Anastasia’s pregnancy diary – up to week 10

One month of ‘seeing what happens’ turned into twelve more of ‘trying’ (a most humiliating and pitiful term). In the beginning, friends would ask me what was new with a gleam in their eye, expecting news of my pregnancy. I never had any. After seven months, they stopped asking, which was worse.

Meanwhile, making love turned into mechanical sex, which spiralled into clinical sperm transactions. My confused husband was transformed into my rent boy, forced to do his duty the moment my ovulation kit gave me the big O.

I continued to surf the internet for more information and bought every book on conception and infertility in print. I’m sure I could pass the medical board exam in obstetrics if given the chance. An assignment to write an article about infertility for a magazine helped me see the light. Inspired by the idea of getting paid to pursue my obsession, I threw myself into the research and discovered a doctor whose practice focused on natural solutions to infertility. He was so positive, so believing, and so unlike the other doctors I had met, I set up an appointment to see him privately.

He did a scan of my uterus and told me it looked ‘smashing.’ I beamed. He looked me in the eye and said, ‘Anastasia, you are healthy and will get pregnant. Trust your body and let it happen.’ He then gave me statistics that transformed my doubt and satisfied my inquiring mind. He said that at my age, after one year of unprotected sex, 70% of women will become pregnant. After two years, 85% will have conceived. And after three years, only 2-3% of women will not have conceived, and for them, there are many medical solutions. I memorised those odds and threw away the phone number of the IVF clinic.

Five days after my guru appointment, thirteen months after we had started trying, I conceived. It sounds ridiculous, but it was as if I had been given permission to get pregnant and so I did. Sure, the odds were with us, but I am convinced that my shift of attitude played a huge part.