Dino decided to try medical intervention to help her conceive after two and a half frustrating years of trying. Here she describes her fertility treatment

December 2002: Stage one
So, we'd opted for fertility treatment, using another woman's eggs. We went to the clinic and the consultant talked us through the procedure. It sounded quite complicated, but much less invasive and painful than I had feared. The unknown donor would suffer more. Most donors in the UK are IVF patients who 'share' their eggs in return for cheaper treatment. It would cost us around £4000 to £5000. The success rate was around 40 percent. We were willing to have three attempts.

We had to get on the waiting list. How long? "Around eight or nine months," the consultant said. That didn't sound too bad - I'd heard that most people had to wait over a year. So that was it. We had signed up for Donor Egg IVF.

A couple of weeks later we had a counselling session. It's one of the pre-requisites of being accepted for treatment. We talked about how much we'd thought about our decision, how we both felt about it and possible problems in the future. Would the child be able to seek out its genetic mother one day? Could the mother look for him/her? Do we tell the child from an early age? Do we tell other people? All of these things have to be considered.

Stage Two: Another plan
After the counselling session I tried to find out as much as I could about donor egg treatment, mainly via the Internet. On one support board someone mentioned how in Spain the waiting lists are much shorter and DE is cheaper. They included the web address of a clinic. I had a look. They had a branch in Seville.

We have a holiday home in the South of Spain. Why not try there? It made sense. I emailed the clinic and got a reply the next day, offering an appointment in the next two weeks. That wasn't convenient, so I emailed back asking for an appointment for a day in February when I knew we were going to be in Spain. No problem.

February 2003: The Spanish connection
We went to the appointment on a sunny February morning in the beautiful Andalusian city of Seville. The clinic was easy enough to find. I was a bit nervous, in case there were any language problems, but we talked to a very nice doctor who spoke almost perfect English. We gave in all our test results - we needed blood tests for things like HIV and Hepatitis, which we had already done through our own GP. Martin also had a sperm analysis. They told us we could have the treatment within a couple of months. A couple of months! That was amazingly fast.

The doctor tried to do a mock transfer on me - that is when they try to put the catheter through the cervix to check that it's possible. It wasn't. I have a lot of scarring on my cervix from surgery I'd had some years ago. He recommended that I have a hysteroscopy (a look inside the womb) to prove that the uterus was accessible. I planned to have it done at the UK clinic when I got home, but this proved difficult to arrange. Martin suggested going back to Spain and getting it done there. It meant another holiday - who was I to complain?

In the meantime, the clinic contacted me to say they had a donor. We planned to have the treatment in mid-April. An Easter egg.

I started my Synarel, a nasal spray, which I had to sniff twice a day. It closes down the ovaries and creates a mock menopause (as if I needed any help there). It smelt vile, but I got used to it. It caused a few night sweats but nothing too horrendous.

March 2003: Problem
When I came round from the hysteroscopy (which was done under general anaesthetic), I was told they'd found some 'indefinable matter' in there and had performed D&C (womb scrape). They would have the results in five days time. If it turned out to be something that 'needed treatment' it would delay the treatment for up to six months. I was upset that the treatment could be delayed and terrified that the indefinable matter meant cancer.

Those were the longest five days of my life. My mind was reeling with all the possible outcomes of the results. It seemed so ironic - just as we were planning to create a new life, I had to face the possibility of my impending death. Finally, I got an email from Seville. The results of my D&C were normal. We were both so relieved. Strangely, I think I was less concerned about having cancer than delaying the DE process. We were going ahead as planned in two weeks time. I started the oestrogen patches that day (they prepare the womb for receiving the egg).

Springtime in Seville (April 2003)
We had an appointment at the clinic on Good Friday for Martin to 'make his donation'. We were going to use a system called ICSI, where the eggs are injected with individual sperm, as his sperm had very low morphology (that means they weren't formed very well). It's more expensive but has a higher fertilisation rate. Martin went into the 'porn room' and provided the goods. While he was in there I studied the other people in the clinic. I wondered if the donor was there. All we knew about her was her age, build and colouring. I didn't want to see her - I didn't want to connect any future babies with anyone else.

