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Contents

Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Dislcaimer
Introduction – A Problem Shared
1Happy Ever After
2A Musical Family
3The Darkest of Days
4Shockwaves
5Feel the Fear
6All About Harry
7Losing Myself
8A Whole New Me
9IVF
10An Agonizing Wait
11Emptiness
12Picking Up the Pieces
13Daring to Dream
14Lola and Me
15Amazing Things Will Happen
My Side of the Story, by Harry
#IzzyLoves
#AskIzzy
Acknowledgements
Picture Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
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TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
www.penguin.co.uk

Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

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First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Izzy Judd 2017

Cover images: background © Shutterstock; Izzy and Harry Judd © Sven Arnstein; Izzy and Harry Judd in silhouette © Dave Spearing.
Cover design by Becky Glibbery/TW

Izzy Judd has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473543447
ISBN 9780593078822

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

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For Harry & Lola …
and all the stars that shine brighter.

The information in this book has been compiled by way of general guidance in relation to the specific subjects addressed. It is not a substitute and not to be relied on for medical, healthcare, pharmaceutical or other professional advice on specific circumstances and in specific locations. Please consult your GP before changing, stopping or starting any medical treatment. So far as the author is aware the information given is correct and up to date as at June 2017. Practice, laws and regulations all change, and the reader should obtain up-to-date professional advice on any such issues. The author and publishers disclaim, as far as the law allows, any liability arising directly or indirectly from the use, or misuse, of the information contained in this book.

Introduction

A problem shared

WHEN I WAS twenty-eight years old, I got married – a fairytale wedding to the man of my dreams. At the time of our wedding Harry and I had loved each other for many years, so we were fully ready to set up our lives together. The next step, for both of us, was to start a family. But that’s not how our story went. I quickly found that, although I was young and healthy, I struggled to fall pregnant naturally.

There were some medical reasons given as to why I was having difficulties conceiving. I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and was told that this was why I wasn’t ovulating – but it didn’t tell the whole story. I’ve always believed that my long struggle with anxiety, beginning when I was around thirteen years old, had a lot to do with it. The ways in which the mind and body work together are mysterious and powerful – they shape and influence each other. This of course can be both a good and a bad thing, as I was to discover.

Once I found out that conceiving naturally wasn’t going to be straightforward, what followed were some very hard and lonely years. Even though they ended well with the birth of our beautiful daughter, Lola, in 2016, I’ll never forget what we went through to have her.

During the years of waiting, I experienced so many emotions – from fear to frustration, desperation to anger, guilt to loneliness. Overall, I felt an overwhelming sadness and sense of responsibility that not only was I unable to give Harry the one thing we both wanted, I was also unable to give our parents grandchildren. My world stopped – it felt as if someone had pressed ‘pause’ and I couldn’t move.

Of course, this story – or variations on it – is one that will be familiar to so many women. And yet through my own struggles there was hardly anything I read that gave me any comfort. Information on the science behind fertility treatment was easy to come by but I couldn’t find anything that spoke to me on an emotional level, or that made sense of the complicated way I felt about myself, my body and what was happening to me.

After I’d had Lola, Harry and I had no problem in speaking openly about what we’d been through to conceive. In fact, we felt almost as if we had a duty to do so – we’re in the public eye and we had the opportunity to draw attention to the fact that we’d had IVF with a wonderful result. I was amazed at the number of women who got in touch to let me know that hearing our story made a difference to them, that it had helped to hear that someone else had experienced what they were going through.

This led to my decision to write a book. I want to share my experiences and some of what I’ve learned, in the hope that it will help other women, and the friends and family who are supporting them during their fertility struggles. My greatest wish is that by telling my own story I can be a companion to others and help them to feel less alone – we’re in this together.

I’ve included things that happened long before I ever thought about having a baby because I believe they had much to do with my struggle to conceive. As the philosopher Kierkegaard once said, ‘Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.’ I’ve lived my life forwards, of course, but it’s only by looking back that I can fully understand some of what I’ve been through.

