Hatching a plan. My story of doubt, heartache, enlightenment and joy.

Trigger warning: This post includes information about baby loss.

To understand why I have decided to do all of this it's important to know where I came from.

My mum and my older sister are midwives, so I grew up surrounded by hard working reproductive facilitating professionals from the age of 10. My route into this profession began in 1998 at Portsmouth university. I studied a bachelor's of science (BSc) degree in biomedical science. I already knew that I wanted to become an embryologist, and that's something you don't normally hear from most 19 year olds. I'd been fortunate enough to do a work experience week at the Dorchester BMI private fertility clinic when I was 16 – and I'll be forever grateful to my mum for setting that up. My mind was blown and my career choice cemented. I just had to get on the right path to get there. This first degree was the starting block.

Following graduation, I took on a masters degree (MSc) in human reproductive biology at the prestigious Imperial College London, alongside Professor Robert Winston's team. I was incredibly fortunate. There were over 250 applicants to that degree with only twelve spaces available, and in 2002 it was one of the only reproductive speciality higher level degree courses in the UK. I was 22, had absolutely zero intention of living in London, but this was something I really wanted to do. So off to London I moved, to what was meant to be just a year.

Following the masters degree – where I gained a distinction in my 12,000 word thesis – I was offered a job at St. Bartholomew's NHS Hospital London. Yes, I said I wasn't staying in London, but you don't turn a job like that down! So on October 20th 2003 I began my first job as a trainee embryologist. I was 23 and working where Claire Gillott was the lab manager – remember that name, she is an incredibly important person in my world. For the next five years I worked towards gaining a diploma in embryology, under Claire's guidance. This involved training on the job and studying at the same time. I had to submit a massive portfolio of evidence, be practically examined and needed to pass an oral viva.

Embryology is a bit like driving a car, you are not allowed to be left alone unsupervised until you have passed your driving test. That was what it was like and, thankfully, still is. Training happens with supervision and only when trained and signed off can you work solo. But you never work truly alone until fully qualified. The rules are tight. There is very little leeway, nor should there be, its too important.

In 2007 Claire died of breast cancer, its was quick, awful and it broke every single one of us in the clinic. She was one of life's wonderful humans. It was incredibly unfair, the world lost a magical person that day, and I needed to not be where I constantly felt sad. She had been a champion in my corner, she had taught me so much, both in and beyond the embryology. She was funny and kind, tenacious and so strong. She fought hard, but in the end it was all too much, and she lost her fight with cancer at the very young age of 42.

There were some very difficult times over the next year, where I wasn't sure I could do this job anymore.

In 2008 I joined the Lister Fertility Clinic. It was massive, performing 2,000 IVF cycles a year, exciting and, unlike before, I was surrounded with a team of similarly aged professionals all trying to make their own way in what was an exponentially changing and growing field. The Lister's reputation was one of greatness. It had been created and opened by Dr Sam Abdullah, who to this day, is one of the people I most admire in the world. He is one of life's most endearing, kind and forward thinking people. He was committed to doing what was right for the patient. I am thankful for his passion as it's played a huge role in my own career. Being in the presence of greatness for so long had an incredibly powerful impact on me, and I knew, in time, my path would be very different to the norm. We are friends to this day, and its a friendship that I hold very dear to my heart.

I spent thirteen years at the Lister and it was during my time there that I was exposed to everything infertility treatment had to throw at you. I was working at the forefront of this science, embracing every change, always in the pursuit of better patient outcomes and more babies being born. It was there that I became fascinated by genetics and where I had the exposure to hone in on that passion and become and expert in my field.

But it was also there that I was never encouraged to fulfil my own potential. I was never seen for my potential and, when tackled and challenged, it was somewhat suppressed.

Things changed for me when Dr Sam Abdullah retired. My progression was slow and poor. I lacked the support I feel I needed for my career to move forward. There was no roadmap to encourage development. It was very much about treating more and more patients. I believed I was not worthy and that I had to stay in my place. I went through a lot, both professionally and personally.

During my time at the Lister I became a mum. I got married and had my first baby, Betsy, in 2013, with relative ease. By having her I gained a new understanding for what it was like to love someone more than you thought was truly possible! In 2015 myself, and sidekick Simon Tomes, aka my husband, and fellow Hatching a Plan podcast host, decided to try and expand our family, thinking it would be straightforward as we were one of the lucky ones. True enough we were pregnant again immediately, but not for long, a biochemical pregnancy was the result.

