Let me get this out of the way right at the start: my husband and I did IVF and it didn't work, writes Daisy Coulam

Let me get this out of the way right at the start: my husband and I did IVF and it didn't work. This isn't going to be one of those articles where half-way through, after years of trying, I unexpectedly get pregnant.

I read a lot of those 'miracle' stories when we were trying for a baby and every one of them made my heart sink.

For us, there was no 'we relaxed and then it happened'. There was no surprise baby. There was no miracle.

That sounds really depressing and, I'm not going to lie, for a long while it was. It really, really hurt. In fact, I think there's a part of us that will always feel sad it didn't happen.

But I've come to realise — and it has taken a long while to reach this conclusion — it is not the end of the world.

Our lives will still go on, with or without children. And out of sadness and grief can come something else. Something hopeful.

For me, that 'something else' was writing about my experiences of IVF in a new crime drama starring David Tennant, called Deadwater Fell. But let me skip back and explain. For the past ten years, I have been a TV scriptwriter. I've written on various shows, including Humans and Death In Paradise. But I'm probably best known for creating ITV's drama Grantchester — in which a vicar and a detective join forces to solve crimes in 1950s Cambridge — which is now in its fifth season.

It was after we'd finished filming series four that a good friend, who is also an executive producer, suggested I write something unfiltered and from the heart. Both addicted to true crime, we quickly set upon the idea of writing a four-part crime drama.

I read a lot of those 'miracle' stories when we were trying for a baby and every one of them made my heart sink (Pictured: Daisy Coulam and her husband Gav)

Deadwater Fell is an examination of a completely fictional tragic event in a small Scottish village. It follows GP Tom Kendrick (David Tennant) and his wife Kate (Anna Madeley). One night their house burns to the ground and Kate and her three children are found dead. Tom survives and is rushed to hospital. But it soon becomes apparent that the fire is not all it seems and that something unspeakable has happened.

Deadwater Fell deals with a terrible crime, but hopefully in a realistic, non-stereotypical style. And very quickly I knew I wanted two of the main characters, Jess and Steve, to be going through IVF.

I watch a lot of television, from the highbrow to the downright trashy. But I have never seen a depiction of IVF that feels remotely like the experience we had. For starters, on TV, I don't believe you ever see the husband casually injecting his wife with hormones as they talk about what's for tea — something that happened to us as well as my characters.

Or the awkward small-talk you make as a nurse gives you an internal scan. You don't see the strain IVF can put on a relationship. And I don't think you ever see that, for some people — like my husband Gav and me — IVF simply doesn't work.

I met Gav when we were 18. One of his mates from school started going out with one of my mates from school. Our paths crossed a few times and I always thought he was very cute — in a floppy-haired 1990s way. But then life happened and we lost touch.

He moved to Wales to do IT and I moved to London to work in television. Occasionally we'd be at the same wedding or the same gig, but it wasn't until ten years later, when we were 29, that we met properly.

Pictured: David Tennant as Tom Kendrick and Anna Madeley as Kate Kendrick in Deadwater Fell

I'd like to tell you it was a glamorous romcom-style reunion, all fireworks and fairy lights, but it really wasn't. We met again in Gatwick airport Wetherspoons over a bacon sarnie.

It was 5am, I hadn't brushed my hair and for some inexplicable reason I was wearing a terrible jumper with Elmo on it.

But there Gav was. And although he didn't have the floppy hair any more, I still thought he was incredibly cute. More than that, he made me laugh like no other person I'd ever met. It really was love at first sight — or at least, love at first sight plus ten years.

Robson Green as Geordie Keating and Tom Brittney as Rev Will Davenport in series 5 of Grantchester

Six months later, Gav moved in with me. Two years after that we were engaged and two years after that, we were married. We both wanted kids — there was never any question in our minds that we'd have them. We were in our mid-30s by this point and we tried to make a baby. We tried a lot.

At first, it didn't matter that we weren't getting pregnant. We weren't in any rush. It would happen when it happened. But then came a curve ball: one Christmas, over a glass of sherry, my mum noticed a golf ball-sized lump in my throat. I hadn't realised it was there; neither had Gav. After a biopsy, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer.

We took six months off trying to conceive while I had a thyroidectomy and radiotherapy. In some ways, it felt like a relief — perhaps the cancer was what had stopped us having a baby — especially as my consultant was quick to reassure me the radiotherapy would have no effect on our chances of conceiving. Maybe now we had an answer, it would happen for us.

But it didn't. And a year later, we went to our GP and talked about IVF. I have to say the NHS were absolutely wonderful. I know the postcode lottery can go against some people, but we got two rounds free and we began pretty much straight away.

For those who haven't been through it, IVF is not the most pleasant of experiences and it certainly isn't the most dignified. There are a lot of moments where you're awkwardly chatting to someone while half-naked.

