Ten years ago the only frame of reference for the term “egg donor” I had was when it was used to describe a cruddy mother. Then a friend of mine told me about something that she had seen on the news, a story about a woman who became pregnant after chemotherapy had rendered her eggs unusable by using eggs from another woman.
I thought that was basically the creepiest thing I had ever heard in my whole life.
I didn’t even share straws with my boyfriend. Sharing eggs? From my lady bits? Super gross. Plus, how do they get them out? The whole idea of the process just skeeved me on so many levels it wasn’t even funny.
So the thought left my mind and didn’t return until 2002. I was 20 and in the thralls of fun college sex and boyfriends. My life revolved around me not getting pregnant. My roomies weren’t allowed to get knocked up either because it would cramp our style as a whole.
Then my beautiful, amazing, loving cousin couldn’t get pregnant. My aunt had a miscarriage. I found out that my best friend in the world probably wouldn’t be able to have kids due to numerous health issues. I started thinking about these women who I loved so dearly, and that totally deserved to be mothers…and they may never have it.
To completely understand my reasoning (though some people will never understand making this choice) you need some background. I was given up for adoption at birth. I know exactly what it is like to grow up in a family that wanted a baby so bad. Wanted someone to love and nourish and help become the little identity they were meant to be. While my adoptive family is a little nutty (who’s isn’t?), there was never any doubt in my mind that I was loved and wanted beyond reason.
So, I googled “anonymous egg donation.” Then I read the words “ family medical history needed” and “huge needle headed towards ovaries” and “give yourself shots” and many other piss-my-pants scary things and because I’m a wuss, and I had no family history due to my closed adoption, I put the idea on hold.
Eighteen months ago I was reunited with my biological mother, got my medical history, got accepted into nursing school, my husband and I got full custody of my step daughter, and donation was pushed even further to the back of my mind.
Fall semester of 2011 started, and I was thrown into clinical. I didn’t have time to shower let alone research donation. Finally, this last spring I got serious. I found a facility, one I was familiar with and very comfortable being treated by, and I started the application process. I filled out pages of forms about my traits as well the traits of my children and siblings. I went in for blood work to rule out any genetic issues or potentially dangerous recessive genes. I also had a psychiatric evaluation by an independent therapist to evaluate my motives and emotional ability to go through the treatment. This process is monitored by the FDA and is very particular.
Transvaginal ultrasounds are no fun when there is no baby. Just sayin’.
After I was deemed exceedingly healthy and a valid candidate, my profile was put on a list for potential recipients to review. Some people are chosen very quickly, some never at all. I was selected and called after about 3 months of being available to start the actual process. I went in for more blood work and another ultrasound.
So for the next two weeks, the loads of meds will help me become an egg machine. I will be cranky and bloated and will probably feel like my ovaries are trying to escape my body.
However, hopefully in a few weeks after that, a woman will pee on a stick and see those lines she has been waiting ever so long for. I am nervous and excited and scared all rolled up into a ball and if I feel this way I can’t imagine how my recipient must feel.
Fingers crossed she gets her wish.