Become Pregnant Fertility Tips...

BECOME PREGNANT Become Pregnant Home FAQ Become Pregnant Frequently Asked Questions Articles on becoming pregnant and related issues Infertility Related Testimonials Order Miracles do Happen Contact Carol Andrews We have changed our names in our story to protect our privacy and that of our children. Ten years ago I thought I was infertile. Now here's me, many years later with my two beautiful babies. They were both naturally conceived after years of “trying”. Here's how it happened…   Dear friend My name is Carol Andrews, and I'd like to share my story with you. It's a story of despair, hope, loss, sadness, longing and finally joy—not one, but two miracles! Become Pregnant Ten years ago my husband Lindsay and I decided it was “time to start a family”. We had been married for five years, had saved up and bought our first house. We both had stable jobs. I was 34. My husband was 27. We were ready. We made the decision on our fifth wedding anniversary, 9 September 1994. We thought it would be easy. After all, we'd put so much effort into not getting pregnant over the first five years of our marriage. We'd tried out all of the different contraceptive options, since the contraceptive pill didn't seem to agree with me. We both had physical check ups. Our GP told us we were both in good health and, despite the fact that I'd left my run a little late, should have no trouble conceiving. I (arrogantly) told my GP I was a very young 34, and we enthusiastically started on our mission. We were both convinced that it would happen quickly. After all, we were both very goal oriented people. Anything we'd set ourselves as a goal before, we'd always achieved. So we were puzzled when 3 months went by and my period rolled around yet again. We told ourselves that it would happen when the time was right, and continued our efforts in earnest. It was only later (years later) that I discovered that many of the things we were doing at this stage were actively preventing us from conceiving and carrying a child. After 12 months of frustration, the situation was starting to affect our relationship. I was moody and short tempered. I seemed to be frequently on the verge of tears, especially if I was out shopping and saw a pregnant woman, or one of the endless number of strollers and prams with a cute baby or toddler on board. What was I doing wrong? How come all these other women could do it and I couldn't? What was wrong with me? I started to feel guilty for leaving it so late. I felt guilty for not looking after my body better—maybe if I'd never drunk alcohol? Maybe I should leave my job? And I started to blame Lindsay, my husband. What if he was “shooting blanks”? Would it undermine his masculinity if he found out? Would he even go for the test? Eventually we got all these feelings of resentment and fear out in the open. We had a long heart to heart talk, and decided we needed to get some answers. I'd been putting off going to the OB-GYN for fear of what I'd be told. I had a good friend who'd been going through IVF (unsuccessfully) and the thought of going through the same thing terrified me. So Lindsay had his sperm count tested. I had an ultrasound and some blood tests to check for endometriosis or other physical problems, as well as hormonal or other physiological causes. The results, when they came back, were more frustrating that ever: there was no physical, physiological, or biochemical reason we shouldn't be able to conceive. We, like many couples, had what was termed “non-specific infertility”. In other words the experts didn't have a clue. They suggested we “de-stress” and “have more sex”. We took a week off and went to the beach. But sex was no longer much fun. It was something we did at the right time because my temperature graph said I was ovulating. Afterwards we'd talk quietly about our fading hopes. We'd try and look on the bright side—just think about all the money we'd save by not having kids. And we'd be able to travel, and go to restaurants whenever we wanted to, and buy a sports car. Who were we kidding? Often after sex we'd just lie together and cry until we fell asleep. After two years of hope fading to frustration, fading to sadness and emptiness, I knew I had to do something or I would go crazy. I started to research. I read every book, every journal, every article I could get my hands on. I read about western medicine and alternative therapies. I talked to people about new treatments and found out as much as I could about clinical trials that were happening around the world. I was obsessed. I would overcome this “problem” if it killed me. I applied everything I learned as much as I could. I was taking 14 different vitamin and mineral supplements every day. My husband was too, as I'd discovered that pre-conception care for the potential father was as important as for the soon-to-be-mother. We were exercising an hour and a half every day. We were eating only organic foods, drinking 2 litres of filtered water every