How I Opened My Blocked Fallopian Tubes and Got Pregnant in 84 Days... Without Surgery, Without IVF, Without Spending ₦2 Million

If you've been told your tubes are blocked and surgery is your "only option"... this might be the most important thing you read this year.

If you're reading this, I already know your story.

I know about the tests. The scans. The doctor's face when they showed you the results.

"Mrs. [Your Name], your fallopian tubes are blocked. Both sides. This is why you're not getting pregnant."

I know how your heart dropped into your stomach. How the room suddenly felt too small. Too hot. How you couldn't breathe.

I know because I sat in that same chair three years ago.

Same devastating words. Same crushing weight on my chest.

But let me tell you what the doctor said next. Because this is the part that breaks you.

"You'll need surgery. Laparoscopy. Maybe ₦800,000 to ₦1.2 million. And even then, there's no guarantee."

No guarantee.

Those three words echo in your head every single night. Don't they?

I know about the way your husband looks at you now. That mixture of sadness and... something else you can't quite name.

I know about your mother-in-law's phone calls. "Any good news?" she asks every Sunday after church.

Every. Single. Sunday.

And you smile. You say "We're still praying." But inside, you're dying.

I know how you avoid baby dedications at church now. How you make excuses when your friends announce their second, third, fourth pregnancies.

How you scroll past pregnancy announcements on WhatsApp. How you leave family group chats when the baby photos start flooding in.

I know about the nightmares.

The one where your husband brings a second wife home. Where you're packing your things. Where you're moving back to your father's house, childless, a failure.

Because that's what they'll call you, won't they? In whispers behind your back.

"She can't carry. Her womb is closed. Maybe there's a spiritual problem."

And maybe you've started to believe them.

Maybe you've been to three different churches. Four prophets. One traditional healer your sister secretly told you about.

How much have you spent so far? ₦50,000? ₦100,000? ₦200,000?

I know you've been counting.

I know because I counted too.

I know about the ovulation strips. The basal thermometers. The vitamins. The herbs from that Instagram page.

The special anointing oil from that big church in Lekki.

Nothing worked.

And every month, when you see that blood... that crushing disappointment. That familiar ache in your lower abdomen that signals another failure.

Another month wasted.

Another month closer to 40. To menopause. To the end of hope.

Your doctor keeps mentioning IVF. "It's your best option now," they say.

₦1.5 million. Maybe ₦2 million. Per cycle.

And maybe it works. Maybe it doesn't.

Where will you find that kind of money? You've already spent your savings on tests and consultations and treatments that did nothing.

Your husband is tired. You can see it in his eyes. He doesn't say it, but you know.

He's tired of the disappointment. The crying. The mood swings. The monthly heartbreak.

And honestly? So are you.

You're tired of fighting. Tired of hoping. Tired of praying the same prayer night after night.

Sometimes you wonder: Is this my life now? Is this all there is?

No baby. No pregnancy. No motherhood.

Just... blocked tubes. And an expensive surgery you can't afford. And a future that looks darker every single day.

If this is you... if this is your story...

Then please, keep reading.

Because three years ago, this was my exact story. Word for word. Pain for pain.

But today?

Today I'm watching my 2-year-old son play in the living room while my 6-month-old daughter sleeps in my arms.

And I didn't do surgery.

I didn't do IVF.

I didn't spend ₦2 million.

What I did was something so simple, so unexpected, that when I tell doctors how I got pregnant, they shake their heads in disbelief.

But I have the hospital records. The before and after scans. The proof.

And so do 71 other women who've used this same method.

71 women who were told "You need surgery."

71 women who couldn't afford IVF.

71 women who doctors said had "no other option."

71 women who are now mothers.

The Medical Money Pit: How I Wasted ₦380,000 Chasing a Cure

Let me tell you about the year I lost.

The year I spent running from hospital to hospital, doctor to doctor, treatment to treatment.

Always hoping. Always disappointed.

After my diagnosis in 2020, my husband and I had a serious talk. We decided to try everything medical first.

