(This is the second part of my previous article.
If you haven’t read the first part, I highly recommend that you do.)
After our sixth failed attempt at IVF, we decided to close the door on the subject. I took my wife, Claudine, on a short holiday, and we tried to leave the bitter memories behind us. When we returned to the UK, the topic came up again, and we decided to visit our IVF doctor at the original clinic. He was optimistic and urged us to reconsider, encouraging us to try one last time.
I explained that we were emotionally and physically drained. Our finances were also under strain. The doctor understood and promised to do what he could to help with the costs.
“You now have a chance to try one last time,” he said. “I urge you to think ahead to the future, when you may look back and wonder why you didn’t try again.”
Then he turned to my wife and stressed,
“You WILL get pregnant. Don’t give up hope.”
Later, at home, Claudine and I discussed it. To lighten the mood, I mimicked the doctor’s line — “You WILL get pregnant!” — and she laughed. That moment of levity helped us decide: we would give it one last try. The next morning, I took out a bank loan, called the clinic, and paid the deposit. We began the pre-IVF process and were told we likely had about a month before the actual embryo transfer. Claudine grew concerned that if the procedure worked, she might not be able to see her mother for a while. So I booked us a flight to Ghana, where her mother lives. We had been there barely a week when Claudine began to feel the biological effects of the IVF medication. When she called the clinic, they informed her that she was nearly ready for transfer. She explained that she was far from London, and they said that if she missed it, they could try again the following month.
She felt overwhelmed and frustrated. We discussed it, and I assured her that I would support her regardless of her decision. That night, I felt fatigued and went to bed early.
The Dream
In my dream, I was floating toward an operating theatre. Claudine was on the table under a bright light. I recognised our doctor, masked and focused, standing over her. He reached into her belly and delivered a baby. His hands were bloodied, and he was sweating heavily.
“It was so hard,” he said, “but we got there in the end.” Then he showed me a baby, and my feelings told me that it was a girl.
The Message
As the dream ended, a voice rose from deep within me. It wasn’t male or female. Maybe it was both, or neither. I struggle to describe it, but I remember it clearly:
“Garo, you need to travel to London. Claudine has to go back.”
The next day, I told Claudine what had happened. She made me promise it was real and asked me to repeat the message several times. Then she told me something that left me speechless. The night before, when she was feeling lost and unsure of what to do, she had prayed from the bottom of her heart and asked for a sign.
The very next day, we were on a flight back to London.
On our way to the clinic, we joked and laughed about silly things. It felt different from our past visits. Lighter. Even the clinic, which had always felt sterile and cold, had a warmth to it that day. Our usually serious doctor even smiled a few times. We did not put our hopes high, nor did we expect it to work. I don’t even remember us praying as we did on previous occasions.
After the embryo transfer, we went home. Luckily, there were enough distractions on TV to keep us occupied. We had to wait about two weeks for the results. On the day the clinic was due to call, Claudine asked me to answer the phone. When I picked up, a voice congratulated me:
Claudine was pregnant.
We both cried with joy. I shook with excitement. My emotions were spiralling out of control, so I poured myself a large glass of vodka, drank it neat, and followed it with another. I was going to be a father.
A few months later, Claudine gave birth to a baby girl, whom we named Taline. All the pain, frustration, and heartache we had endured melted away. Every wound we had carried seemed to heal in an instant. We had wanted a child more than anything in the world, and our prayer had been answered.
The experience renewed my faith and pushed me to serve more deeply in our church’s healing ministry. I gave with greater commitment and conviction.
Of course, like any child, Taline could be a handful, but we didn’t care. We never forgot that she was our gift from God. Even now, years later, I still feel and hear that beautiful angelic voice in my heart. I don’t know who it was or where it came from. The bottom line is that the voice guided us and brought us happiness that we had never known before.