Not being able to fall pregnant isn’t unusual or shameful – it’s something that happens to so many of us. We’ll all have our difficult moments in life, but when you feel you can’t share them with others, they become even harder to deal with, as well as isolating. I hope that my words might give comfort to other women, and maybe start a more open conversation. Fertility is a very personal subject, one that needs to be approached with great sensitivity, but that doesn’t mean that we just shouldn’t talk about it.

Going through IVF is a lonely time. Even if you have a wonderful partner, as I do, and the support of family and close friends as, again, I did, it’s still something very personal. It’s your body that’s injected, your hormones that are messed with, your cycle that’s disrupted; your feelings of hope, disappointment, frustration and sorrow. And your challenge to bear that cycle of counting days, where a month can feel so long.

Everybody is unique and each woman will have her own individual set of issues and complications – the sliding scale of infertility is vast and covers a multitude of different things. I don’t know exactly what other women go through, of course, but I know about the feelings that accompany so much of the struggle: the sense of isolation and failure; trying to manage the side effects from the drugs you have to take and the fear that you will never succeed in having a baby.

When I began to write, a part of me wondered whether my story was full enough. Did enough happen to me? Did I go through enough on my journey for a baby? I know there are women who undergo many more cycles of IVF than I did. But looking back at the many notes and diaries that I kept during the process, I realized just how much did happen to me, even in that fairly short space of time: the medication I took, the doctors I saw, the different things I tried. I remembered all over again how very real and very painful it was, and how slowly time seemed to pass.

There are things in this book that were tough to revisit in my mind and to write about, but they’re important in telling the full story. Putting all the pieces of the puzzle together and looking back on it has been fascinating and therapeutic. I hope now that it will be useful to other women, however it compares to their journey.

This is my side of the story but it doesn’t mean that Harry wasn’t with me every step of the way. Going through fertility treatment is all about teamwork. This is why Harry has written his side of the story for this book, too. He’s always been completely involved, an equal partner in everything that we faced and very willing to talk about it. More than that, he’s been a constant source of warmth, comfort and calm, always on my side. I felt he never cared about anything else other than me – it wasn’t the outcome that mattered most, it was me.

If you’re reading this and about to start fertility treatment, don’t be frightened. IVF is amazing and magical. Take time to do the things that make you happy, deal with things one day at a time, and never give up hope. Look after yourself mentally and physically. Enjoy long walks and discover your own space where you can find peace and quiet from your busy mind and begin to think positively.

I hope having this book as your companion will help guide you through your adventure. I’m with you all the way. Amazing things will happen.

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1

Happy ever after

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BY THE TIME Harry Judd proposed to me, we’d been together for just over six years. We first met in 2005, when I was playing the violin in the backing orchestra on McFly’s Wonderland tour. By the end of that tour he and I were a couple. When Harry asked me to marry him in the spring of 2012, I’d left the band I was a member of, an electric string quartet called Escala, and Harry had recently won Strictly Come Dancing.

The Strictly experience was magical for both of us. It was an intense but wonderful twelve weeks during which I saw him change and grow as a person. It wasn’t always easy – watching him dance so passionately and intimately with a professional dancer was difficult, and many of my friends couldn’t understand why I’d agreed that he should do it! But I understood there needed to be chemistry. I trusted Harry and he never gave me any reason to feel vulnerable. The admiration I had for him was huge – he put so much work into the competition. Each week, in just a few days, he had to learn things that the professionals had been doing for years, then find the courage to go out and perform to a TV audience of millions.

He and his partner, Aliona, won, as I knew they would. Harry is one of those infuriating people who is good at everything. He’s a gifted sportsman – particularly at cricket – as well as a musician, and learns new things quickly and easily. Plus, he has so much confidence and is a born performer. (I’m biased, of course.)

Straight after winning, Harry went on tour with Strictly until March and then, almost immediately, back on tour with McFly. Just before he left the second time, Harry told me he’d booked us a spa break in the UK for a weekend in May, so that we could spend some much needed time together, to rest and relax after a frantic few months.

The day before we were due to go, he confessed. ‘Actually, we’re not going on a spa weekend. We’re going to St Lucia. It was going to be a surprise but I’m telling you because I know you’ll want to get organized.’ He knows how much I like to plan and prepare for everything.