day, eating meat only occasionally (and then only organic), and avoiding anything toxic like alcohol or passive cigarette smoke. We had tests for levels of lead in our systems (we live near a busy road, in a 100 year old house that's full of lead-based paint). I had my amalgam fillings replaced with ceramic to be sure I wasn't affected by mercury. We even took the phase of the moon into account as I'd discovered something called the “biorhythmic lunar cycle”, in which research seemed to show that a woman is at her most fertile during her lunar peak, ie at the same phase of the moon that was present at her birth!! My long-suffering husband took all this in his stride. In fact I think if I'd told him we'd be more likely to conceive if we had sex underwater, at high tide, on the winter solstice, he'd have done it. We were that desperate. On 27 May 1999, four years, eight months and 18 days after we'd first made the decision to try for children, we fell pregnant. My hands shook as I took the little urine-soaked strip of plastic with its TWO stripes (TWO STRIPES!!!) to show my husband. We laughed. We cried. We calculated birth dates (28 February 2000—would we have a “leap baby?”). We planned. We giggled like teenagers every time we looked at each other. We'd DONE IT! We knew it was early days, but we had to share the good news with someone! At seven weeks we told both sets of parents. They were ecstatic. At nine weeks we turned up for the first ultrasound, excited about the prospect of “seeing” our new baby for the first time. We'd already chosen a name. “Eden” was to be our first-born. Our OB-GYN was a highly experienced specialist in his late 50s. As part of my research, I'd tracked down the “best in the business”. He looked at the ultrasound, and then looked at us, and said “This is not looking good.” My heart sank. I could feel a knot in my stomach and the tears starting. My husband had my hand in a vice grip. “The heart beat is slow and irregular. Rarely does a fetus in this condition last past 9 weeks.” They were words I just didn't want to believe. I hung onto the next sentence: “Sometimes it sorts itself out, and you may go on to deliver a healthy child, but you shouldn't get your hopes up.” But the next sentence was what gutted me: “Besides, you're 39. The chances of you having a baby at your age are very slim. You should have started in your 20s.” Expert he may have been, but tact and bed-side manner obviously weren't skills he'd honed. I took two weeks off work, and stayed in bed. It only gave me more time to think and worry. At the end of the ninth week of my pregnancy I started to bleed. I didn't want to believe it. I called my husband, who came straight home. We went up to the doctor's surgery. With a kind of “I told you so” attitude he carried out another ultrasound, then booked me in for a D&C (Dilation and Curettage, where they scrape out the “products of conception” under anesthetic) the next day. I felt violated. Eden was dead. We asked afterwards if we could at least see our baby (our Eden). We were told by the surgeon that “It looks just like a piece of spaghetti. There's nothing to see.” We were numb. I talked to a mid-wife friend of mine, who gave me a small glimmer of hope. She pointed out that at least now I knew I could fall pregnant. It had taken over four and a half years, but I had overcome a major hurdle. The next barrier was holding the fetus for nine months. She said that with all our pre-conception efforts, we had at least made progress. She said that many women who had a miscarriage were happily pregnant by the time the due date of the miscarried fetus came around. I found it hard to believe, but I hoped. It was shortly after that, that I discovered a very important piece of research. I believe now that this was the key that finally meant I could fall pregnant and carry a baby to term. I believe that it was the key reason that we now have two happy, healthy, energetic, challenging, wonderful children. And I'm so grateful that I discovered it. Because once I discovered this critical piece of information, and applied it, everything fell into place… On 24 September 1999 our daughter Lauren was conceived. She was born on 4 July 2000. She was a healthy 10 pound 7 ounces, and took to breast-feeding voraciously. Part of the research I'd done said that babies that were born using the method I'd discovered were often healthier, and matured more quickly than other babies. This was confirmed for us when Lauren started sleeping through the night from 2 weeks of age. She said her first word at 5 months (“Hello”—we got it on video). And at three she was already reading and writing with the ability of a six year old. When Lauren was 17 months old we decided it was time to try for our second baby. I didn't want to leave it much longer, as by this stage I was 41, and I knew the risks of having a Down's Syndrome baby, or some other congenital defect, was greatly increased as I got...

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