Until this time, I had no idea how the egg collection had gone. We didn't even know if the donor had produced any eggs at all. My phone rang on Saturday afternoon. We had 10 fertilised eggs. I was hoping for around six, so I was delighted with this news. We were to go back to the clinic on Monday afternoon for transfer. Now we just had to wait and see how many of the eggs would continue to divide. I had heard somewhere that it took at least six-cell embryos for a good result. Eight would be excellent, for at least one of them. I spent the weekend willing those cells to divide.

Easter Eggs
Easter Monday - another beautiful sunny Spanish day. We got to the clinic at 3.30 and had to wait quite a long time until the doctor came in armed with two photos. They had chosen two eight-cell embryos to transfer. Things were looking hopeful. The transfer was a little uncomfortable, but not painful. Afterwards, we went back to our holiday home to rest (actually I hardly dared to move). I'd been given a list of instructions, detailing which drugs I had to take and what I could and couldn't do. I was to continue with oestrogen patches and progesterone pessaries (which I'd started on the day of egg collection) until week 12 of the pregnancy, if I was to be so lucky enough to get there. Our bodies produce these hormones in a natural pregnancy but, obviously, in my case, I needed the synthetic variety.

I was to have a blood test for pregnancy on Friday May 2nd, just 11 days after the transfer. The doctor told me the hCG (pregnancy hormone) level should be at least 50.

The mother of all two-week waits
We flew home three days later. On the plane I noticed my breasts had become firmer and were hurting a little - could this be a sign? This continued for a few days until I woke up one morning and they felt normal again. Was it all over? I had no other symptoms to speak of.

The blood test was booked for early Friday morning. I was told I'd get the result between one and three that afternoon. Never have six hours gone by so slowly...

3 O'clock. Still no call. 3.30. Still nothing. By this time I was pacing up and down the room and had no fingernails left. I decided to call them. "Sorry I haven't called," said the secretary, 'I wanted to speak to the consultant as the number is a little low.' My heart sank. 'What is the number?' '98,' she said. I realised they'd assumed I was 16 days past the transfer, which is when they usually test. In fact it was only 11 days after the transfer. 98. What a beautiful number! I was pregnant.

May 2003: Problems?
We spent the next afternoon and evening deliriously happy - we just couldn't believe our luck. But, when I went to bed that night I found that I'd been bleeding. Typical - couldn't I even have been allowed a weekend of happiness and hope? It was only a bit of blood, but red blood. I went to bed waiting for the heavy bleeding to start. I was also feeling period-like cramps. Next morning, to my great relief, I found no more blood. I contacted the clinic and they told me that some bleeding was quite common with this kind of treatment and not to worry. Not to worry? Me? Never. I had another blood test booked for the following Tuesday, when I'd hope the number to have quadrupled. It was 729. No doubt about it now - I was very pregnant.

I had a few more heart-stopping episodes of light bleeding after that. I had my first scan at just over 6 weeks. It wasn't very promising. The sonographer could only see two sacs, but no heartbeat. She said maybe it was too early. I was convinced that it was all over. I went for another scan a week later and we saw two embryos with heartbeats. Oh joy! TWINS!

Twins
So that was it. We're having twins. Both of my lovely 8-cell embryos have developed. It solves the problem of deciding on whether or not to try for a sibling. It will be an instant family.

Of course, there's still a long way to go. Once you've had a miscarriage you never feel any pregnancy is a sure thing. But now that my tummy is growing and I'm starting to feel the babies moving, it certainly feels more real. I wonder what they are? A boy and a girl would be perfect. I wonder what they will look like. Not that it really matters, I know I will love and cherish them forever.