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 ki

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