BONUS EPISODE: Mandy's Story

This episode, “Mandy’s Story,” shares the honest and deeply personal account of our mum’s 8-year journey through fertility treatment in the 1980s.

It’s a story of resilience in the face of loss, of holding on to hope when everything felt uncertain, and of the emotional and financial toll placed on families during a time when questions weren’t encouraged - and honesty wasn’t always given.

After years of trying, she fell pregnant using donor sperm from a man who would remain anonymous - something that, at the time, was not only common, but expected to be kept secret.

What stands out most is her courage.

Courage to go through it.
Courage to keep going.
And now, courage to speak about it.

At a time when so many women were told to say nothing, Mandy has chosen to tell the truth - not just for herself, but for everyone who was made to feel they had to endure it in silence.

This is her story.

Listen now on Spotify and YouTube.

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Doobida ba ba ba doobida ba ba ba do-bi-da ba ba spam sisters. Join us for this special bonus episode where Helen shares the remarkable story of Mandy, her and Gemma's mum, and the journey she took to become a parent. In this episode, told through her own words and shaped by a real-life interview, this true story explores what it was like to go through medical intervention and conceive using a donor. The reasons behind Mandy's choices and the strength it took to bring Gemma and Helen into the world. These stories are deeply personal and not always easy to tell. We are honored to help bring them to light. We're incredibly grateful to Mandy for trusting us with her story and for the honesty and courage it has taken to share it. Both with us and now with you.

