Crisis as Opportunity: Preconception Personal Development by Julia Indichova, author of Inconceivable.  She teaches workshops around the country in holistic approaches to fertility. Nine years ago, when my gynecologist informed me that an FSH (follicle stimulating hormone) level of forty-two, signaled the end of my childbearing years, I did not think of the diagnosis as an opportunity.  All I wanted was for someone to fix me -- as quickly as possible. My plan was to assemble a team of the best and the brightest, who would somehow hunt down that last fertilizable egg before my next birthday. When a number of mainstream specialists agreed, that as far as they could tell, my last viable egg was already gone, I searched for alternatives. I consulted acupuncturists, herbalists, homeopaths, Native American midwives, wise women and men of all healing traditions. I went from one team of experts on Park Avenue to another team of experts in Chinatown. The alternative practitioners were more optimistic. There was only one problem.  Though I had followed their various (often conflicting) recommendations for over a year, pregnancy continued to elude me. Then one day, something unprecedented occurred. I had a sudden realization, that I myself, had an opinion about the diagnosis and a glimmer of an idea for a possible solution. It was the first time ever, that I had turned to myself with questions and paid close attention to my own answers. The months that followed brought the greatest growth-spurt of my 42 years. As my own expert, I made careful choices to feed my flesh, my mind and my spirit only food that nourished and fortified. Improving my diet was something I had always intended to do -- Someday. Now I imagined my baby leaning over the clouds, dimpled hands cupped around its mouth, yelling: Go, mom, go! You can do it! Even if I don't get pregnant, I thought, at least I'll have the healthiest body I've ever had. For the first time since the diagnosis I did not look for someone else’s validation. With hardly a whimper I bade goodbye to my afternoon cappuccino and cake and ushered in a diet of organic greens, brown rice, tempeh, millet and adzuki beans. Wanting a baby provided incentive to eat or drink anything that promised to improve the odds. More important, moving forward left less time for despair and helped me see myself as more fluid, alterable. Two months after the initial adjustments in my diet, my sinus headaches disappeared and one day I noticed I was no longer scrambling for extra strength pain killers to quiet my rheumatism. Inspired, I started a daily yoga practice and imagery work, visualizing healthy, vibrant eggs floating into my uterus. Six months later the voice of the nurse on the other end of the phone announced my reward: “Your test came back positive. Congratulations, Julia, you're pregnant." For many of the millions of women and men longing for a baby, medical intervention may be the only path to parenthood. For me, the fact that my doctors knew of no current technique that would fix me, turned out to create the most powerful opportunity of my forty-two years. For the first time in my life I had no one to turn to but myself. After a lifetime of abdicating all decision-making to experts, I finally learned to do my own thinking; to become my own authority.