THE GREAT EGG RACE

Helen Coffey joins a growing number of people wanting to find out their chances of getting pregnant - even if they’re uncertain about whether or not they actually want children

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I feel like a fraud when I give the address to the taxi driver.

It’s silly, really, but I can’t help it - I mumble the name “Complete Fertility” under my breath like an awkward teenager asking to be dropped off at the sexual health centre. The reason for my embarrassment? I'm not the “typical” client associated with a fertility clinic. I'm neither pregnant nor trying to get pregnant. I'm not here with my partner, because I don't currently have one. I'm simply a single, 38-year-old woman staring down the barrel of my fast-closing fertility window, wanting to feel like I can exercise some control around what feels like the biggest life choice I'll ever - or never - make. Motherhood.

As a woman, I've found that the majority of life thus far seems to have revolved around my womb and its potential. In the first post-puberty years, periods were the irksome monthly event that prevented the wearing of white jeans and caused panic attacks about bleeding through gym shorts in PE. In my twenties, they morphed into something more closely resembling a friend a sign that, thank God, I had once again swerved unwanted pregnancy, a fear so ingrained through overzealous “sex ed” classes that I felt a surge of relief even during spells of celibacy.

But then there was the inevitable tipping point that hits many women in their thirties - when we go from worrying about accidentally getting knocked up to wondering whether it's even possible.

For a good few years, I didn't think I wanted children. Then I found myself gently tugged into the grey area ambivalent, unsure. Maybe I could be tempted if I met someone who