‘Well, some of it was just factual,’ I say.‘He wanted something and I couldn’t give it to him.’
‘Like what?’says Tadhg and then catches himself.‘Sorry.Ignore that.It’s none of my business.’
And I find myself saying, ‘He dumped me because I can’t have kids.’
Wow.I’m really being honest now.
There’s a moment of silence and then Tadhg says, ‘If I say you’re better off without him, will you believe me?’
‘Oh, I know I am,’ I say.‘But the whole thing … It was a lot.’
‘Do you … Do you want to talk about it?’
And to my surprise, I actually do.
So I take a deep breath, and I tell him.
‘I always had really bad period pains, and it turned out to be endometriosis.You know what that is?’
‘Not exactly,’ admits Tadhg.
‘This is massively oversimplifying, but it’s when the tissue that’s meant to be on the inside of your womb grows outside it.Which isn’t a good thing, obviously.Anyway, it can lead to fertility problems and that’s what happened to me.We’d stopped using contraception and nothing had happened after a year, so I went to get everything checked out – I was in my mid-thirties after all – and that’s when they diagnosed it.’
I remember the day in 2017 when the consultant broke the news after the laparoscopy.It turned out that I was an extreme case.The tissue had grown around my fallopian tubes, scarringthem badly, blocking them beyond any treatment.There was extensive scarring in my womb too.There was so much … damage.
‘Could they treat it?’says Tadhg.
‘I had surgery,’ I say, ‘which removed some of the tissue, and afterwards the doctor made it clear that there was absolutely no way I could get pregnant naturally, and even with fertility treatment the odds were essentially non-existent.’
‘And … how did you feel about it?’says Tadhg.I meet his eyes.He doesn’t look sorry for me.He looks as if he cares about me.
I look down at the table.‘I mean, I’d always assumed I’d have children.It wasn’t like being a mother was my greatest dream, but I like kids and I wanted to have my own and I always thought it would happen.And suddenly I was told it wouldn’t.Because I was … broken.’
When I look up again, Tadhg’s still looking at me with that kind, steady gaze.‘You’re many things, Lol.But broken is not one of them.’
‘Well, that’s what Dave thought.’I close my eyes as the memory floods back.‘I thought infertility was something we were both dealing with.But it turned out he thought it wasmyproblem.’
And I tell Tadhg what happened after Dave told me he didn’t want to marry me.
At first I simply couldn’t believe he was serious about leaving me.It was ludicrous.Impossible.This wasDave.Dave, theman who had gone down on one knee eighteen months earlier and proposed to me on the corner of Aungier Street where we first kissed.My Dave.Dave who loved me.How could he have stopped loving me?He couldn’t.He justcouldn’t.I felt like I was going mad.
‘I still care about you,’ said Dave.‘Of course I do.But I think … I think we want different things.’
‘How do you know what I want?’I cried.‘You never talk to me properly these days!You’ve been weird and distant for the last few months and—’
The last few months.Ever since I had the surgery.
In the immediate aftermath, when we were both in shock and trying to accept the diagnosis, we had proper conversations about what we would and would not do in the future.I thought we were on the same page.I thought we were going to make a new, different life for ourselves.But quite quickly Dave seemed to … withdraw.
A thought struck me, so horrible I could barely bring myself to say it aloud.
‘Is this … is this about the fertility stuff?’
He didn’t look at me.
‘I thought we both decided we didn’t want to try fertility treatment.’My voice was shaking.‘Or adoption or anything.You said you didn’t want to do that.’
‘I don’t,’ said Dave.‘That’s all … It’s too much.’He still couldn’t look at me.He was such a fucking coward.‘But I still—’ He swallowed.‘I still want to have a family.’