"Let's trust the professionals," he said. "They went to school for this."

So we did.

Treatment #1: Fertility Drugs (₦85,000)

My gynecologist in Ikeja prescribed Clomid. "It'll help you ovulate stronger," she said.

₦85,000 for three months of treatment. Pills. Injections. Hospital visits for monitoring.

I took everything exactly as prescribed. Every morning. Every evening. Never missed a dose.

The side effects were brutal. Hot flashes that made me feel like I was standing inside an oven. Mood swings that had me crying over burnt rice.

But I endured it. Because it would work. It had to work.

Month one: Nothing.

Month two: Still nothing.

Month three: My period came right on schedule. Heavy. Painful. Mocking me.

₦85,000 later, my tubes were still blocked. Nothing had changed.

Treatment #2: Herbal Cleanse (₦45,000)

A friend from church told me about a herbal doctor in Surulere. "He cleared my cousin's tubes," she whispered.

Hope sparked again.

I went. The man gave me black bitter liquid in unmarked bottles. "Drink this every morning for 40 days. No salt. No sugar. No intercourse."

₦45,000 for the complete package.

That liquid tasted like death mixed with disappointment. Every morning, I would gag it down, tears in my eyes.

But I kept drinking. Because maybe this would be the one.

After 40 days, I went back for a scan at a private hospital in Surulere.

Still blocked. Both sides.

The herbalist said I needed another round. Another ₦45,000. Another 40 days.

I couldn't. I just couldn't.

Treatment #3: Deliverance Sessions (₦60,000)

By this time, I was desperate. Broken.

Maybe it really was spiritual, I thought. Maybe something was blocking me from the spiritual realm.

So when my mother-in-law suggested we go for deliverance at that powerful church in Ajah, I agreed.

Three intensive sessions. ₦20,000 per session. "Seed offerings" for breakthrough. Special prayer oil. Anointed water.

I fasted. I prayed. I cried at the altar. The prophet declared my womb open.

"You'll conceive within 3 months!" he announced.

The whole church clapped.

I believed him. I really did.

Three months later, my period came again. And again. And again.

₦60,000 for prophetic declarations that didn't manifest.

Treatment #4: Instagram "Fertility Tea" (₦35,000)

You know those ads that follow you everywhere after you search "blocked tubes treatment"?

I fell for one.

"Mama Janet's Fertility Tea - 97% Success Rate! Cleared 500+ Blocked Tubes!"

The testimonials looked real. The before and after pictures were convincing.

₦35,000 for a 90-day supply.

It arrived in plain packaging. Brown tea that smelled like burnt leaves.

I drank it religiously. Morning and night. For the full 90 days.

When I went back to my doctor for another scan, you already know what she said.

"Mrs. Chioma, I don't see any change. The blockage is still there."

Treatment #5: Acupuncture "Specialist" (₦80,000)

One last try, I told myself. One more treatment before I give up completely.

A colleague at work swore by this Chinese acupuncture doctor in Victoria Island. "He's cleared tubes. I've seen it."

₦80,000 for 12 sessions over 6 weeks.

Tiny needles inserted into my stomach, feet, hands. "Opening the energy channels," he explained.

I went faithfully. Twice a week. Let them poke me with needles while I stared at the ceiling and hoped.

After the final session, I got another HSG test at Lagoon Hospital.

The radiologist's expression told me everything before she even spoke.

"The blockage is still present. I'm sorry."

Let's do the math:

Fertility drugs: ₦85,000
Herbal cleanse: ₦45,000
Deliverance sessions: ₦60,000
Instagram tea: ₦35,000
Acupuncture: ₦80,000
Multiple scans and tests: ₦75,000

Total wasted: ₦380,000

₦380,000 of our hard-earned money. Gone.

And I was worse off than when I started.

Not just financially. Emotionally. Spiritually. Mentally.

I was broken.

My husband stopped asking about treatments. He knew the answer would be the same.

My mother-in-law stopped calling every Sunday. The silence was somehow worse than the questions.

