Scan photo

This is a photo of my womb when it was full of eggs.

Egg Donation: I wish I could have brought a camera

Things you need to know:

- I've never broken any bones.
- I still have my appendix.
- I fainted once giving blood.



It's weird to voluntarily go to hospital for surgery. As the nurse put the cannula into my hand I was like, "Oooh, cool!" That may have been the wrong response.

But going to hospital voluntarily means that I was psychologically prepared.

After signing a bunch of documents and having a little identifying plastic tag secured onto my wrist (which, oddly, had the word 'female' in brackets on it rather than, say, my blood type or some more important information) I was given a hospital robe to change into. It hadn't occurred to me that I'd be wearing one and I was surprised how ugly it was. A couple different nurses told me off for using my phone, but there was quite a bit of waiting around so what else was I supposed to do? Did a little tweeting in the loo.

Then it started. The doctor introduced herself, asked if I minded some PhD students watching the proceedings. I was like, "Yeah, no worries," because I enjoy being part of SCIENCE. The cannula went into my hand followed by the liquid that would, "Give me nice dreams." Then I was being wheeled into surgery.

Being wheeled around the hospital on the wheely bed was pretty great. It was like being part of a TV drama. And I wasn't scared or in pain, like you might normally be. My stomach was aching a little from the ovary stimulating drugs, but it wasn't like I'd just taken a bullet to the chest. I was watching all these health professionals leaning over me, pushing me through this sterile hospital environment - white/grey hospitals and heavy doors - and I kept thinking, "This is really fun. What good practice."

For what?! But then, statistically, something nasty and violent may well happen to me during my life. Especially if I become the kind of reporter I want to be. I wasn't crying and I wasn't screaming. I wasn't scared about what would happen once I left the hospital. There was no external danger. Nothing to have flashbacks about later.

Going to hospital voluntarily means that I am psychologically prepared.


This morning I posted an update on Facebook. I'll repost it here verbatim. Chances are if you're reading this you got here from Facebook anyway.

So, egg donation update: AFTERMATH.

Hospital a bit of a blur. Injection in hand, bit dopy, wheeled into surgery, had surgery (apparently asked a bunch of questions but have no memory), got wheeled back to ward, ate toast, was picked up by the lovely Isla Cameron and Gabriella Da Cruz Welsh. Went to tesco, they bought me ice-cream, came home and watched X-Men: First Class.

BUT THEN, towards end of movie started to feel v.sick. Went to bathroom and said hello to my ice cream again (got to hand it to Ben and Jerry's that is still tasted good on the way back up), in bit of pain, drank some water, threw up again, phoned hospital who told me not to worry, had some paracetamol, passed out in bathroom, mum put me to bed.

Everything hurts. Feeling a bit sorry for myself.

But later this afternoon I went to the loo and there was a bit of diluted blood or pinkish fluid and I thought, "Hey, this is probably physically close to how an abortion feels." And I felt stronger. Like I'd passed some sort of mid-twenties female milestone.

Because this whole experience has been defined by it's relation to other more common things. I had a scan and asked for a photograph and they were exactly the same size and form as baby scan photos. They must use the same equipment. It was weird to look at the images and not see a baby, instead seeing this honeycomb of follicles.

The doctors told me they managed to get seventeen eggs. That's more than they usually get and they were very pleased. I'll phone up in late spring and ask if there was a successful pregnancy. They won't even have transferred them yet. They're fertilised outside the body, then the embryos are observed for a few days and then they're transferred into the woman who's carrying the child. In my case that will be the mother. I wonder how the recipients are doing and whether they're wondering how I am.

I'm upright on the sofa. And feeling strong. Yes, my stomach hurts when I laugh - but it's done! I can start going to the gym again and taking my birth control and resume the normal tenor of my life.

I feel stupidly and immensely proud of myself.

The recipients are not lesbians. My mum is happier.

So, I was talking at my mum about the donation (because it's important to 'normalise' my life by talking about it as I would if it were normal) and mentioned something about the recipients. Something like, "the father -" and she was all, "Oh? I thought your eggs were going to a lesbian couple. Oh, now I feel a bit better about this whole thing."

And I was like, "O.o"

Seriously, that was my face. What a completely fucked up thing to say to your lesbian daughter. Um, well, fine. I'm totally fine with that. Not upset by that AT ALL.