That afternoon, as I was walking down the High Road where we live, I thought, ‘Surely he’s going to pop the question? Why else would we be going to St Lucia?’ I felt incredibly excited. I loved Harry so much, and there had never been any doubt in my mind that he was the person I wanted to spend my life with. We were ready to settle down, get married and start a family.

By the time we arrived in St Lucia, we’d been travelling for nearly fifteen hours and were really tired. I thought it was unlikely that Harry would propose when we were both feeling so jet lagged, so that evening I didn’t make too much of an effort – I put on a very simple black dress, even though I’d brought lots of prettier ones, and I didn’t bother to wash my hair. While we were in our room I realized how hungry I was, so asked Harry if we could go for dinner. ‘Why don’t we dance?’ he said. That totally took me by surprise but I thought it was romantic too.

So there we were in the room, dancing – to what I don’t recall – and I remember thinking it was lovely, but also feeling really hungry and wanting to go for dinner. All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door and a friendly young woman appeared. ‘My name’s Frances and I’ll be your waitress for the evening,’ she said, which struck me as a coincidence as my granny’s name is Frances.

Frances escorted us to the beach, where a table for two was laid, close to the water’s edge. ‘Don’t Worry Baby’ by the Beach Boys, a song both Harry and I love, was playing in the background. I’d say it was all of about ten seconds before Harry was down on one knee in the sand! I don’t think he could hold off any longer. ‘Will you marry me?’ he asked, and of course I said yes! We were meant to be together for the rest of our lives, and that was all I ever wanted for the two of us. I was just so happy. I even forgot to look at the ring, which he’d put so much thought into choosing.

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We had a lovely meal, went back to our room, and Harry fell straight asleep. I think he was just relieved to have got the proposal over with! I spent the whole night awake, waiting for it to be morning in the UK so that I could ring family and friends to tell them. But it turned out that Harry had already told everybody before we’d left. There was absolutely no one I could surprise with the news – not my parents, his parents, nor any of our friends. He’d been just too excited to keep it to himself.

The next day I began writing lists. We planned to get married on 21 December later that year, at St Michael’s Manor in St Albans, close to where I grew up. We both thought a Christmas wedding would be magical and neither of us could see any reason to wait very long. We were ready to be Mr and Mrs Judd.

I did all the organizing and Harry did nothing, and that was fine. Planning has always been something I’ve enjoyed, right back to the days of school projects (I’m totally Monica from Friends). As a professional violinist, I’d played at endless weddings with the string quartets I’d been in over the years, so I’d had lots of opportunities to see different ways of doing things, and to think about what I wanted. I loved every minute of making the arrangements and took great pride in getting every detail right. The invitations, the flowers, the decorations, the place names, the music – every single thing was thought through carefully and chosen because we loved it and it meant something special to us.

One of the features I was inspired to recreate was a wishing tree – an idea I’d seen on Pinterest – where guests write their wishes for us on pieces of card and hang them on the branches of a small tree. Much later, during a very difficult time, I took those wishes out from under the stairs at home, where we’d stored them, and read them for the first time. Somehow, I’d never found the opportunity to do so until then, and they were a great comfort to me.

Right up to the last minute, I was coming up with new ideas and finding ways to incorporate them into our day. The night before the wedding we went out for a family meal, and a barbershop quartet were singing in the pub where we were. I asked them if they happened to be free the following day, which they were, and so they came and sang at the wedding reception. It was a risky thing to do, because I didn’t have time to ask Harry. Even though he didn’t do any of the planning, he liked to have everything run by him!

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The wishing tree from our wedding day.

As Harry was the reigning Strictly Come Dancing champion, we had to plan our first dance carefully – we couldn’t get away with just shuffling around the dance floor. In the Strictly final he’d danced the American Smooth to ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’, and as soon as I saw him perform, I knew that was the song I wanted us to dance to together on our wedding day. We asked Ian Waite, one of the professional dancers from the show, to teach us. I loved spending time together learning the routine, even though I had to wear anti-sickness wristbands because it involved a great deal of spinning and made me feel so dizzy.