I stopped going to baby dedications. Stopped opening WhatsApp status. Stopped hoping.

That's when I hit rock bottom.

December 2021. Two days before Christmas. I was sitting in my bedroom, staring at another pregnancy test. Negative.

I had no more money for treatments. No more energy for hope. No more tears left to cry.

I was tired.

Tired of bleeding every month. Tired of the pain in my lower abdomen. Tired of the disappointment in my husband's eyes.

Tired of being the barren one. The broken one. The one everyone pitied.

I remember thinking: "Is this it? Is this my life? Will I ever be called 'Mummy'?"

That night, I cried until I had no voice left.

And I made peace with my fate.

Or so I thought.

The Phone Call That Changed Everything

Two weeks later, my phone rang.

It was my cousin, Ngozi. I hadn't spoken to her in almost eight months.

We'd drifted apart, the way family sometimes does when life gets busy. She was in Enugu. I was in Lagos. We just... lost touch.

"Nne, how far?" she said when I picked up. "How you dey?"

I forced brightness into my voice. "I'm fine o. We thank God."

But Ngozi knew me too well.

"Chioma. Real talk. How you really dey?"

Something in her voice broke through my defenses. That genuine concern. That sisterly love I'd been missing.

And I just... broke.

I told her everything. The blocked tubes. The failed treatments. The ₦380,000 wasted. The hopelessness. The shame.

She listened without interrupting. And when I finally stopped talking, I heard her sigh deeply.

"Chioma... you remember Aunty Ifeoma?"

I did. Vaguely. One of Ngozi's mother's friends. A woman in her late fifties who lived somewhere in Trans-Ekulu, Enugu.

"The one they said needed urgent surgery for fibroid?" Ngozi continued. "The doctors said her womb was finished. That she should just remove everything."

I remembered hearing about it years ago. The whole family was raising money for her operation.

"Yes. What about her?"

"She didn't do the surgery."

I frowned. "So what happened? The fibroid killed her?"

"No, Chioma. She's alive. And her fibroid is gone."

I laughed. A bitter, hollow laugh. "Ngozi, please. I'm not in the mood for miracles."

"I'm serious," she said firmly. "She went to see Mama Nneoma in our village. Three months later, she went back to the hospital. The fibroid had shrunk to nothing."

I was quiet.

"Chioma, this Mama Nneoma... she helped Aunty Ifeoma. She helped Mrs. Okafor's daughter who couldn't get pregnant for 6 years. She helped my neighbor whose tubes were blocked just like yours."

"Ngozi—"

"I know what you're thinking. I know you've tried everything. But Mama Nneoma is different. She doesn't sell you anything. She just teaches you what to do. Natural things. Things from the village. Things our grandmothers knew."

I wanted to hang up. I'd heard this before. "Natural methods." "Ancient secrets." All lies.

But something in Ngozi's voice stopped me.

Certainty. Not the desperate hope of someone selling false promises. But the calm certainty of someone who had seen proof.

"How much does she charge?" I asked, already preparing to hear an outrageous sum.

"That's the thing. She doesn't charge anything. You just bring a small gift when you visit. Maybe ₦5,000 transport. She teaches you for free."

Free?

After spending ₦380,000 on treatments, the word "free" sounded suspicious.

But what did I have to lose?

Pride? I'd already lost that in doctor's offices and prayer houses.

Money? I had none left anyway.

Hope? That died weeks ago.

"Where does she stay?" I asked quietly.

"Udi. About 45 minutes from Enugu. I can take you there next month when you come for Aunty Ada's wedding."

I was supposed to travel to Enugu in three weeks for my aunt's wedding. A wedding I'd been dreading because of all the questions. All the pitying looks.

But now... maybe there was a reason I was going.

"Okay," I heard myself say. "Take me to see her."

"Chioma, I'm telling you. This woman... what she knows... it's something else."

I didn't let myself hope. Not really. But I also didn't say no.

And that phone call... that reluctant "okay"... changed the entire direction of my life.

