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Wednesday 10 September 2008
Source: Human Reproduction
A new scientific breakthrough has the potential to prevent millions of unexplained miscarriages worldwide after the discovery that up to a third of them are caused by an excess of immune cells in a woman's uterus.
Researchers in Britain will soon start trials involving a steroid drug which will be administered to women who have suffered recurrent miscarriages.
Professor Siobhan Quenby from the school of reproductive and developmental medicine at Liverpool University who led the study says the treatment should be able to prevent up to 3000 miscarriages a year in the UK alone once it's available to patients in 5 to 10 years time.
Professor Quenby also hopes to develop a screening test to determine if certain women are at risk of miscarriage before they fall pregnant.
30 out of 40 of her patients who were suffering from multiple miscarriages have already given birth to healthy babies after receiving the steroid drug called prednisolone.
The research focused on the discovery of a link between excess blood supply and the failure of a foetus to implant in the womb which is thought to be caused by a type of immune system cell in the womb that promotes the growth of blood vessels.
This in turn creates an over supply of blood and oxygen undermining the foetus' ability to become implanted into the wall of the womb, leading to miscarriage.
But leading fertility expert Professor Lord Robert Winston warned that it was difficult to know how affective the treatment is until a full clinical trial had been completed.
He said: "It is a very important area, but a difficult one. There is always the chance of this being caused by the placebo effect."
Sarah Williams, IVFG Reporter
According to my naturopath, you can take drugs (of the IVF variety) while on herbs, but according to my doctor you can not take herbs while on the drugs. Who is right and who is wrong? Both and neither.
What it comes down to is that when you've put an exorbitant amount of money (equivalent to the down payment on a BMW) in the pocket of a doctor and their clinic but only paid fifty dollars for a bottle of herbs, the strong inclination is to go with what the doctor said. It's a form of looking after your investment, making sure it gets a return. You can gamble with fifty dollars but not five thousand.
There's also the emotional investment. To undertake the rigorous and demanding IVF drug routine and procedures takes a lot of inner strength from you, unlike putting a tablespoon of herbs in a glass of water. So when subjected to the former the inclination is to do it as the booklet requires.
However, in terms of success rates for either approach on its own, there is overwhelming research to support either. It is what you feel comfortable with. I couldn't have thrown myself into the rigors of IVF in the early stages of my struggle to conceive, I just wasn't psychologically prepared for it and, whatever approach you choose, it is extremely important for you to feel right with it, to believe in it.
I have no doubts whatsoever that the herbal regime that I was on for five months until succumbing to IVF played a major role in the success of IVF. The herbs cleaned out and toned out my reproductive system and in that way were immeasurably helpful.
So, IVF herbs vs IVF drugs - both have their usefulness and to my mind both played a role in the conception of my daughter.
To find out how herbs can help prepare for a successful IVF cycle, do have a look at Stacey Roberts' aka "The Baby Maker's" eBook ‘Herbs and IVF' here »
I'm convinced it was her ground-breaking formulas that got me across the line at my first attempt at IVF.
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Another excellent and instantly downloadable eBook on the topic is The Fertility Plan
It's basically a guide to overcoming infertility naturally, containing straight to the point, useful and well researched information on diet, sex life and really everything women in the 30s and 40s need to know about achieving a natural pregnancy.
For more on this eBook click here »
Jodi Panayotov
During my darkest hours, when I thought I'd never be a mother, I turned to a number of shows for comfort that showed a sizable lapse in judgement on my part.
I have no way to explain it other than I was in an altered state of consciousness and these programs, obviously designed for people like myself, filled a kind of void.
The void was created when I gave up my job, my leisure pursuits and most of my friends in the obsessive pursuit of parenthood and there was something about watching shows like Jerry Springer, where a cast of freaks aired their cataclysmic lives on stage, that distracted me from my own impending madness.
