional intensity can expose cracks you never knew existed. It's okay to honestly evaluate whether your relationship is providing the foundation you need during one of life's most vulnerable chapters—sometimes the greatest act of self-love is recognizing when support or love isn't truly there.

3. Your Body's Beautiful Confusion Tender breasts, waves of nausea, bone-deep fatigue—these could mean everything or nothing at all when you're on fertility medications. Rather than becoming a detective of your own symptoms, focus on nurturing yourself through whatever your body is experiencing. You're asking extraordinary things of yourself, and that deserves acknowledgment regardless of the outcome.

4. The Weight of Results Whether you see one line or two, that moment of truth carries the weight of all your hopes and fears. Build your support network before you need it, and remember that your worth isn't determined by a single test result. Many women find success isn't linear—it's often a winding path that requires patience with yourself and faith in the process.

5. Redefining Success Along the Way Your fertility journey may not unfold as you imagined, and that's not a reflection of failure—it's life teaching you about resilience, redefining dreams, and finding strength you never knew you had. Success might look different than you planned, but your capacity to love, hope, and persevere remains beautifully constant throughout it all.

December 3rd, 2024. Here I was, about to potentially become pregnant via a Danish stranger's genetics and my own 16-year-old eggs while navigating the emotional complexity of a relationship 4,707 miles away. Even by my chaotic standards, this was ambitious, which meant right up until the big I-day I was frantically indecisive. Never wavering for a second re wanting my Norse cherub, my indecisiveness was around doing the right thing. My age was a discouraging factor, not so much for me but for my potential child and society at large. And the unknown consequences to my relationship and beautiful stepchildren added further stress. The dominating pickle in my gherkin jar of crisis was my own thinking; was I doing this for loving reasons? The regrets will no doubt provide lifelong mental diversions, but the Judgy McJudgeFace masses will never match the savagery I've brought against myself for my own delays.

The clinic instructions were precise: arrive with a comfortably full bladder (medical speak for "desperately needing a widdle but not to bursting point"), take prescribed medications as directed, and bring a support person if desired (only my Canadian partner knew what I was doing so I had self-imposed solitary attendance).

So, it was safe to say on the day of implantation I was functioning under cerebral upheaval. Using substantial armour filled with concrete belief that I had too much love to offer a potential child, I surged forth. I had wanted 2 embryos’ implanted, a 2 for 1 deal if you will, but they point blank refused for health and safety reasons.

The morning had been spent under strict hydration protocols with an uncomfortably full bladder. The biblical level of H20 was to ensure the bladder was full enough for optimal viewing and embryonic navigation. This was initially painful as for some reason I have been blessed with the bladder of an angry midge which meant holding liquids always had an antagonising time limit.

The transfer unfolded in a small operating theatre which resembled a cross between a space station and an expensive cosmetics clinic this reassured and terrified me at the same time. About 15 minutes before the implantation was to take place, the embryologist had unfrozen the one embryo he had decided was MVP material. These 15 minutes served as standard operating procedure as my eggs/sperm had been vitrified (frozen) at blastocyst stage (5-6 days after fertilisation), the sweet spot for pregnancy development. Academic Sidebar: Blastocyst stage means the embryo has two distinct cellular neighbourhoods 1. An inner cell mass part of which becomes the little berserker a.k.a. the foetus 2. The outer layer of cells which will form nourishment HQ a.k.a. the placenta. Clinics tend to prefer embryos fertilised to Blastocyst phase as statistically this leads to superior success rates. As we all know the probability of a successful pregnancy ultimately depends on the quality of the embryos and uterine hospitality.

The embryologist and doctor conducted communications through an intercom system and door which connected both areas. At this point in time, I am sadly unmedicated save for some humdrum paracetamol. My ADHD and any other biochemical interventions like vitamins had already been suspended which amplified the baseline anxiety. This had the effect of elevating apprehension to exhausting levels yet simultaneously intensifying stoicism. Implantation was a big moment I could only cover with verbal turbulence, a trait which always exposed itself when I was overthinking and nervous. I started talking about embryo metrics, bladder logistics and my hopes for an Olympic swimmer (thematic consistency?). Predictably, having overachieved on the liquid retention I begged to go to the loo as they went to start implantation.

Underneath all this oral agitation was a deep melancholy that such a beautiful milestone was occurring in a cold and sterile room with no partner, family or friends to hold my mental hand. This moment crystalised years of hope and quiet determination and I suddenly felt psychologically ill-equipped to manage the pressures of my child yearning.

In the meantime, Thor or Freya were chilling out in catheter accommodation thinner than a human hair. The embryo had been rigorously graded, and the medical team expressed genuine enthusiasm for their selected candidate. So, with legs akimbo and some bits and bobs projected onto a high-definition screen they asked if I was ready. With nerves of spaghetti, I said yes. This part of the procedure was more extensive than I thought it would be thanks to a significant amount of catheter manoeuvring and I can’t pretend it didn’t hurt. Nearly everyone in the room had said it was a quick and ‘relatively’ painless procedure equivalent to a pap smear. They were thoroughly misinformed. The doctor had to thread the catheter, now mildly thinner than a Trafalgar Square bollard, through my cervix, and perform reconnaissance for optimal implantation. When she was navigationally happy, she asked the team if they were ready again and the embryo was inserted through the catheter and into the womb. There was a happy snap of the potential baby smooth landing into the uterus, and a deceptively emotional moment was created. So many hopes and dreams in this 20-minute procedure and now I had a picture which looked like a tiny shooting star arcing through a deep but snug space.

Following the transfer, I was instructed to rest for 30 minutes, not because bed rest improves implantation rates, but because it gives patients psychological comfort and prevents anyone from rushing off and immediately blaming themselves if the cycle fails. The discharge instructions were refreshingly straightforward: continue progesterone support, avoid heavy lifting and vigorous exercise, but otherwise resume normal activities. No bed rest required, no special dietary restrictions, no prohibition on air travel.

There was no ceremonial fanfare, no orchestral soaring or triumphant brass section, just the quiet rhythmic beeping of monitors, and my bladder antagonising me again. I felt a profound realization that a potential human roughly the size of a poppy seed floated around inside me.

Before I left the clinic gave me a treatment summary confirming the date of the procedure, number of embryos transferred and a picture of the embryo(s). The summary also included a date to try your first pregnancy test and for me they suggested a later date than usual due to the hormonal influence that might give me a false positive. I was given a slightly different hormone protocol to continue with and now I just needed to wait.

Next blog will be about the wait…the long, long tortuous stressful wait!!

The Platinum Mum Cents and Sensibility:

1. Managing Transfer Day Anxiety

Implantation day anxiety is completely normal and expected. After months or years of preparation, the actual procedure feels simultaneously momentous and mundane. Bring headphones, a book, or whatever helps you stay calm. The procedure itself is quick, but the emotional processing takes longer.

2. Understanding Success Rates Realistically

Live birth rates vary significantly based on egg age at freezing, embryo quality, and your current age. Ask your clinic for statistics specific to your circumstances rather than general success rates.

3. Post-Transfer Best Practices

Modern fertility medicine doesn't require bed rest following transfer. Normal activities are encouraged but avoid heavy lifting and high-intensity exercise for a few days. The embryo isn't going to "fall out” so trust the science and your body's ability to do what it's designed to do.

4. Preparing for the Wait (usually two weeks but can be a lot longer)

Plan activities and distractions for the wait period. This psychological endurance test can drive even the most rational people to symptom-spotting madness. Consider limiting internet research and fertility forum participation, hard I know and something I sometimes ignored but it can increase rather than decrease anxiety levels.