ChatGPT became my fertility coach and helped me get pregnant
Falling pregnant, as elegantly says, was – for me – a surprisingly effective business. I say that it is not a Glib, but to recognize a makeshift, especially at my age of 34. My trip did not require specialists, no injections, no assisted reproductive acronyms alphabet soup. Just a few ovulation strips, a Bluetooth compatible hormonal monitor and the model of large language model, which I nicknamed Talkative. If it looks like a parody of contemporary femininity, I assure you – it was simply my reality. Thus, in the hope of demystifying ovulation, luteinizing hormonal overvoltages or the delicate dance of design to others, let me present the story of how I got pregnant, with advice from a polished robot.
It started, as these things do, with a decision. My husband and I determined that 2025 would be The year. In November 2024, we made our first attempt, guided by my application of the Tracker period which used the rare and madly inconsistent data that I fed it to estimate my fertile window. My cycle was irregular; My commitment to grasp the start and end dates of my period was even more. Unsurprisingly, a period arrived in December. I was disappointed, but also energetic – I would need to become serious.
I was 34 years old. Not old, not young. Statistically speaking, women at the start of the thirties have about 20% chance of conceiving each cycle. At thirty-five, this number is starting to decrease more sharply. The Internet is strewn with graphics intended to alarm, statistics drawn in curves to dark lows. However, most OBs will tell you that thirty-four is a perfectly reasonable age to try. This simply requires a little more attention to timing – and perhaps some additional tools.
I did what most women do when I entered this kingdom: I turned to friends. During dinner, I questioned those recently pregnant about their methods. It was over time when ovulation could be vaguely deduced from intuition and a calendar – modern methods required data. “You should use these bands,” insisted a friend, pushing his phone to me with an Amazon link. “The others are garbage.” I ordered a box before the entrances arrived.
These strips – delicate paper with fuchsia gradients – were designed to detect a wave of luteinizing hormone (LH) in the urine, the tip preceding ovulation. If the test line corresponded or darken beyond the control line, one was supposed to be fertile. In theory, infallible. In practice, totally subjective. I stood in my bathroom many mornings holding a used strip against the example printed on the box, folding. “Does that look like you?” I asked my husband, who is far from a color theorist who had no business to assess the raspberry rose nuances before 7am