*lesbian/bi-sexual, daughter... point is I may well MARRY a woman and want to start a family with MY LEGAL WIFE at some point in the future. Y'no, like people do.

My Freedom Of Choice

I've been listening to songs about abortion and miscarriage and adoption, because there are no songs about egg or sperm donation (that I can find).

It's funny how what I'm doing here is just another way of expressing my freedom of choice. My reproductive autonomy.

Giving two fingers up to anyone who's ever used, "But think of all the women who can't have kids!" as a premise against abortion.

At this moment I feel a lot of solidarity with other young fertile women. I'm taking one for the team here.

Or something.

Sometimes it's difficult to know what is okay to say and what isn't.

Our wombs are political sites.

Mine is currently full of the building blocks for someone else's child.

Loads of follicles

So had a scan today. There were loads of follicles. The nurse seemed worried, took my blood and went to speak to a doctor. I went home and they phoned me later on to tell me I don't need to come back in tomorrow or reduce my dose of the injection but that I should phone them if I start to feel ill.

My stomach hurts. It's a bit like a period pain. Kinda weird. I'm drinking lots of water.

But the good news is that because there were more follicles than they were expecting the donation handover should happen sooner. Monday hopefully.

Which is good because I've been invited for a few trial days at a news agency. I'm hoping they'll offer me a job (though if I get the funding for the journalism course I won't be able to take them up on it, or at least I'll have a dilemma to mull over).

Injecting myself in the stomach

At least it's not the arm - AM I RIGHT

No, seriously, this whole experience is making me feel like a junkie. I'm unemployed, I may be homeless soon, and I'm stabbing myself with a needle in my bathroom.

I did not expect to feel so scummy.

I went round to a friend's house last night and because I need to inject myself at the same time each evening I took the hormones with me. Was like, "Er, do you mind if I shoot up in your bathroom?"

I guess it's not the same. Heroin would make me warm and fuzzy for several hours. These hormones are making my legs tingle and not- like - in a good way. I'm worried about my circulation. I've spent the last few days trying to elevate my legs and I haven't been to the gym. I'm hoping to go swimming on wednesday, but I don't know how safe that will be. I mean, I wouldn't go swimming drunk and I have a lot more experience being drunk than being full of random egg maturing hormones.

The first injection was really scary. I've had piercings, I have quite a large tattoo on my leg that hurt quite a lot. But I've never had to physically inject myself before. It felt really unnatural and I spent about five minutes holding the needle in one hand and my belly fat in the other and trying to persuade myself to do it.

But tonight was night three and I think I'm getting the hang of it. We'll see. I need to fly down to London later this week so I'll be taking the kit with me. In a way that's kind of cool.

I'm really proud of myself for going through with this after the scheduling looked like it was seriously going to get in the way of my other life plans.

I can do this!

Toddlers

So, I see an analyst fairly regularly. I find it very helpful to spend an hour or so every fortnight (or so) just talking through things and trying to untangle some of the bigger psychological knots. Having good mental health is really important and talking therapy is the best way, I've found, to maintain that.

And I really like my current analyst so I was talking to her about the donation.

I have found recently that when I've walked past a particularly cute toddler (not a baby and not a child, but a toddler) that my heart's just gone out and I've thought, 'In a few years time there'll be a little kid, hopefully, running around all healthy and well fed and clean like that little toddler is. And they'll look a bit like me. They'll be a bit like me. Blue eyes and blond hair. Argumentative.' And then I remind myself that blond hair and blue eyes are recessive and the kid is unlikely to have either. I remind myself that personality isn't genetic.

Yet, it's just so enormous - a little kid will my biological stamp. That's huge.

And then I think about the family I'm donating to. The mum picking up that kid, and calling it by the name she'll give it. How it will love her and she'll care for it. And I feel, as always, an immense sense of relief. But mingled with that something like... sadness.

It would be cool, right at this moment, to have a little toddler playing around in the background. But it's such a passing feeling. I'm glad I'm alone. It's 4am. A kid would need to be asleep now anyway, but this is the quiet time when I work best. So, yeah, kids are impractical.

I wonder, though, if the kid will have blue eyes.

I really, really like my eyes.

Blue/grey like the Scottish sea.