Getting our mini schnauzer, Alfie, is one of the best things we've ever done, writes Daisy Coulam (Pictured: Gav with their puppy)

There are a lot of hormone injections needed: at first, these injections suppress your cycle and essentially send you into the menopause. The next set stimulates the ovaries to increase the number of eggs you produce. Unfortunately for everyone around me, all those hormones turned me into a raging, sweaty dictator.

I could lose my temper over absolutely nothing. Midway through our first cycle, I told Gav that I'd 'had enough of your f*****g bulls**t'. We'd only just woken up and he'd said one word to me: 'Morning...'

After roughly four weeks, when the hormones have done their work and your mood swings have nearly driven your partner to seek a divorce, the eggs are collected.

It was while on the operating table, half-sedated, that I talked to the doctor about Arsenal's hopes of winning the Premier League. In my head, I was incredibly articulate. According to Gav, what I actually said was 'Hnnnnnnnnnn'.

But all the prodding and poking seemed worth it. Because there was an end to all this. A reason. There would one day be a baby.

Our first round of IVF ended before we even had to do the pregnancy test. None of the three embryos had implanted, I started bleeding and that was that. The doctors couldn't give us a specific reason why it failed but, undeterred, we set about cycle number two.

Secretly, I thought this round would be the one where it happened. But it wasn't meant to be and our hopes were dashed again.

When IVF doesn't work, every word hammers it home: you have not been good enough. Embryos are non-viable. Pregnancy tests are negative. IVF fails. You have failed, both of you, to do the thing you were put on this earth to do. We failed for five years before we went to the IVF clinic. Then we failed again. Twice.

Nevertheless, we went back to the clinic to talk about round three. That's the strange thing about IVF — it's a little bit like a gambling machine. There's that feeling that if you keep trying, one day you will hit the jackpot.

It was as we sat opposite the consultant and he talked through our options that we both realised we were tired of it. We could have kept going but we decided — both of us — that we wanted to stop. I know some people might think, why not keep going? Two rounds is nothing. But for us, two rounds was mentally and physically soul-destroying.

I admire anyone who can keep going for round after round.

Pictured: Kris Marshall and Sara Martins in Death in Paradise

For us, it wasn't an option. We were 40 by this time. IVF had taken over everything and we wanted our lives back.

The hardest part of stopping IVF isn't just the lack of a baby. It's the lack of anything else. There's a yawning gap — a gap that should be filled with NCT classes, birthday parties, first days at school... none of that was going to happen for us. And one question sits heavy on your shoulders: what next?

What next for us turned out to be a lot of things. Crying. Drinking far too much red wine. Crying again.

Getting so angry I could have ripped people's heads off every time they innocently asked: 'Do you have kids?' Going to counselling. Crying some more.

It was a hard time, not least because everyone around us seemed to be getting pregnant. It's horrible to feel consumed by jealousy when someone you love tells you they're having a baby. It's awful to feel angry all the time. And it's heartbreaking to see your partner and favourite human being in the whole world looking so sad.

But as time went on, our grief receded. It will never fully go away but it definitely doesn't dominate now. I started to realise that when people asked if I had kids, they weren't judging me. They were just making polite conversation.

I didn't get jealous when my sister told me she was pregnant again. I was over the moon for her. I think the truth of it is, it's draining to feel sad all the time. The turning point for us was booking a road trip across America from Las Vegas to New Orleans.

We needed something to cheer us up and it really worked.

There's something about getting away from everyday life that gives you a new perspective on things. The world started to feel a little brighter.

When we got home, my boss told us his dog was pregnant (like I said, everyone around us seemed to be getting knocked up!) and he offered us a puppy.

Getting our mini schnauzer, Alfie, is one of the best things we've ever done. You can't wallow when you have a dog; they're just too cheery and they force you to get out of the house every day.

Soon we were drinking red wine and made each other laugh again. I can see why IVF can wreck a marriage — it is such an intense experience — but for us, it brought us closer. Gav, if you're reading this — I'm sorry — but you're stuck with me!

It's nearly two years since we made the decision to stop trying for a baby. We are lucky — we have very close friends for whom IVF didn't work, so we know we are not alone. We have a lovely niece whom we adore. We have friends without kids and friends with kids who are absolutely brilliant. I know it sounds like a cliché but we have a lot to be grateful for.

As I wrote Deadwater Fell, the sadness started to fracture and it was replaced with something else. It was replaced with a glimmer of hope. There is life after failed IVF. There is creativity and hope and happiness.

Maybe you have to look for it a little bit harder, but it's there.

For all of you going through IVF, I wish you so much love and luck. If it doesn't work for you, know you are not alone.

And know that one day, however unlikely it seems, you will find reasons to be hopeful again.

Deadwater Fell starts at 9pm, Friday, January 10, on Channel 4.