The ad in the Emerald caught my eye last year — $2,500 to donate my eggs. My first thoughts were, “Never, no way, you’ve got to be kidding!” But then this year, as I thought about it more, that $2,500 was looking better and better. But to sell a piece of myself and walk away; I just don’t know.
The process began in January, when I called the Fertility Clinic to ask for an information packet. My first step was an orientation appointment, scheduled with the coordinator of the egg donor program.
The coordinator explained in detail what the process entailed. First, I would have to be accepted into the program. In order to be accepted, I would have to have enough eggs to be harvested. I scheduled an appointment for a probe to take pictures of the follicles in the ovaries, which produce the eggs. I had 25, which is apparently a healthy number.
I then had to meet with a genetics counselor to find out if my family had any uncommon diseases in its history. Well, my uncle married a woman who had dwarfism in her bloodline and passed it to their children, but nothing else along my family lines.
I thought the physical probing was bad, but the mental probing was worse. What would they ask next? Well, then I met with a psychologist to see if I was sane enough or strong enough to handle this kind of commitment. He even asked me when I was last in a steady relationship, and if I was bitter over my past relationship. Huh? I’m not bitter anymore — that was years ago, but I just didn’t get what one had to do with the other. Finally, I was deemed sane enough to be an egg donor.
So I passed all of the preliminary tests. Did I get a great feeling of self-worth? Did I feel great for helping families that could not conceive? I’m still thinking about that.
In the mean time, the coordinator gave me details about the next steps in donating my eggs. Yes, I said “eggs,” plural. They would harvest all 25 of my eggs, not just one. This picture is looking grimmer by the minute. I would need shots to stimulate my ovaries. I hate needles — that just brings up a red flag. It seems a little beyond the scope of what mother nature intended for my body.
According to the Advanced Fertility Center in Chicago, there are typically two different injectable medications used for in vitro fertilization cycles.
The first medication starts on about Day 21 of the woman’s cycle and is called Lupron. This medication controls the stimulation of the ovaries and is usually injected into the thigh over a 14-25 day period.
The next medication begins a few days after the woman’s period starts. This is the follicle-stimulating hormone that will stimulate the ovaries to produce multiple eggs. Examples are Gonal-F, Follistim, Humegon, Repronex and Fertinex.
Then when the woman’s follicles are mature, the egg retrieval procedure is performed to remove the eggs. A needle is passed through the top of the vagina under ultrasound guidance to get to the ovary and follicles. Narcotics are given so there will be no significant pain.
Right now I’m in the waiting game, and the more I think about it, the less I want to be involved. Though I started this adventure with the greatest of intentions, the $2,500 is worth less than what I’d have to give — a part of me that would eventually be a child.
I can’t help but think I would be searching the street for children that looked like me, children that could’ve been mine. Children that were meant to be made just for me.