The truth is, I was feeling like a bit of a freak myself and therefore identifying increasingly with his guests. Had there been a show entitled, ‘Women Who Can't Stop Taking Their Temperature and Checking Their Mucous', who knows, I may have signed up. God knows I needed to get out more…

A curious piece of knowledge I unwittingly gained when watching Jerry Springer, was that the vast majority of his guests had achieved parenthood in some shape or dysfunctional form. It didn't matter what their circumstances were, what shape or form their lives took, whether they were a pimp or a paedophile, they had an offspring or ten out there. If my memory serves me correctly there was even a man who had managed to impregnate an unidentified farm animal.
Now clearly either this show or the people who applied to be on it had some secret fertility ingredient that loving couples at IVF clinics missed out on. I don't know what it was but I do intend on studying the show further to find out.
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A guide for relatives, friends and acquaintances who wish to remain relatives, friends and acquaintances:
1. Just relax and it'll happen
2. It (the miscarriage) was meant to be
3. Have you tried having lots of sex?
4. You're trying too hard
5. You just have to try harder
6. Forget about it and it'll happen
7. You've left it too late
8. Don't panic
9. I told you that you should have started earlier
10. I can't imagine what it's like but then I fell pregnant first go with all four of my children
Further explanations that may be necessary for R, F and A's that still don't get it.
To make a point let's substitute the struggle to conceive with the struggle to pay off a steep mortgage, with a few alterations to the above comments.
1. Just relax and it'll happen
2. It (the large mortgage) was meant to be
3. Have you tried earning lots of money?
4. You're trying too hard to pay it
5. You just have to work harder
6. Forget about it and so will the bank
7. You've left it too late - you'll never be debt-free
8. Don't panic even if your house is repossessed
9. I told you you should have bought a house earlier
10. I can't imagine what it's like but then I own four houses and have mortgages on none of them
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OK he's actually a pregnant transgender person but he's living as a he and he has a lawful wedded wife and chest hair and a five o'clock shadow. Thomas Beatie was born a woman but at some stage started taking testosterone shots so he developed male characteristics, at least in the upper part of his body. If at this point you don't believe me, google ‘pregnant man' to get the low down. He lives in Oregon and the story broke in a transgender publication ‘The Advocate'. How did he get pregnant, you ask. Well apparently he used an anonymous sperm donor. And why, then, was he the one that got to use the turkey baster and not his wife? Well she had a hysterectomy about twenty years earlier so was unable to bear a child. ‘Over to you, honey'. So he stopped having his shots and presto! Months later he was with child. Except for the article in the TG publication which reveals that he's expecting a girl in July, accompanied by a photo that looks like Demi Moore with a beard, he's keeping a pretty low profile. A neighbour meantime has scoffed at the news, saying if he pushed his stomach out a bit he too could look six months pregnant. Which brings me to the question, how many of the blokes you see with expanded girths are not, as previously believed, men with beer guts, but are in fact transgender folk with child? But I digress. What does it all mean? Well firstly that there are quite a few women out there who are struggling to fall pregnant who'd have cause to be jealous. I mean, ‘I just threw my testosterone pills out the window for a few months, went to a sperm bank and made a withdrawal and next minute I was pregnant.' We girls should be so lucky! And of course there's the absolute humdinger of an answer this couple face when they get the ‘Mummy, where did I come from?' question. As for the medical bit, he's having a hard time finding an obstetrician to deliver. So you have to ask why they'd even begin to attempt to put themselves through this. But I guess the long-seated hunger for a child leads us to do all sorts of crazy things. Whether the scoffing neighbour is right and Thomas's stomach is the result of a long-seated hunger for a hamburger and a beer rather than a child remains to be seen. Trust Oprah to have put an end to the junk-food/beer drinking conspiracy.
I have been trawling the sites about pregnancy and infertility on the internet since George Bush was a boy and there are some extraordinary stories out there but nothing beats the recent one about the pregnant man.
Next from the wife's point of view, at least they didn't have to find a surrogate to carry the child, it's all been kept in the family as such. Being someone who's had a hysterectomy herself, I wouldn't mind having a ‘husband' that could have a child for us. But then this fellow's not really a husband in every sense of the word, not from the waist down anyway. I don't think I could make that trade-off.