Next month, I was pregnant again and I just presumed that would be me done. Twelve weeks passed and everything was fine. I was 35 so we had an non-invasive prenatal test (NIPT) and it was all normal and it was another little girl, we were all so excited. Plans were made and we were ready to be a family of four. I was working the whole time and being pregnant in a fertility clinic is not easy for anyone, staff or patient ... trust me!

I left work one afternoon for my twenty week NHS scan, and I didn't return to my job for eight weeks. At that scan I was told that our baby girl, who we had already named Dorothy, had multiple serious heart defects and would most likely be still born or die in early infancy. I spoke about this in detail in a Guardian article and the worst girl gang ever podcast. I had a Termination For Medical Reasons (TFMR) at twenty three weeks gestation and I will never be the same person again. Part of me left me that day, probably to go with her and make sure she was safe. I am forever changed, and I will always be missing a child.

What followed was a horrendous eighteen months that involved a further three miscarriages and two rounds of associated surgery, all whilst trying to make other people's dreams come true on their road to parenthood.

At the beginning of 2017 the world shifted my way and we were pregnant again with pregnancy number seven. But it was good, and after twenty four agonising weeks we were told that his heart was fine. In Oct 2017, all 10lb 2oz of Freddie was born. He rocketed into the world in the same way that he has continued to live his whole life, loud and without boundaries.

What followed was several years of picking my way through the shock and the grief, whilst trying to navigate life with two small children. I felt so lucky, but so sad and confused. Why me? Why after everything I had done for others did I have to endure this pain?

Yet I managed to start moving forward and what once was a blurry mess, started to have edges again. The dreams for my career – that had been lost in the trenches of baby loss, miscarriage and infertility – started to form pictures in my mind. I realised that what we as a family had experienced had to mean something. Dorothy's incredibly short life had to mean something.

And then it dawned on me that I held a key to unpicking the confusing world of fertility treatment and lessening the anxiety that many people experience now, or would experience in the future. I had so much knowledge, and it was knowledge that could change so many people's relationship with how they experienced this anxiety.

While I couldn't alter the past, I recognised that much of my suffering stemmed from the uncertainty and misunderstanding surrounding the events that had unfolded. The question of 'what does it all mean?' haunted me.

In 2021 I was in a better place and I knew that I had a bigger purpose, I had a voice that I could use and I so desperately needed to use it! It was something that had always been made clear to me I would never be able to achieve at the Lister as it didn't fit the narrative or the context of the clinic. There were so many patients and individual time with each of them wasn't a possibility. I wanted to give patients the time they deserved to reduce the anxiety they felt.

To be able to achieve the type of care for patients that I dreamed of, it became clear that it was time to move on. I needed to be somewhere where I would be able to be the brilliant embryologist I had become over 20 years, allowed to speak the genetics language that I had learned, and encouraged to educate freely, as it was the right thing to do for everyone. I had a gift and I needed the right work setting to excel and be heard.

In 2021 I moved to The Evewell in Harley Street London, a clinic that had been open for only three years yet whose passion was entrenched in offering the best patient care possible. The project resonated with me and I was very quickly desperate to be involved in a better, and more honest way to deliver fertility treatment. I wanted to be in a place where the patient was put first, before anything else, where integrity meant everything. It was in this place where all of the ideas of how I could help so many were listened to, embraced and openly facilitated. I opened a new clinic in West London, Hammersmith, I was given the opportunity to help grow a business to reach more people who needed fertility support. It was this level of trust and belief that made me start to have belief in myself, which was something I had never had before.

So emmatheembryologist on instagram was born, and I learned how to do reels and posts. The feedback was positive, and people wanted more, and it was like a gap had been filled. Since 2021, I've been listening, learning and respecting the community to understand what they needed to know.

I've also been involved in fifteen different podcast episodes and several instagram live events. I have spoken to professionals and patients at various events. I've done this because I want to ensure that good education and clear information is accessible. I've started a series of webinars to host more bespoke topics in areas that I have expertise in and each webinar ends up on my podcast called Hatching a Plan.

At the beginning of 2024 I was awarded the Claire Gillott award (I told you that name would be important). This award was set up after her death, in her honour, to recognise an individual, every year, that had delivered an outstanding contribution to education and embryology. For me to receive this was above every expectation I have ever had. I know she would have been so pleased, and beyond proud. This for me was the ultimate accolade.

So here we are. There's more work to be done and the Instagram word count is simply not big enough for what I need to share 😉. Knowledge is power and its power that can bring about miraculous outcomes. Let's go!