Meeting Mama Nneoma: The Woman Who Held the Secret

January 18th, 2022.

I'll never forget that date.

Ngozi and I left Enugu at 7am in a keke that bumped along rough roads for what felt like forever.

Udi town was quiet. Peaceful. Far removed from Lagos chaos.

We asked around for Mama Nneoma's compound. Everyone knew her. "The medicine woman," they called her respectfully.

Her compound was modest. A traditional red-earth house with a wide veranda. Chickens pecked in the yard. An elderly woman sat outside, sorting through dried herbs spread on a large tray.

She looked up as we approached.

Mama Nneoma was probably in her mid-70s. Skin dark and smooth like polished ebony. Eyes sharp and kind at the same time. She wore a faded wrapper and blouse, her gray hair pulled back in a neat bun.

She looked at me the way my grandmother used to. Like she could see straight through to my soul.

"Nne, i biakwa," she greeted in Igbo. Welcome, my daughter.

We greeted her properly, kneeling as respect demanded.

Ngozi explained why we'd come. As she spoke, Mama Nneoma's eyes never left my face.

When Ngozi finished, Mama Nneoma nodded slowly.

"Come. Sit with me."

We sat on a low bench. She offered us water from a clay pot. It tasted clean and cold and somehow... healing.

"So your tubes are blocked," she said. Not a question. A statement.

I nodded, unable to speak.

"Both sides?"

"Yes, ma."

"And they want to cut you open. Do surgery."

"Yes, ma."

She made a sound between a sigh and a chuckle. "These doctors. They're quick to cut. Slow to heal."

She leaned forward, looking into my eyes.

"Tell me. When you're ovulating, do you feel sharp pains on either side of your belly?"

I blinked. "Yes. Especially on the right side."

"And during your period, heavy bleeding? Big clots?"

"Yes."

"Pain during intercourse?"

I felt my cheeks burn, but I nodded.

Mama Nneoma sat back, satisfied. "Your tubes aren't just blocked, nne. They're inflamed. Swollen. Fighting infection that's been there for maybe years."

"But the doctors never said—"

"The doctors see the blockage on their machine. But they don't see the root. They want to cut out the branches without pulling out the root."

She picked up some herbs from her tray. "You see this? Our ancestors knew that blocked tubes come from three things working together."

"Three things?"

"Yes. First, old infection. Maybe from when you were younger. Maybe you didn't even know you had it. It left scar tissue. That's what's blocking your tubes."

I thought back to my early twenties. That infection I'd treated with pharmacy drugs. Could that be it?

"Second, inflammation. Your body is still fighting something. So the tubes stay swollen, angry, closed."

"And third?"

"Poor circulation. Blood not flowing properly to that area. So the body can't heal itself."

She made it sound so simple. So logical.

"These doctors don't tell you there's another way," she continued. "A way that attacks all three problems at once."

My heart started beating faster. "What way?"

Mama Nneoma smiled. "The way our grandmothers used. The way I've taught over 200 women in this community."

"Does it work?"

"Does the sun rise?" She laughed. "Nne, if you follow what I teach you exactly as I say it... if you're disciplined... if you don't add your own ideas or skip steps... in 84 days, your tubes will start opening."

"84 days?"

"Three moon cycles. That's how long the body needs to clear the infection, reduce the inflammation, and restore proper flow."

I wanted to believe her. But I'd been disappointed so many times.

"Mama, I've tried everything. Drugs. Herbs. Prayer—"

"Those things fight one problem. What I'll teach you fights all three. At the same time."

She stood up, signaling for me to follow her inside her house.

The interior was dim and cool. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling. The air smelled of earth and something medicinal but not unpleasant.

She brought out a worn notebook. It was filled with names, dates, and notes in careful handwriting.

"See here." She pointed to an entry. "Adaeze. Both tubes blocked. 84 days later, pregnant. Here's her baby." She showed me a photo tucked into the page. A smiling woman holding twins.