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Just when you think the odds are against you, think again. This true story is a triumph over everything that shouldn't have happened and did, an extraordinary beating of the odds. It's along the lines of a person cutting off their own head, eating it and surviving - just as strange, but in this case true.
Right. Take a seat while I try and work out where to begin. Pour yourself a drink if you're in between IVF cycles. OK, here goes.
A 57 year old woman, Susan Tollefsen from Romford, East London walks into an IVF clinic in Russia, hoping to have a child with her 46 year old partner. At this point her odds of achieving a pregnancy with IVF are zero with her own eggs, and, using the rates of success in Britain at private clinics treating women over 50, roughly twenty five percent with donor eggs.
She has already tried a few other ‘foreign' clinics over several years without success. She undergoes treatment and has 2 embryos implanted.
The first miracle occurs - she achieves a pregnancy but less than four weeks after transfer starts bleeding and miscarries. The odds of miscarrying at 45 or over are greater than fifty four percent.
Her GP confirms the miscarriage as does a negative home pregnancy test. (HPTs are 99% accurate in the lab but do have a higher rate of false negatives than positives).
Susan reluctantly relinquishes her dream.
Fast forward to twenty-four weeks later when she has been suffering from a swollen abdomen and presents at hospital with what her GP cited as a ‘hard abdominal mass'.
The fear is that she has ovarian cancer - the odds being high for a 57 year old with a swollen abdomen who has never been pregnant. It is the fourth leading cause of cancer death in women of this age.
She is fully expecting the sonographer to relay some grave news but instead he says, "Congratulations. You are pregnant." Thirty weeks pregnant to be exact and the baby is healthy.
Susan has now given birth to her first baby, a girl she has named ‘Freya'.
And if that's not a miracle, I'm not sure what is.
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Anger and infertility go together like a horse and carriage, love and marriage, like bad hair and Donald Trump. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Whilst there may be serene and blissful pregnancies the battle to conceive is anything but.
I don't think I was ever so cranky as when I was trying unsuccessfully to have a baby, culminating in the IVF process. And giving IVF drugs to an already emotionally fraught woman is like waving a red flag at a mallee bull.
For the first time in his life my two metre tall husband was actually scared of me. I'm not sure what he thought I was capable of but he didn't want to find out. Which is why, when we were halfway up the mountain on our weekend away and I yelled that we had to turn back as I'd forgotten my basal thermometer, he did. Without arguing. Just went a little pale before putting the indicator on and doing a swift U-turn.
In a past life, BTTC (before trying to conceive), it would have been out of the question but this was now, I was mad and he was nervous.
Not that I ever shared what was going on in my head or anything. No, I kept the homicidal thoughts towards pregnant women, people who blew smoke in their children's faces and power walking pram groups to myself. Nor did I share any of the ideas I had about what should happen to people who abused their kids, Courtney Love, Jordan and other abysmal celebrity mothers.
Then there was the small stuff - the ‘you left the light on', ‘you forgot to buy parmesan cheese' and so forth. It was quite fortunate by the time it came to IVF and no sex was required because there couldn't have been any with my moods, unless it was of the make-up variety. But you better get in quick, I just spotted a mould spot on the ceiling and it's making me furious.
Seriously though, why do we get so angry? And why do we get so down on ourselves for being that way? The answer to the second question probably lies with the fact that there is still some expectation, stemming from last century that women aren't supposed to get really angry. Bulldust!
All those 1950's magazines with the perennially happy homemakers, grinning whilst they ironed, beaming while they vacuumed, twinkling as they fetched their husband's scotch and slippers set some pretty warped notions of how we should be. Had there been IVF then, no doubt the woman would have been pictured there in backless gown and matching paper hat sunnily beaming her way through the egg pick-up, or smiling beatifically in wasp waisted dress as she injected herself with Puregon.
As for why we get so angry, well, aside from the sense of injustice that this is happening to us, and the lack of understanding and insensitivity we often experience from others, including loved ones, anger is a part of grief. A healthy part.
