I was too young to understand infertility when diagnosed at 16

perspective The weight of an infertility diagnosis in your teens Laura Fairlie was 16 when she was told she would never be able to carry a child. She was having an ultrasound to investigate why, unlike her friends, she hadn't had her period. "[The sonographer] said 'I can't see your uterus at all'," recalls the now 25-year-old from Perth/Boorloo. "I remember being frozen … but then also confused. What does this mean?" Laura says she was too young to fully process the consequences of the Mayer-Rokitansky-Küster-Hauser syndrome (MRKH) diagnosis that followed. MRKH is a rare congenital condition characterised by the underdevelopment or absence of the uterus, cervix, and the upper portion of the vagina. It affects one in 5,000 female births. But after 10 years grieving not being able to get pregnant, Laura was given some hope. Six months ago, further medical investigation revealed she did, in fact, have a uterus. "I thought I might actually be able to have kids, after all," Laura says. But it didn't last. Her uterus was determined to be too small to properly function. We spoke with Laura about the weight of finding out you're infertile as a teenager, and the roller-coaster of having renewed hope snatched away as an adult. These are her words. 'Am I still going to get my period?' At 16, everyone around me had their period. I said to my mum, "I think something is wrong." A GP sent me for an ultrasound and basically the lady was just as confused as we were. Being told they can't see your uterus is not something a 16-year-old can really process. I remember asking, "Am I still going to get my period?" That was what was relevant to me then. With MRKH, you are also born with a very short vaginal canal. So I had to do what is called dilation, which is basically stretching your vagina. It was just horrible. I remember being at school thinking, "I have to go home and do this, no-one else has to do this." It was so isolating. It wasn't until I was a bit older when people around me were having kids that I started to think: "I can't do this." I would remember I would be out at a restaurant and there would be a baby. Or I would see a pregnant person. And I would go home and bawl my eyes out. People would also say things like, "Oh you can just use a surrogate." It's really not that easy. And there is still a massive part of the process I will never get to experience. I couldn't cope with my diagnosis I had a partner when I was diagnosed and we split up when I was 19. That was when my diagnosis really started to affect my mental health. I started going out every weekend, drinking, putting myself in really unsafe situations. I ended up having a terrible relationship with sex. It was purely to escape everything I was feeling and hadn't been able to process when I was younger. I knew having kids was something I wanted, but I didn't know where to start. Or have the courage to start, because I knew how much emotion that was going to open up. Meeting my partner at 21, I got my life together. When we first started seeing one another I explained I cannot carry my own children, and this is what the future will look like, and asked, "Are you OK with that?" He said, "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't." There was a time I was going to go into a clinical trial for a uterus transplant at 22. But I decided I couldn't put myself through that, and my mum would have been the donor. My partner said, "It's not a setback, it's just back to plan B." Which is surrogacy. He's been an amazing support, as has my mum. The hope that didn't last For the whole 10 years since I was diagnosed, I'd only had an ultrasound, never an MRI. But when starting the egg retrieval process, my specialist sent me for an MRI to see where my ovaries are at. They also sent me for a transvaginal ultrasound, which I'd also never had. And they found something there. That was a whole other roller-coaster. Because I read online it is possible to have a small but functioning uterus with a surgery to correct it. But two months later after my MRI, it was revealed it was so small and unfortunately there was no cure. This was like being diagnosed all over again. I handled the grief better this time. But it was still a weird bump in the road. We continued down the path we were on, which was freezing my eggs. Future family plans I froze my eggs earlier this year, we were very lucky to get nine quality eggs. My age is the advantage. Changes to WA's surrogacy laws mean that pathway may be a little easier for us. [Western Australia's updated surrogacy laws allow intended parents and surrogates to advertise and connect.] But we aren't solely relying on that. We are in a lot of Facebook groups and do meet-ups for intended parents and people who have been surrogates or are interested in being one. We appreciate it's not easy. It's taken me a long time to grieve and process this won't be instant. The beauty is we are both 25 and have a lot of time. And we know that it also might never happen; there's a very big chance it won't. Which we have prepared our hearts for. I just wish I had more professional support when I was first diagnosed. I was given access to a counsellor at the hospital, but really needed a psychologist who specialises in this area. I was at a pivotal point in my development and going through all of that while just trying to be a teenager.