I lay in the bath last night and thought about hormone levels – wondered, as I filled up the empty shower gel bottle with water and swished it around to get the last bits out, whether it was right that I’d been either spotting or bleeding for 12 days of the month. I threw the empty bottle into the bin behind me. It missed and hit the floor with a clatter. DH called out from the bedroom and asked if I was alright.

No, I’m not, I thought. I mean, I should be – his tests are clear and the really difficult stuff on morphology seems to be ok. Only I’m more nervous than ever, more nervous than I ever would be on a 2ww and I’m only day 7 of my cycle. Why, I thought, searching the bathroom for an answer and knowing that I needed to get out of the bath before I turned into a freeze dried raspberry.

I looked at the hook on wall. Just sitting there, empty, all jutty and aloof and not doing very much.

The morphology issue, I thought, it took the pressure off me; however painful it was to realise that this situation could very well have been the reason we hadn’t conceived so far. With its big red label reading “morphology”, it hung there, from its string, taking the pressure off me and the pressure off us to conceive, for as long as it was a problem.

And now it’s full steam ahead in trying to conceive, yet there is still a long wait to see what my hormones are doing. Until then, we try, we wait, we try, we wait, we try, we wait. Even without the label, even while I’m still waiting for my tests, even when those tests have been and gone it could just go on and on and on – we try, we wait, we try…

Having a reason was good, having a reason was like having a hook to hang your towel from. I was cold, I got out of the bath and stood on my towel, which had fallen off its hook.