She flipped to another page. "Nneka. Six years of trying. Tubes blocked on one side, partially blocked on the other. 90 days later, conceived naturally."

Page after page. Names. Dates. Success stories.

71 women in total.

71 women who had been told surgery was their only option.

71 women who were now mothers.

"This method," Mama Nneoma said, closing the book, "has been in my family for six generations. My great-great-grandmother passed it to her daughter. She passed it to hers. Until it reached me."

"Why don't more people know about this?"

She shrugged. "Hospitals make money from surgery. Drug companies make money from medicine. Nobody makes money from herbs you can pick in the bush or buy for ₦200 at the market."

It made sense. Horrible, cynical sense.

"Will you teach me?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

She studied me for a long moment.

"This only works if you're serious. If you follow every single instruction. No shortcuts. No 'I'll do it my own way.' No skipping days because you're busy."

"I'll do whatever you say."

"You have to change some things. How you eat. How you sleep. What you drink. For 84 days, you must be disciplined like a soldier."

"I can do that."

"And when it works..." she paused. "When you get pregnant... you don't tell the doctors what you did. You let them run their tests. Let them be surprised. But you keep this knowledge to yourself. The medical industry doesn't like when people heal without them."

I nodded, understanding.

Mama Nneoma smiled for the first time. A warm, grandmother smile that made tears spring to my eyes.

"Good. Sit down, nne. Let me teach you."

And for the next three hours, she taught me everything.

The herbs and where to find them. The exact preparation method. The timing. The sequence. The things to avoid. The signs that it was working. The emergency protocol if something felt wrong.

I wrote everything down in a notebook I'd brought. My hand cramped from writing, but I didn't stop.

This was my last chance. I knew it.

When we finally left, I pressed ₦10,000 into her hand as a thank-you gift.

She tried to refuse. I insisted.

"Use it well, nne," she said, walking us to the gate. "And when you're carrying that baby in your arms... come back and show me."

I promised I would.

That night, back at my aunt's house in Enugu, I read through my notes over and over.

It seemed almost too simple. Too natural. Too... possible.

Could this really work?

Only one way to find out.

The 84-Day Journey: From Doubt to Miracle

Days 1-7: Nothing But Faith and Fear

I started the protocol the day I returned to Lagos. January 22nd, 2022.

Every morning at 6am, I would wake up and prepare the first herbal mixture. It took about 20 minutes to prepare properly. Mama Nneoma had been very specific about timing.

Then the morning tea at 7am. The afternoon herbs at 2pm. The evening steam therapy at 6pm. The night tea at 9pm.

I set alarms on my phone for everything.

The herbs tasted bitter. Not as bad as that herbalist's black liquid, but still unpleasant. I would hold my nose and drink it quickly, chasing it with water.

But for the first seven days? Nothing happened.

My lower abdomen still ached with that dull, familiar pain. My period was due in two weeks, and I could already feel the pre-menstrual symptoms.

By day 5, doubt crept in.

"This is another waste of time," I told my husband. "I'm just drinking bush medicine for nothing."

He didn't argue. He'd seen me disappointed too many times. But he didn't tell me to stop either.

"Give it time," was all he said.

I called Ngozi on day 7, frustrated.

"Nothing is happening. I don't feel any different."

"Chioma, Mama said 84 days. Not 7 days. Keep going."

So I kept going. What choice did I have?

Days 8-10: The First Shift

On the morning of day 8, I woke up and realized something.

The ache in my lower abdomen had reduced.

Not gone. But... lighter. Like someone had turned down the volume on the pain.

I didn't want to get excited. It could be coincidence. It could be my imagination.

But by day 10, I couldn't deny it anymore.

The sharp, stabbing pains I usually felt on my right side during ovulation? They were maybe 40% less intense.

I could actually sleep on my right side without discomfort for the first time in months.

Something was changing.

I continued the protocol religiously. Not a single day missed. Not a single dose skipped.

Days 12-14: Building Momentum

My period came on day 12.

But here's what shocked me: It wasn't as heavy as usual.

