Unable to conceive, I retreated into what could have been a very destructive place but making music was the key change my life needed.
In the window was an electric piano. It piqued my curiosity. The shop’s owner insisted on giving a demonstration, despite my protestations that I was on holiday, hadn’t played in years and had no space.
I taught myself the pieces I thought I had forgotten. The tiny muscles in my fingers were weak at first. Thirty minutes’ practice felt torturous... See More
Unable to conceive, I retreated into what could have been a very destructive place but making music was the key change my life needed.
In the window was an electric piano. It piqued my curiosity. The shop’s owner insisted on giving a demonstration, despite my protestations that I was on holiday, hadn’t played in years and had no space.
I taught myself the pieces I thought I had forgotten. The tiny muscles in my fingers were weak at first. Thirty minutes’ practice felt torturous, but I felt the strength return. The desire to improve the sound coming out of my headphones was addictive. Playing the piano consumed the acres of spare time you can have as a reclusive infertile couple, which I felt we had now become. When every month’s unwanted period felt like starting back at square one, the piano allowed me to feel a sense of progress.
I have no natural ability and only play for my own pleasure, but I discovered that finding pleasure was the key to feeling relief.
Finally, at the age of 36, on our second round of IVF, I became pregnant with twins. Forceps and an emergency caesarean later, I found a new all-consuming passion, with two mouths to feed and entertain. My early 30s could have been bleak, but a chance rediscovery of my childhood hobby was the key change I needed.