The day was just such a happy one. Full of joy, family, friends – everything I’d ever wanted. Harry and I were totally sober because neither of us drinks alcohol, but everyone else was merrily drunk. This made the silent disco – where people hear the music through wireless headphones rather than over a speaker system, and you don’t need to worry about breaking any noise curfews – even more entertaining, especially when my brother Guy, who’d enjoyed the day a little too much, decided that dancing in his pants was a good idea.

Hello! magazine photographed the whole wedding, and because they’d followed our story from the engagement, it felt on the day like they were our friends, and so discreet and lovely.

One of the best pieces of pre-wedding advice I was given was to have the day filmed as well as photographed, which we did. There’s something about seeing the reactions on our family and friends’ faces in real time that is just so precious. Sometimes, when I’m at home in the evening, if Harry’s out and I’m feeling a bit anxious, I put the film on. It calms me down because it’s so happy and takes me right back to that time. All over again, I feel the joy of the day, the warmth and good wishes from the people around us, the excitement and fun we had, and the overwhelming love between Harry and me.

After the wedding, we stayed with our families for Christmas and then, in January, went for a very short honeymoon in the Cotswolds – after all, we’d had a big holiday in St Lucia the previous year.

My life hadn’t been a fairy tale up until that point – far from it, as you’ll find out. The engagement and wedding to the man of my dreams were so beautiful, so perfect, that I believed my future would be too. And in that idealized future, my first wish was to start a family as soon as possible. I was about to turn twenty-nine and was ready for the next phase of my life to begin.

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I wanted children, and had done for such a long time. I guess I’m a little old-fashioned but I’ve always pictured myself as a mum and felt that it’s what I’m here to do, the greatest job I could ever wish for.

It never once occurred to me that it wouldn’t happen. I just presumed it would, and I couldn’t wait. My friends around me were getting married and having babies, and I thought, ‘I’ve found the person I love, we’re married, now it’s our turn.’ Harry was slower to come to the idea of starting a family. Being slightly younger than me he didn’t feel the same urgency, and many of his friends were in relationships but not married. I guess he felt we had plenty of time and there was no rush.

I was determined to do everything right. I’d been on the Pill since I was fifteen – our family doctor had prescribed it because my periods were very painful. About a year before the wedding, already thinking about trying for a baby, I sought medical advice about how and when to stop taking it. It was suggested that perhaps by stopping the Pill sooner rather than later, my natural cycle would be given a chance to reset itself.

I came off the Pill shortly after that conversation and sure enough I began getting periods again straight away. For the first three or four months they were heavy and painful, just as they had been when I was fourteen. After a few more months, though, they became much lighter, lasting just a couple of days but still arriving every twenty-eight to thirty days, like clockwork.

At the same time as coming off the Pill, I also stopped taking a drug called Spironolactone. Amongst other things, it’s used to treat acne, but you’re advised to stop taking it if you’re thinking about getting pregnant. Right through my teenage years I had terrible skin but never did anything about it. Finally, though, in my mid-twenties, I got fed up with having spots and went to see a dermatologist, who, as well as prescribing Spironolactone, recommended that I have an ultrasound scan to check for polycystic ovaries – I learned then that acne can be a symptom of Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. I had none of the other symptoms of PCOS, though – the classic ones tend to be excess facial hair and weight gain, and I’d never suffered from either of those. But I went for the scan and had some blood tests done to check various hormone levels, and found out that I did indeed have PCOS.

The gynaecologist who talked me through the results never mentioned that PCOS is often linked to fertility problems, and that I might have trouble conceiving. I didn’t understand the connection until years later when another gynaecologist spelled out the implications for me. Back then, though, I wasn’t thinking about pregnancy, I was only concerned about my skin, which cleared up completely once I started taking Spironolactone.

In May 2013 – almost exactly a year since the engagement – with the Pill hormones and Spironolactone fully out of my system, Harry and I finally decided to really start trying for a baby. The instant Harry gave the green light, I was firing ahead, full steam. This was it! I was so excited. I began taking a folic acid supplement and downloaded an app to my phone that told me where I was in my cycle, when I should be having sex and what I should be looking for to tell me if I was in a fertile phase – things like changes in cervical mucus. I was obsessed immediately. I also downloaded another app that enables you to calculate, once you fall pregnant, your due date. I was projecting ahead, madly willing myself into the future I wanted.