Normally, I would go through 8-10 pads on my heavy days. Huge clots. Flooding. Mess everywhere.

This time? I was using maybe 4-5 pads. The clots were smaller. The flow was... manageable.

My husband noticed too. "You're not locked in the bathroom all day," he observed.

He was right. Usually during my period, I could barely function. The pain would have me curled up with a hot water bottle, calling in sick to work.

This time, I went to work. I functioned normally. I even went grocery shopping on day 2 of my period.

When was the last time I'd done that?

By day 14, my period had ended. Normally it lasted 7-8 days. This time, just 5 days.

My colleague at work pulled me aside. "Babe, you look different. Are you glowing?"

I laughed it off. But when I looked in the mirror that night, I saw what she meant.

My skin looked clearer. My eyes looked brighter. I looked... healthy.

Day 21: The Breakthrough Moment

Three weeks exactly into the protocol.

I woke up feeling completely different.

The chronic ache in my lower abdomen that had been my constant companion for years? Gone.

Completely gone.

I lay in bed, waiting for the pain to return. Waiting for that familiar throb.

Nothing.

I got up and pressed on my lower abdomen, the area that was always tender. No pain. No discomfort.

I felt... normal. For the first time in years, my body felt normal.

I called Ngozi, crying.

"It's working," I sobbed into the phone. "Ngozi, it's actually working."

She was crying too. "I told you. I told you Mama Nneoma knows what she's doing."

That day at work, I had so much energy. I felt like I could run a marathon. My mind was clear. My body felt light.

It was like I'd been carrying a heavy bag for years, and someone finally took it off my shoulders.

Weeks 4-6: External Validation

On day 35, I decided to go back to my doctor. Not because I doubted the process. But because I wanted to see proof.

My gynecologist in Ikeja looked surprised to see me. "Mrs. Chioma! I was just thinking about you. Are you ready to schedule the surgery?"

"Actually, Doctor, I'd like to run another HSG test."

She frowned. "Another test? We just did one 4 months ago. The results won't have changed."

"Please, Doctor. I just want to check."

She sighed but agreed. "It's your money."

The HSG test was scheduled for the following week. Day 42 of my protocol.

I'll never forget sitting in that examination room, watching the monitor as they injected the dye.

The radiologist was quiet for a long time. Too long.

"Mrs. Chioma," she finally said. "When was your last HSG done?"

"December. About 4 months ago."

"And the results?"

"Both tubes completely blocked."

She looked at me, then back at the screen. "Well... they're not blocked now."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"Your left tube is completely clear. Patent. The dye is flowing through freely."

"And the right?"

"Partially open. About 60% clear. Still some adhesions, but the path is opening."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Couldn't think.

"How is this possible?" the radiologist murmured, more to herself than to me.

When my gynecologist saw the results, she called me into her office.

"Mrs. Chioma, I need to know. What did you do?"

I remembered Mama Nneoma's warning. Don't tell them.

"Nothing special, Doctor. Just... prayer. And I've been eating healthier."

She looked skeptical but couldn't argue with the images on the screen.

"This is... remarkable," she said slowly. "In my 15 years of practice, I've never seen blockage reverse itself like this."

"So... I don't need surgery?"

"Not right now. Let's monitor you. If your tubes continue to open... if you conceive naturally... then no, you won't need surgery."

I left that hospital walking on air.

One tube completely clear. One tube opening.

After 42 days of following Mama Nneoma's protocol.

I continued faithfully for the remaining 42 days. By this point, it wasn't even hard anymore. It had become routine.

Day 84: Completion and Hope

On April 16th, 2022, I completed the 84-day protocol.

My body felt completely transformed. The chronic pain was gone. My periods were normal. My energy was through the roof.

But the real test was still ahead.

Could I actually get pregnant?

Mama Nneoma had said to wait one full cycle after completing the protocol before trying actively.

So I waited.

And in May 2022...

My period didn't come.

I waited three days. Then five days. Then a week.