SPEAKER_01 1:20

After a few years of marriage to her husband, 29-year-old Mandy had started to come to the dawning realization that something was wrong. Ever since she was a little girl, she had envisioned her life as a mother. She would quite comfortably say to those that knew her, her main purpose and life goal was to have children. It truly was all she'd ever wanted. After a couple of years of trying, the ever-increasing anxiety of her fertility clock tick-talking away began to weigh heavily on her. Mandy made the call to her local GP. At that appointment, she was referred to an NHS gynecologist and the first round of investigations began. Those initial investigations, however, were already all-consuming and incredibly invasive. The early days of testing took over the couple's lives entirely, blurring the line between routine and intrusion. They were summoned by quiet alarms in the dead of night, moving through intimacy like it was part of a prescribed ritual, only to find themselves at the hospital first thing the next morning. There, under clinical lights, their most private moments were reduced to data, being traced and studied for signs that everything was moving to its correct location. The laparoscopy procedure marked another stage in the ordeal. Having been performed under a general anaesthetic, Mandy would wake, her body reacted unforgivingly, nausea overwhelming her to the point that being discharged was impossible. It would force her to remain, fragile and exhausted, for yet another night of slow, uneasy recovery underneath unfamiliar ceilings. In the meantime, her husband was referred to a urologist in Harley Street. It was here that a semen sample was sent back to their NHS gynecologist, and with that gynecologist came the lowest point they could ever have imagined. There is nothing that can be done. Your husband has a low sperm count and it doesn't move as it should. They were shown the door with no resolution or further help. Mandy's dreams of becoming a mother were brutally and bluntly ripped away from her. The devastation Mandy felt at that time was unparalleled. Realizing the treatment they'd received from the Harley Street urologist was far more empathetic. They decided to self-refer and pay privately to continue their pursuit of parenthood. It was at this clinic that they met a junior doctor. We will refer to him as Dr. A. He was both positive and insistent. We will get you pregnant, Amanda. Dr. A suggested that the overwhelming stress Mandy had been under would have caused her to have irregular ovulation. If they could just control that, they would stand a much better chance of conceiving. And so they moved on to their next step: IVF. It was a relentless routine, each day dictated by needles, sprays, and numbers, injections to stimulate what might be, a nasal mist every few hours to hold it all back, and the constant watch of her temperature as if it held all the answers. The crucial moment of the planned ovulation day came in the small hours when the world was silent but for them. At 2.30 a.m. in London, the final injection was given, an unseen signal that everything must now begin. There was barely time to rest before morning called them back to the hospital, where she surrendered once more to anesthetic, trusting that hopeful eggs would be found and gathered. Throughout the treatment, Mandy would then be implanted with four embryos at a time, something that would never happen in the medical world today. After that came the heart-wrenching wait to the end of her cycle, and then inevitably the news which was all too familiar: nothing had worked. She would wait for her husband to leave for work before calling her parents, howling down the phone at them in utter heartbreak. She never wanted him to hear how she was truly feeling, as she knew he was guilt-ridden from the impact all of this was having on her body, and privately grieving on his own too. Mandy had confided in a handful of close friends about their attempts to conceive through IVF, though the words had not come easily. By then, those around her had drifted into the next chapter of life, one filled with prams, soft blankets, the easy rhythm of parenthood. She stood just outside it, close enough to see, but not to belong. Whenever she visited, she felt it, that quiet, creeping awareness that she could never quite shake. It wasn't anything her friends said or did, but something she imagined in the spaces between their kindness, pity, gentle and unspoken. It made her self-conscious in ways she couldn't explain, as though her grief was something visible, something others could hold in their hands. She found herself hesitating in moments that should have been simple. Reaching out to hold a child's hand, her friend's baby, a godchild, suddenly felt complicated. Her hands would falter, her smile tighten, a fleeting thought stopping her short. Do they feel sorry for me? And so, more often than not, she kept her distance, protecting herself from something that may never have been there yet, felt painfully real all the same. Six years had now passed. The couple totted up how much they had spent overall. It totaled just over £40,000, which in today's money is nearing £130,000. Their funds had officially run out. Mandy traveled back to Dr. A, readying herself to let him know that they would have to stop the treatments. Dr. A listened, understanding more than she needed to explain. He knew what this meant to them, how much they had already endured. Instead of accepting her decision, he paused, then offered something unexpected. One last alternative. He urged them not to give up just yet, proposing three rounds of artificial insemination at no cost, if only they could cover the laboratory fees. Mandy hesitated. Part of her wanted to believe in it, to grasp at this final thread of possibility. But another part, the quieter, heavier part, felt worn down by everything that had come before. So many attempts, so many disappointments. Still, she agreed, even as doubt lingered in the background, whispering the question she couldn't quite silence. Why would this time be any different? Overall, this method was far less intensive. There would be no more operations. It meant traveling to a new clinic, one overlooking the Chelsea Bridge. Mandy would have regular scans to determine how many eggs were going to drop and be told the briefest of information about where the donated sperm would come from. The couple were told the sperm would come from a local medical student, which reassured them. They liked to think it was being donated not only to help a couple in need, but also to contribute to the advancement of medical science. It also meant that they assumed screening of the donation would have taken place. The thoughts of diseases never once crossed Mandy's mind. At these appointments, they were told quite casually that during insemination it was routine to mix both the donated sperm of the desired father together. In hindsight, it's now known this was a lie told to prospective parents. It did, however, provide some funny moments of finding ingenious ways to get her husband's sperm to the new clinic. Mandy took the train to Chelsea each time, carefully choosing a route that passed a station near her husband's work. With military precision, they time it so he could hand over his all-important sample straight through the train window. About as unromantic a delivery as imaginable. Still, they made it work. As the train doors beeped, the exchange was made. He'd call out, Did the earth move for you, dear? Earning a mix of laughter and bewildered looks from nearby passengers. Somehow, in the middle of it all, they managed to find humor where they could. Mandy would keep the sample tucked under her arm to keep it warm until she reached the clinic on the embankment. The waiting room walls were lined with photographs of babies, tiny smiling proof of the success stories that had begun in those very rooms. The women in the waiting room sat in quiet focus, no idle chatter passing between them. They weren't there for socializing. Each of them was on a mission, singular and unspoken. Among them, a woman with dark hair sat rigidly, her hands folded in her lap, while nearby a woman in a sleek tailored suit with an American accent checked her watch like a high-powered executive, every move precise and purposeful. Mandy waited for her name to be called. Once inside the room, Dr. A would prepare a tube with the donor sperm, and the artificial insemination process would begin. Mandy would have to sit for 30 minutes with her legs in the air. Then all that was left for her to do was to get dressed and make the long commute back home. The news Mandy had longed for finally arrived on the second round. She was pregnant. At the first early scan, they discovered there was no heartbeat. Surprisingly, instead of being completely devastated, Mandy felt a quiet spark of hope. Her body had done what she had been waiting for. It had carried a pregnancy. If it could happen once, it could happen again. She waited, heart cautiously optimistic. And a few months later, the confirmation came. She was pregnant once more. Baby Gemma was born in the autumn of 1989. Once she was five months old, the process of using artificial insemination started again. On that very first attempt, Mandy fell pregnant with Helen, who was born in early 1991. Finally, after everything, Mandy became a mummy.