The grieving process comprises four parts - denial, anger, sadness and acceptance and when we suffering infertility which is something we struggle to deal with we will experience these emotions before we can either resolve or learn to accept the situation. Anger has as much of a role as sadness though different people experience each in different measures.
In accepting that anger is OK you can start to tame the beast, not feel so out of control with it. This doesn't means trying to suppress it - it will reveal its ugly head again later anyway, usually when you're at an important work party with your husband.
There are things you can do to take the edge off it - yoga, various forms of exercise, boxing, counselling, just putting headphones on and going off for a walk.
And if it's your partner that bears the brunt of it, talk. Tell him that this is how you are right now and it's not about him. It's about the situation. 
Unfortunately for him you can't shout at your ovaries or your IVF doctor.
The other thing to know is that it will pass, either when you fall pregnant or when you have worked through the process and reached a new place to be in.
Unlike Donald Trump who is stuck with his hair forever, you won't be stuck with the anger.
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If there is one word in the English language that strikes fear in my heart it's the big M - ‘Miscarriage'. I've suffered three of them you see and frankly it's a noun I'd rather not hear again as long as I live.
The other is ‘Just try again'. OK that was three words but they have the same impact, especially when said by the doctor you were seeing for the miscarriage.
I remember only too well the first time I was told to do this. It was by a doctor wearing golfing pants and he'd dropped in after my D&C the night before.
Being the Thursday before Easter and all, he was in a bit of a hurry. Couldn't blame him really for speeding off in his imported European car with golf set sticking out the back while I sat at the window of my room and sobbed.
I did blame him for his parting words though: "Just try again." I repeated them over and over to myself wondering what on earth they meant, they sounded so light-hearted, so flippant, not at all in the spirit of the grave situation - the loss of my baby- at all.
For a start the word ‘just', as if it's all I had to do, it was simple. But it wasn't simple at all. I'd been trying for eighteen months already and this pregnancy was the culmination of those efforts. And ‘try', well, I wasn't really up to trying anything, not even the sandwiches the hospital caterers had left by my bedside. I was feeling a little too overwhelmed by my loss, the shattered dreams of the future to even think about getting up the energy and courage to ‘try again'.
So I was left with no answers, just an annoying mantra that sounded like it was sponsored by a sports corporation. Eventually, after almost a year and with the help of fertility drugs I managed to get pregnant again. And to my horror, started miscarrying again. This time it was me wearing the sporting pants, baggy enough to contain a bunch of maxi pads when I presented at the doctor's office.
Again, there were no explanations or answers, just the advice to keep trying. This time, dissatisfied and more prepared, I fronted my gynaecologist who'd put me on the fertility drugs and demanded to find out if there was an underlying cause for the miscarriages. Unless you are officially ‘recurrent', meaning three miscarriages in a row, it was not procedure to test but he agreed to. Only because I refused to leave unless he did and it's not a good look for a fertility clinic having its patients escorted out by burly uniformed men.
As it happened the tests found a thyroid imbalance that was thought to be causing the miscarriages and when it was fixed I went on to have a healthy baby. Both doctors were surprised as they'd simply put me in the ‘over 35' boat (apparently a sinking one), meaning that women over 35 are more likely to miscarry and do so more often due to genetic causes that are outside of medical science's jurisdiction. It's all due to Mother Nature not wanting us to have kids when we're older.
So when I read that the American College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists is pushing for women to be tested after two miscarriages I thought, Hallelujah! At last we're looking at answers and possibly prevention, not just Nike-style catchphrases.
As Kelly Maguire, a counsellor for Resolve who has experienced four miscarriages herself before having two healthy babies says, ‘It's almost as if you want something to be wrong so you can treat it."
She wisely adds, "My experience is, it's all up to you and how much you push your doctor."
Hopefully we soon won't have to be pushing doctors (as if we don't have enough to contend with) but until then there are things you can do if you miscarry.
This is a tough and pretty unpalatable one but if it's possible to save some miscarried tissue it can be used for genetic analysis.