Around the same time as we began trying, Harry and I went to Portugal on a seven-day Jason Vale juicing retreat. I wanted to give my system a thorough cleanse because I felt that it would be beneficial generally, and so that I would be in the best shape possible when I fell pregnant.

The week after we got back from Portugal I missed my period for the first time ever. The date came and went with no sign of it. We were certain I was pregnant. My period was never late, we’d been trying – this was it, I knew it. It all made perfect sense. Our happy-ever-after was about to begin.

I bought a pregnancy test and once I’d done it, Harry got his phone ready to take a picture as I read the result. We thought it would be special to capture the moment, and planned to send the photo to our families. We were both so sure. I really cringe thinking about that now.

But the test came up negative. No second line.

That was fine, we decided. It was just too soon to have taken it. I went online – the beginning of many years of frantic, confused googling – and found plenty of sites to tell me that in very early pregnancy, levels of the hormone hCG (human chorionic gonadotropin) aren’t always strong enough to be detected by a pregnancy test.

So, while we waited a couple of days, I did some more research on the internet. I was sure I had some of the telltale pregnancy signs: I was going to the loo more, I definitely felt crampy and bloated. (Of course, I know now that early pregnancy symptoms are very similar to those you get when your period’s about to start.) Also, I’d had some blood spotting a week after I thought I’d ovulated, which I assumed, after even more googling, was implantation bleeding. (I later found out it was due to a drop in progesterone. Usually, progesterone levels start to fall just before you get your period. When it happens mid-cycle, it tends to be due to an imbalance of hormones symptomatic of PCOS.)

Harry and I were both still in a state of excitement – I was so certain I was pregnant that already I was being careful about what I was eating and drinking, and how much exercise I was doing. We did another test. Still no second line. A few days later, a third test – and finally, many tests later, I had to accept that I wasn’t pregnant.

But I still hadn’t had my period. By now I was over a week overdue, having never been late before. I panicked. I completely and thoroughly panicked. I gave myself no time to reflect, no grace period to ‘wait and see’, no space. Instead, I immediately went into frantic ‘fix’ mode.

I made up my mind. I was determined to fall pregnant the following month. It was as if, as soon as I’d taken on the idea of being pregnant in my head, I couldn’t rest until I was. I needed it to happen – now. I know how unreasonable and impatient that must sound, but it’s the way I felt.

I had to get some answers to what was going on, and I didn’t even bother going to my GP first. I went straight to the gynaecologist, the same doctor I’d seen to get advice about stopping taking the Pill. He took me seriously straight away. There was no telling me to take a deep breath, give myself a few more months of trying naturally, taking it easy and seeing what happened. He knew my medical history and that I wanted a family, and so decided to get on and find out more.

He did a series of blood tests and scans, and it became clear that I wasn’t ovulating. Yes, my periods had always been as regular as clockwork but I now knew they hadn’t been true bleeds because I didn’t have a ‘proper’ cycle. This typically happens with PCOS – even though the ovaries contain lots of follicles, the follicles don’t develop and mature properly, so no egg is released. Hormone levels then begin to fall and your period starts, even though ovulation hasn’t occurred.

Once I found that out, I was in despair. I couldn’t believe this was happening. The irony is that, as younger women, many of us go out of our way not to get pregnant and then the moment we start trying, it becomes the hardest thing on earth. I felt completely desperate. I don’t remember feeling upset or sorry for myself. Instead, I was frustrated and angry. With myself and with my body. I thought not only was it letting me down, but Harry too. In my head, responsibility for both our futures lay with me, and I wanted to fix the problem straight away. I felt an urgency and a lot of quiet, undoubtedly irrational, guilt.

That missed period was the beginning of a long, hard journey. For me, it was when everything started to go wrong. I felt as if I was completely at fault. When something bad happens, you look to explain it in any way you can and for something or someone to blame, so I blamed myself.