On day 8 of being late, I bought a pregnancy test from the pharmacy on my street.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely open the package.

I peed on the stick. And I waited.

Two lines.

Two clear, unmistakable lines.

I dropped to my knees in that bathroom and cried like I'd never cried before.

Not sad tears. Not frustrated tears.

Joy. Pure, overwhelming joy.

I was pregnant.

After three years of trying. After ₦380,000 wasted on treatments. After being told surgery was my only option.

I was carrying a baby.

My husband came home to find me on the bathroom floor, still crying, holding that positive test like it was made of gold.

"Chioma? Chioma, what's wrong?"

I looked up at him and smiled through my tears.

"Nothing's wrong. Everything is finally right."

I showed him the test.

He stared at it for a full minute. Then he picked me up and spun me around, both of us laughing and crying at the same time.

Nine months later, on February 3rd, 2023, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy. 3.2kg. Perfect in every way.

We named him Chibueze. God is King.

Because only God could have led me to Mama Nneoma. Only God could have opened my tubes when doctors said it was impossible.

And here's the beautiful part: 14 months after my first son, I got pregnant again. Naturally. Without trying.

My daughter, Chimamanda, was born in April 2024.

Two children. Two natural pregnancies. From tubes that were "completely blocked."

My doctor still can't explain it.

But I can.

Why I'm Sharing This Secret (And Why Mama Nneoma Finally Agreed)

After my son was born, I kept my promise. I traveled back to Enugu with baby Chibueze to show Mama Nneoma.

She held him in her arms and smiled that grandmother smile. "I told you, nne. I told you it would work."

As I sat with her that day, watching my son sleep peacefully in her arms, I made a decision.

No woman should have to go through what I went through.

No woman should waste ₦380,000 on treatments that don't address the root problem.

No woman should be told surgery is her only option when it's not.

No woman should cry herself to sleep every month, feeling broken and hopeless.

So I asked Mama Nneoma: "Please. Let me share this knowledge. Let me help other women."

She was hesitant. "This knowledge has been in our family for six generations. It's not meant to be spread everywhere."

But I persisted. I told her about all the women I knew who were suffering. Women in Lagos, Abuja, Port Harcourt. Women who couldn't afford to travel to Udi. Women who would never hear about her unless someone told them.

Finally, she agreed. On one condition.

"Make sure they follow it exactly as I taught you. No shortcuts. No adding their own ideas. This only works if done properly."

I promised.

And that's how this guide was born.

I took everything Mama Nneoma taught me. Every single herb. Every preparation method. Every timing detail. Every dietary instruction. Every warning.

And I put it all into one simple, easy-to-follow guide that any Nigerian woman can use from the comfort of her home.

Introducing: The Blocked Fallopian Tube Opener

This is not just another "fertility guide" filled with generic advice you can find on Google.

This is Mama Nneoma's exact 84-day protocol. The same one that opened my tubes. The same one that helped 71 other women conceive naturally.

I've taken her wisdom and formatted it in a way that's easy to understand and follow. No medical jargon. No complicated procedures. No expensive equipment.

Just simple, step-by-step instructions that work.

Everything you need is available in your local market. Ogbete Main Market, Mile 12, Wuse Market, Ariaria – wherever you are in Nigeria, you can find these herbs.

The total cost of all ingredients for the complete 84-day protocol? Less than ₦5,000.

Compare that to ₦800,000 for surgery. Or ₦1.5 million for IVF.

Real Nigerian Women, Real Results

But Wait... How Much Does This Cost?

Let me be honest with you.

Creating this guide wasn't free for me.

Here's what I invested:

Professional medical review: I paid a gynecologist ₦65,000 to review the protocol and confirm it was medically sound.

Testing with real women: I personally worked with 15 women, providing the herbs and guidance for free to make sure the instructions were clear – ₦35,000.

Professional design and formatting: Making sure the guide is easy to read and follow – ₦28,000.

Website setup and payment system: ₦22,000.

