My Truth

Unbeknownst to you (the reader), this is probably my sixth attempt at writing blog number four. I only have one very valid reason, and ten rinky-dink excuses, as to why I continue to delete paragraphs daily and make cups of coffee (that I don’t even want) in a bid to avoid writing and essentially remain in denial of what I am facing. (I am actually going to make a coffee now, but that’s only because I intend on sitting here and be nakedly honest with myself and not flounce around the ‘must write blog today’ task which has appeared on the last sixty days’ worth of to-do’s).

My journey commenced, through writing, some six months ago. For those who have read my story, you will know that when I refer to my challenges, I flip back in time to when I was a young gal on the brink of a very big and messy road ahead. Usually (and I use this word loosely), life does find its way back to some sense of tailored normality. I’ve previously mentioned the awkward conversations and the stares amidst confessionals but, for me, MRKH went back in its box. The fact that I reflect with so much humility and humour is a testament of my acceptance, or so I thought. How cocky I have possibly become. I have spent so much time looking back, not only have I walked bang into life’s door, I have stubbed and broken my big toe in doing so. I wouldn’t say I am old; granted, I am too old to join the Olympics or study ballet at a professional level, I am too old to stay in bed for days and wonder how electricity in the house just appears and, I am way too old to stay out until 3AM and not expect to feel it the next day. Thankfully, I am too old for boob-tubes, seesaws (so I was told) and hand-outs from dad (which I promise to pay back at Christmas), but there is still a massive part of my mentality that believes I am still twenty-one.

I have time to toy with careers, and homes, and be non-committal to marriage and mortgages. I can travel the world and bask in yoga and the exploration of my spiritual self with no fear of debt or over-draft. I am actually very grateful. My excitement comes from Christmas and cuddles with my parents and what fad or freedom I can schedule six months from now. Then one morning, eight weeks ago, life happened.

My world and perceptions were shortly to change and be shaken up like a fizzy can of soda. More worryingly, so did my anxiety and fears. I was faced with a phone call which took me on a twenty-eight hour journey across the world to be by my mum’s hospital bedside, with nothing more than a randomly packed suitcase of neon coloured tights and a handful of woolly jumpers when landing into an unusually hot British summer. As a side note, with gratitude, thank you God for not taking her that day and allowing me to see her courage and willpower to make a full recovery. You didn’t want her, but I do.

It was then; whilst sitting neatly folded up in the throne like chair of the hospital ward, pensive and quiet, I had this wave of fear. No, not fear. Fear is too placid. It was as though MRKH was a bare-knuckled boxer adamant to go the full twelve rounds with me and I just stared, searching for saliva, into nowhere.

Oh. My. God. Who is going to be here for me when my time comes? Who will bring a carefully drafted list of questions for the doctor’s consultation and a clean pair of flannel pajamas? Who will pay my bills when I can’t and who will know my ‘look’ when I’m tired and need quiet? Who will kiss the tip of my nose and provide a comfort that no nurse or friend can? I cannot envisage my children’s heads poking around the curtain, smiling and hopeful. For the first time in nearly a decade, MRKH had found its way back into my world and now I have so little time to choose or change the course of my future, if indeed I know what that future should be. The concept of loneliness and the probability that I will likely experience such loneliness, when at my most vulnerable, is confronting and jammed.

So, this is why I have not been able to write? I by no way negate the role of a husband or partner but I am certain, that because of my anatomical make-up, unless I fill my life with exception and magic, I will have to accept a life without children; a reality and void that is going to be very hard to fill. And boy oh boy, that was very hard to type. Please, please, please don’t think that I am not for one minute happy and thrilled about those who are so blessed to have beautiful children. My best friends are wonderful mothers and it is a joy to see them tinkering through family life. The birthday’s, Band-Aids, first steps and snotty noses are sweet and delicate. My niece and nephews, perfect. Equally, my freedom has become one of my most prized routines, with holidays in heavenly locations and evening meals edging on disgraceful, unhealthy and simple. My continued journey and practice of yoga is enlightening, purposeful and bliss. But what if all of this is not enough? I’m sure I would have pretty babies, although I probably shouldn’t be so shallow as to say it (but I do have nice eyes) and I also know that I have an abundance of love which frankly, not even ten puppies could use up.

MRKH is not me, not in the least. But this realization is as frightening as the day I was diagnosed; I still harbour the same instincts and expectations as any other woman. I often wonder, is it because I drop a teaspoon so easily; is this nature’s way of telling me to avoid handling humans? I am serious, I don’t know why that person is able to and I am not. They say you grieve for the family you can never have, perhaps I need to plan for the one that I know is possible? Do I even want a family?

Perhaps I am just one of those people who tap into anxiety and fear more easily than others.

But, with a sneaky suspicion and a glint in my eye, I feel this life is going to be okay!


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8 Responses to My Truth

  1. Arwen Rose says:

    What a hauntingly beautiful post. I know these emotions. I know this post. I understand.

    • Ally Hensley says:

      Hello Arwen,

      My apologies for not responding sooner to your post.

      Thank you so much for your comments- this was a challenge to write and the emotions are very hard to hide from so, for me I had to face them head on.

      If you every want to connect on this subject, please feel free to email me on

      Take care for now…. and I hope you continue to keep reading my future posts.


  2. As always, amazing job Ally!! The infertility aspect of MRKH is very challenging and thank you for opening up about it. I believe many women can relate to this post. Xoxo

  3. Hannah says:

    I’m 19 and after going to the doctor continuously since I was 16, I have finally been diagnosed with MRKH syndrome and will be referred to Queen Charlotte’s in London.
    I’m so happy I stumbled across this blog! It’s been nearly 3 weeks since my diagnosis and I’ve never felt so alone. I have treatment to come, which is personally something I want to get done and dusted.
    I just want to feel ‘normal’ or as close to that as I can be.
    Infertility is the thing that terrifies me! My parents keep throwing the words ‘surrogacy’ and ‘transplant’ around like they are straight forward and simple things (which as a biology student, I know are not).
    So thank you to you and all the other bloggers! To read someone else’s story is a great comfort.
    My head is a complete mess!!!!

    • Ally Hensley says:

      Hello Hannah,

      Thank you so much for your reply to my blog. I was referred to the Queen Charlotte’s in London and they are an excellent hospital- they will take really good care of you. I am so glad you sought out more information online that lead you to this blog and the Beautiful You MRKH Foundation – I am almost certain, that the support offered by women globally through this blog and the foundation, has/will/change the experience for women when diagnosed with MRKH. I commenced treatment almost immediately, which for me, was the perfect decision…It is a huge challenge and a huge part of the emotional road to recovery, so congratulations to your courage and bravery displayed so far…

      Its a parents way to ‘fix’ and ‘solve’ our problems and I cannot imagine the powerlessness they feel when this happens to their child… and I would say everyone deep down is aware of the complexities but its a way to see the ‘brighter picture’. I am a great believer in one things at a time and keep it simple….. generally we don’t think about families until we are older, so there is no need to speed up this organic process, though to be informed is wise when this does occur in the future.. .By replying to this message you are braver than you think, and although you feel like a mess now, you will come out the other side a strong and capable young woman. If you ever want to email me, about anything, please do ……..

      Take care for now…


  4. Krystina says:

    You will be ok 🙂 With an attitude like that, I have no doubts.

    • Ally Hensley says:

      Hello Krystina,

      Thank you for your reply to my blog- I really appreciate it!

      I am a little survivor and stronger than I give myself credit for, but my strength is a big building block of bricks made up from women like you taking the time to support me.

      Thank you – please keep reading……



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