I launched myself straight into a world of medical intervention. Consultations, more blood tests, scans, injections and anxious waits; bitter cycles of hope and disappointment that anyone who has ever struggled to conceive will understand, finally followed by IVF. Much of that time was miserable and some of it was heartbreaking. For a while, I lost myself as a person completely, and Harry and I were tested fully as a couple. But I learned so much: about myself, my body, my mind, my relationship, and what I’m capable of. I learned about fertility, about the process of IVF and how to support it, and about the ways in which the body and mind work together.

With the benefit of hindsight, I believe now that I reacted with too much urgency. I understand why – the thing I had always wanted for myself, a family, suddenly looked as if it might never be, and I couldn’t help but throw myself into pursuing that dream with all my energy. I wonder what would have happened if someone had put a hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Take a deep breath, Izzy. Slow down. Give yourself a break.’ If I could go back in time, I’d tell myself to take a few months to give my cycle a chance to reset itself naturally. Even if it hadn’t, slowing down a little would have helped me to confront what came next with more resilience and positivity.

Don’t get me wrong, there are, of course, certain circumstances when it’s wise to act quickly – when time is of the essence, for instance – and I recognize that I was fortunate enough to see a gynaecologist privately and not have to wait for a referral. But to anyone else who is in the same position now, my advice is: Pause. Breathe. Gather yourself and give yourself a chance to focus. Don’t panic. Take it slowly and trust – in yourself and what can happen.

2

A musical family

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CHILDHOOD SHOULD BE a time of wonder for everyone, and it certainly was for me. I was surrounded by a loving family, and what felt like music everywhere. When I look back, it was such a happy time.

My dad was born in Belfast and would have loved to become a professional clarinettist. His father was principal clarinet in the BBC Northern Ireland Light Orchestra and a clarinet teacher, but for his own reasons didn’t feel it was the right career for his son. Perhaps he thought it was too uncertain a way to make a living, or maybe he wanted more for Dad. Either way, he refused to tutor him, and so my dad ended up teaching himself. His love for music was just too great to be ignored. He used to listen through the wall when his father was giving lessons to students, and tried to copy what he heard. In the end my grandfather gave in and taught him to play.

Later, my dad moved to London and it was thanks to music that he met my mum. It was 1974 and they’d both arrived late to a music course at Hurstpierpoint College in West Sussex. They began chatting after parking their cars and the rest, as they say, is history!

Mum played the bassoon, and once she and my dad married they set up a music school, Musicale, in Harpenden, the town in Hertfordshire where I grew up. Not only has my parents’ passion for music had a huge impact on my three brothers and me over the years but it’s also influenced all the children who’ve passed through their school.

Music has always been what our whole family does, both individually and together. Even Christmas is all about music. Every Boxing Day, as far back as I can remember, my parents would get out the score for Schubert’s ‘String Quintet’ for all of us to play along to, or try to get through as best we could. This was so normal for me, I assumed it’s what everybody did on Boxing Day.

We weren’t made to play, music was just an organic part of our lives. It was how we entertained, celebrated, even communicated with each other. More than anything, music has always meant home to me because it’s something we’ve always shared as a family. Two of my older brothers, Guy and Magnus, both play professionally, and Magnus is married to a musician. And of course I’m married to a musician too.

In the same way that some people can get lost in a really good book, I can get lost in music, pop as well as classical. I can listen to a piece of music and the years will just fall away, taking me right back to a particular moment in time. When I play, it helps me to express emotion, and when I listen, it helps me to feel emotion at a deeper level than talking ever can. For me, music is the thing that connects me with the world. Throughout my struggle to conceive, during the very hard times, music was such a source of comfort to me. In fact, there is certain music that is so firmly associated with that part of my life that I can’t listen to it without being overcome with emotion.

One of my earliest memories is wanting to play the violin, just like my brother Magnus. So for my fourth birthday, Mum and Dad got me a tiny violin. I think my parents realized how lucky my brothers and I are – all four of us have musical ability – and they ensured we made the most of it. They gave each of us the same opportunities, but with music, as with so many things, it’s not just about talent, it’s about your mental strength – the level of discipline you have, how you cope with the pressure, how much you want to work at it. We each responded differently to those factors.

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