Joan and her husband had been trying for a baby for fourteen years. The moment they married, the quest began. They moved through life, through job promotions and new houses, harboring bitter disappointment each month when Mother Nature seemingly dealt them a poor hand. By the time she neared her thirty-eighth birthday, Joan had given up hope and decided that the IVF route was the only option left.
With their lives now in the hands of doctors and specialists, they relaxed. They knew that the next time they couldn’t get pregnant it wouldn’t be their fault; it would be the fault of the doctors. Then, two days before Joan was due at the IVF specialist to begin her plan of treatment, she realized that her period hadn’t arrived the previous week. Normally regular as clockwork, she feared the worst: her menopause had arrived early. Spurred on by her husband she reluctantly took a pregnancy test. It was positive, much to everyone’s surprise. Nine months later a beautiful little girl was born, followed by a boy three years later. He was conceived after just two months of trying. When I asked Joan her thoughts on why she finally conceived her daughter, she says simply, “I relaxed. I took pressure of myself.”