After a second miscarriage a woman could be tested for possible imbalances of hormones, including thyroid, prolactin and progesterone, as well as for polycystic ovarian syndrome. Also underlying autoimmune disorders can be treated for example with aspirin to stop blood clotting.
And there may be underlying infections e.g., uterine that may be treated with antibiotics.
Then of course there are the known environmental factors such as smoking, excessive caffeine intake and alcohol.
There are many recurrent miscarriages that will not have found causes even after extensive testing. But if at least some can have identified causes, especially when treatable, then we can make some headway in preventing further miscarriages.
And at least then we may get back some feeling of control and not be forced to sob helplessly as the doctor drives off in their BMW.
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When you're trying unsuccessfully to conceive, going to gatherings of friends, families, parties, etc that you would once have enjoyed can be the equivalent of having you teeth pulled, one by one. Without anaesthetic.
During the time I was trying and failing to have a baby, I would gladly have a) waxed my own back b) watched a wall of paint dry or c) had all my moles burnt off with a Bunsen burner if offered the choice between that or attending a party where there would be pregnant women and people with kids. If I knew them it was worse as I wouldn't be able to avoid talking to them.
I knew it was isolating, not good for me or my future social life but it was better than turning up somewhere only to feel a knife go into your gut and be twisted and wrenched throughout the evening.
It's not as if you can gaily pretend the pregnant women/parents with young children are not there. And gone were the days when you could at least have gained satisfaction from the pregnant woman looking like the offspring of a Darrell Lea lady and a circus clown. These days the stomach is emphasised in tight slinky sexy fabric so there's no way you can ignore it, it practically says hello. It's almost as if has its own personality which is sometimes more than can be said for the owner. And it acts as a glaring beacon of what you don't have but desperately want.
The other problem is that pregnancy and children are no-brainer conversation topics like the weather and food so everyone ends up talking about them. When at a loss for something to say ask a pregnant woman about herself and you'll be occupied for ages. The same with a parent when asked about their child. If the child is gifted or there are more than one you'll be there for weeks.
Eventually should you be trapped in this group you'll find yourself at some point between Harlow's Baby Genius class and Montenegro's nightly kicking fest- and it's inevitable - asked about your plans for parenthood or if you have any kids.
What do you do? Flee in tears? Lie and say you don't like children unless poached with Hollandaise sauce? Or bravely announce that you have Joshua, Emily and Chloe but they're still at the clinic at this stage.
Hospital? Oh no, the IVF clinic. See they're only four cells and in a petri dish in a lab at the moment.
Got their room ready? No, no, I'm still getting the womb ready actually. One thing at a time..
How? With the help of progesterone…No, not a Greek designer - a pharmaceutical drug with unpleasant side-effects.
Hopes for their future? Oh, not much really at this stage, they've been dashed so many times. Just that at least one of them is eight cells by Monday.
And pretty much like most reproduction conversations between the fertile and the infertile it ends there. That's if it didn't end earlier with an upturned drink on a head. Because it's like putting two species from different planets and putting them together and expecting them to find commonality.
So, how to keep some connection going, to not fall off the social cliff into the isolation abyss? How do you get those around you who are not fertility challenged to get where you're coming from? To say it's OK if you don't feel like coming to the birthday party, baby shower or christening?
This is where the non-fertility challenged can help. Especially those who think Clomid is a brand of washing powder and Oestrogen a Freudian complex.
I have compiled a list of some points that were posted on this website by one of the wonderful members. I believe that they may be useful for friends, family and loved ones of those struggling with infertility. Because when we're going through it we don't necessarily find it easy to say these things. Some days it's hard enough just to get out of bed.
- Please don't tell me you know how I feel unless you have also had fertility problems
- Please don't tell me that it's all meant to be.
- Please don't tell me it'll be fine unless you have God on speed-dial. And if you do I want his number now.
- Please see that everything is not business as usual in my life, household and heart.
