As I sat and listened to his words my whole life flashed before me. My only ambitions in life were to get a job, get married and have children. I had achieved the first two ambitions but the third one had caused me great pain. Now as my doctor’s words echoed inside my head it seemed that it would be one goal that I would not reach. His voice came as if in a nightmare.

How could he say that I should have a complete hysterectomy?

My doctor’s words sounded so insensitive and heartless. After being through so much with him it now sounded like he just wanted to wash his hands of me. His face normally was pleasant but now it reminded me of a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde’s face. His good looks and charm had disappeared and were replaced by callousness.

As the tears blurred my vision, my body started trembling. Anger, resentment and despair overpowered my thoughts. I wanted to shout at him, abuse him, scream that it was unfair.

After all that I had been through. The appointments accounted for hours spent waiting, sitting on uncomfortable chairs, reading magazines, looking at the clock and watching its hands move slowly, or staring at the uninspiring paintings on the walls. Then there were the tests, treatments and operations, all of which had been in vain, both mentally and physically.

I kept waiting for my husband to say something. He had always been a great support to me and now when I needed his support the most he was unable to help me.

The doctor was silent. I realised that this would be the last time that I would see him. There would be no more four hour trips travelling to Melbourne to his clinic. No more hours spent huddled with his other patients in the diminutive waiting room.

I was amazed at how quickly his attitude had changed. He had always been so understanding and hopeful. I guess in retrospect I had intrinsically entrusted him to solve my problem.

Seeing him in a different light I noticed how negative his attitude was. I stared at his masked face and words failed me. It appeared that I had been down all the possible avenues and there would never be any children now.

There was not the usual eye contact or friendly goodbye as we parted. Walking past his receptionists desk I remember thinking how I would not be sorry to see die last of her. She had always been so moody and unhelpful. I paused for one moment as the next couple passed by in the corridor on their way to see the doctor. What future lies in store for them? Would they experience the same traumas and ordeals that we had — only to be left with heartbreak at the end?

The lift took longer than usual to reach the ground floor. I walked with my husband out of the building. We still had not spoken a word to each other. When we reached the footpath he put his arm around me and gave me a gentle hug which told me that he too was hurting inside.

Later, after accepting a life without children, we took a good look at our lives and reassessed our priorities; it was a painful process and required courage. We both needed a lot of support and luckily received it from friends and family — and each other.

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