Total investment: ₦150,000

And that's not even counting the three years I suffered. The ₦380,000 I wasted on failed treatments. The emotional trauma. The sleepless nights.

So if I wanted to sell this guide for ₦50,000, it would be fair, right?

Think about it: ₦50,000 could save you from an ₦800,000 surgery. Or a ₦1.5 million IVF cycle that might not even work.

It could save your womb. Save your marriage. Save your sanity.

But I won't charge you ₦50,000.

I won't even charge you ₦30,000.

Because I remember what it's like to be desperate. To have already spent so much money with nothing to show for it.

A fair price would be ₦15,000.

Think about that. ₦15,000 is less than one consultation at a private hospital in Lekki. Less than one month of fertility drugs. Less than transport money for multiple hospital visits.

But even ₦15,000 might be too much for some women who are already drowning in medical bills and family pressure.

So here's what I'm going to do...

If you take action right now, today, you can get the complete Blocked Fallopian Tube Opener guide for just...

But this special price is ONLY for the first 35 women who pay today.

After that, the price goes back up to ₦15,000.

Why the limitation?

Because I want to make sure I can personally respond to WhatsApp messages and questions. Once too many people have access, I won't be able to keep up with providing the level of support I want to give.

So if you're serious about opening your tubes naturally...

If you're tired of heavy bleeding, pelvic pain, and monthly disappointment...

If you want to save your womb and avoid expensive surgery...

Then you need to act fast.

GET THE BLOCKED FALLOPIAN TUBE OPENER NOW - ₦8,000

Once you click the button above, here's what happens:

1. You'll be taken to a simple payment page
2. You'll see my bank account details (bank transfer only)
3. You'll see my personal WhatsApp number
4. Transfer ₦8,000 and send your receipt to WhatsApp
5. I'll personally verify and send your guide immediately (WhatsApp + Email)

You're not dealing with any automated system. It's me, Chioma. As long as your payment is confirmed, your access is 100% guaranteed.

But please... don't wait.

Blocked tubes don't wait.

Another day of pain. Another day of bleeding. Another day of watching your husband's hope fade. Another day closer to menopause.

The time to act is NOW.

WAIT! I Have Something Special For You...

If you're one of the first 35 women to get this guide today, I'm going to add 2 powerful bonuses that will make your journey even easier:

BONUS #1: The 84-Day Quick Start Checklist (Value: ₦5,000)

A simple, printable checklist that breaks down the entire protocol into daily tasks. Just tick off each item as you complete it. No confusion. No forgetting steps.

Includes:

• Daily morning routine checklist
• Evening protocol reminder
• Weekly progress tracker
• Shopping list for all herbs (with local market names)
• Symptom tracking sheet to monitor improvements

This alone is worth ₦5,000. But you're getting it FREE today.

BONUS #2: Nigerian Fertility Foods Guide (Value: ₦7,000)

The exact foods that support tube healing and hormone balance, plus the ones that block your progress.

Includes:

• 21 Nigerian foods that boost fertility naturally
• Sample meal plan for the 84 days
• Foods that reduce inflammation (critical for tube healing)
• The 12 foods you MUST avoid and why
• Local market alternatives for expensive "fertility superfoods"

This is life-saving information worth ₦7,000. But it's yours FREE today.

That's over 70% discount!

But only for the first 35 women.

And only if you act NOW.

YES! GIVE ME THE COMPLETE PACKAGE + BONUSES NOW

In fact, since I posted this yesterday, 23 women have already paid.

And you're not the only one reading this page right now.

Dozens of women like you are viewing this same page. Some are still reading. Some are about to click the payment button.

Don't let them beat you to it.

Because once those 12 spots are gone, the price goes back up to ₦15,000. And I might even close access completely for a while.

You've read this far for a reason. Your womb is crying out for help.

This is your sign.

SECURE YOUR SPOT NOW BEFORE IT'S GONE - ₦8,000 GET STARTED RISK-FREE RIGHT NOW - ₦8,000

Right Now, You Have A Choice To Make...