- Please permit me a clear calender and excuse my lack of involvement in other activities, as my days are at times filled with tests, results, endless appointments, phone calls, decisions, physical discomfort and fatigue.
- Please treat me with kid gloves, as I am hanging on by a thin emotional thread.
- Please give me permission to do what I need to do, be it laugh, cry, sit around, or be really, really active in something.
- Please excuse my lack of interest in everything else.
- Please don't ask me if I am pregnant. If and when that occurs, I will sing from the highest rooftop.
A few extras for those going through IVF :
- Please offer to come with me to an appointment or even drive me there
- Please help me around my house by washing a few dishes, vacuuming a room, or taking my dog for a walk. Remember my husband is overwhelmed and in need of support as well!
- Please let me know if you are supporting me even if a cylce fails. That is my biggest fear and the hardest thing to talk about.
- Please remind me that I am strong enough to endure this, as I am sure to forget along the way.
When you are focussing on trying to conceive a baby, the last thing that usually occurs to you is the possibility that you might lose it, unless of course you have previously suffered pregnancy loss.
This is especially true when experiencing the type of euphoria that overwhelms you when you find you've been successful after a long time, it can be virtually impossible to allow such an awful possibility to gain access to your head.
If, like me, you haven't devoured an entire library of pregnancy books, spines and all, before becoming pregnant you can be blissfully ignorant of the things that can go wrong with pregnancy.
And even if you do like to be prepared for all eventualities, in the effort to remain positive and uplifting, to convey the joy of pregnancy, most of the pregnancy books devote little coverage to topics such as what to expect during miscarriage or what a miscarriage looks like.
For that you need to go straight to the books entitled ‘Miscarriage' and who, when newly pregnant, is doing that, no matter what paranoid tendencies they may possess? Even when I was finally pregnant again after my first miscarriage I was not tempted. Well, not much, only a bit. I confess that I may have picked one up and peeped inside before realizing I was on the verge of taking leave of my senses and put it hurriedly back on the shelf.
So, how do you know if you've had a miscarriage and not realized it? Especially if you hadn't heard or read anything about it beforehand, it is entirely possible to have missed it altogether.
Miscarriage statistics are based on ‘known pregnancies' and do not take into account women who miscarry when they didn't know they were pregnant. Generally it is passed off as a particularly heavy or nasty period, with heavier than usual bleeding accompanied by some clotting. A pregnancy test when taken up to several days after a miscarriage will still show a positive result. My state of denial after my second miscarriage was so strong that I frantically took two further tests, despite an ultrasound having shown nothing but an empty sac and the fact that I'd bled the equivalent of small dam, and both of them showed the strong double line. I called my doctor, who told me that the pregnancy hormones could remain in my system for up to a week.
Miscarriage emotions, on the other hand can last a lot longer and can vary widely: from hysteria involving wailing uncontrollably and flinging oneself at objects like a Greek widow at a funeral, to the depths of despair causing curling up in foetal position for days at a time, to a kind of blank dissociative state where you go through the motions of living without feeling anything.
Is it harder to conceive after a miscarriage? Personally I found it hard to conceive before and after my miscarriages but this was due to a whole host of reasons, which may or may not have been linked to the miscarriages themselves. My doctors, after each miscarriage, advised me to ideally wait three months before trying again, to ‘allow the system to get back into order' or words to that effect. Yet I've met many women who didn't even wait to have another period, they resumed trying again right away and fell pregnant first go.
Even after loss of infant due to miscarriage, when the miscarriage is later in the pregnancy and not far from a still birth, women conceive relatively quickly and successfully. I had a work colleague who lost a baby at twenty weeks and just over a year later she gave birth to a healthy child.
So, achieving pregnancy after a miscarriage is more likely to be difficult if you had difficulties before the miscarriage, like myself. Some women, after the initial ‘hiccup' will sail through and never have another problem whereas there are those of us who will experience a spectrum of problems in our endeavours to have a child. Something to remember is that, if one in four (including the unknown) pregnancies end in miscarriage, the more pregnancies you achieve there is some chance that you may lose one of them.