We've chosen a new donor, and she's so great. I love her.
Yes, it's probably early to use the L word, but she's my future children's genetic parent, so I can't help myself.
She's from Las Vegas and has Mexican heritage with strong features that give her a sort of Middle Eastern look similar to mine. She's worked her way through junior college, is bright, and is very driven in her career.
Most importantly, she's available and interested in being an open donor. She's even asked to see a photo of us, which was deeply validating to me. I feel like we're on the same page with what we're looking for and that she's as into this as we are.
In terms of her personality, I have to admit, I'm not 100% confident that she'll make the absolute best role model for my kids. She has a massive boob job and dresses a little like a stripper, but you don't inherit silicone or spandex, and her genes look good to me. Plus my kids will probably only meet her once in their lives, so I'm not worried.
I'm trying hard not to bond to her too much, because I know these things have a tendency to fall through at any step of the process, but I'm still excited.
Vegas Baby! Vegas!!
Friday, January 6, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
A Gene Pool 1400 People Deep
Out of the 60 or so in-house donors available through my clinic, there was 1 that I wanted to make babies with, but she fell through. Now there's none.
Part of the problem is that, while I had a lot of criteria to begin with, turns out there's a new priority that tops them all: she has to be available to doing an open donation, and this is uncommon at my clinic.
Which means I have to find an egg donor agency. Somehow, I didn't realize that egg donor agencies existed, which in hindsight, should have been obvious. I mean, there are sperm banks, so it makes sense. But even if I'd guessed about donor agencies, I don't think I would have guessed that there are hundreds of them.
It took a little sifting, but there was only one with all of the following:
But my favorite thing about this place is that well over half their donors are willing to do an open donation, which makes me wonder what it is about their intake process that promotes that philosophy. It also gives me hope that the future of ED will move more toward open donations and away from anonymous. It's possible. But that's a whole other thing.
Alright, now that that's settled, off to choose a donor.
Part of the problem is that, while I had a lot of criteria to begin with, turns out there's a new priority that tops them all: she has to be available to doing an open donation, and this is uncommon at my clinic.
Which means I have to find an egg donor agency. Somehow, I didn't realize that egg donor agencies existed, which in hindsight, should have been obvious. I mean, there are sperm banks, so it makes sense. But even if I'd guessed about donor agencies, I don't think I would have guessed that there are hundreds of them.
It took a little sifting, but there was only one with all of the following:
- A navigable website with a user-friendly search engine
- A contact person who was responsive and whom I liked
- A minimum of 5 back-up donors that I'd be willing to use if one fell through (once you pay the agency, you don't get your money back, so you kinda have to use them)
- A high percentage of women who were willing to being known to the recipient couple
But my favorite thing about this place is that well over half their donors are willing to do an open donation, which makes me wonder what it is about their intake process that promotes that philosophy. It also gives me hope that the future of ED will move more toward open donations and away from anonymous. It's possible. But that's a whole other thing.
Alright, now that that's settled, off to choose a donor.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Donor Down
Our donor fell through.
A woman who I've been thinking about for weeks and whom I've been affectionately calling #4889 has left us.
The clinic gave us two reasons. The first was that they discovered that she has a medical issue that is exacerbated by hormones, so she can't cycle (although they allowed her to finish her first). The other reason is that the staff doesn't want to work with her again because she's a bitch. Both seem reasonable.
Oddly, I miss her quite a lot. It's amazing how much of a bond is formed with a woman whom I was never going to meet. I'd been thinking so affectionately of her because she was going to be the gen-mom of my kids, and this made me love her in some way. Not quite as a friend, and not quite as family. It was something else.
When I got the news, I called N whose response was, "Good. Now we can choose a donor who's willing to have an open relationship."
I love him.
A woman who I've been thinking about for weeks and whom I've been affectionately calling #4889 has left us.
The clinic gave us two reasons. The first was that they discovered that she has a medical issue that is exacerbated by hormones, so she can't cycle (although they allowed her to finish her first). The other reason is that the staff doesn't want to work with her again because she's a bitch. Both seem reasonable.
Oddly, I miss her quite a lot. It's amazing how much of a bond is formed with a woman whom I was never going to meet. I'd been thinking so affectionately of her because she was going to be the gen-mom of my kids, and this made me love her in some way. Not quite as a friend, and not quite as family. It was something else.
When I got the news, I called N whose response was, "Good. Now we can choose a donor who's willing to have an open relationship."
I love him.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
The Psychology of Transference
Here are my clinic's statistics for taking home an egg donor baby (different from becoming pregnant, of course, which doesn't always yield a baby).
Transferring 1 embryo = 70%
Transferring 2 embryos = 80%
That's 14% percent better odds when transferring two, which isn't a huge difference, but it's nothing to sneeze at. The pickle is this: if I transfer 2 embryos, and the outcome is successful, there's a 60% chance that I'll be taking home 2 babies.
So, to help me figure out if I should transfer 2 embryos, the question on the table is, am I prepared to handle twins? Here are the arguments:
Twin Pros
Instant family
Kids have each other to play with
Twins are cool
Twin Cons
Pregnancy is harder on the body
High likelihood of premature delivery, linked to mental and physical complications
No sleep for the first three months and get very little for the next six
Twins are hard
The cons outnumber the pros, but that's not how decision-making works. You have to ask yourself what's in your gut: do I want twins? And my gut's answer is Yes! absolutely!! I really, really, really want twins! And even though I was afraid of the prospect at first, I've been watching YouTube videos about tandem nursing, and I'm totally ready for the challenge.
Especially because twins are so cool. I mean really, really cool. Everyone loves twins. Twins are so cute, and if you have twins, then people everywhere will stop you to tell you how awesome your twins are, because twins are so cool!
It was during a particularly long daydreaming session that involved a double-stroller at a shopping mall that it hit me: did I only want twins so that I could feel special? The truth was, Kinda. Yeah.
After years of infertility, I wanted to compensate for my uterine inadequacies. I was craving a level of cooing that would make up for all the attention I'd been missing. I needed to show the women who had effortlessly bred before me, "sure, you have kids, but I have twins."
It was ego and pride. It took me a while to figure that out, but once I did, I had to let the idea go. I wasn't willing to let pride win at the cost of premature delivery. Ego doesn't beat out health complications. Ultimately, there was no way I could allow the next steps of my fertility treatment be dictated by my emotional damage, no matter how cool twins are.
This means that (besides obviously needing to to schedule an appointment with my therapist) I'm committed to transferring only one embryo. It's the more rational decision, and the truth is that I can still give my kids siblings to play with; I would just need to build my family one child at a time like normal people do. Besides, even if I do transfer one, there's still a chance that the embryo will split, and I'll still end up with twins, and they'll be identical. Wouldn't that be cool?
Transferring 1 embryo = 70%
Transferring 2 embryos = 80%
That's 14% percent better odds when transferring two, which isn't a huge difference, but it's nothing to sneeze at. The pickle is this: if I transfer 2 embryos, and the outcome is successful, there's a 60% chance that I'll be taking home 2 babies.
So, to help me figure out if I should transfer 2 embryos, the question on the table is, am I prepared to handle twins? Here are the arguments:
Twin Pros
Instant family
Kids have each other to play with
Twins are cool
Twin Cons
Pregnancy is harder on the body
High likelihood of premature delivery, linked to mental and physical complications
No sleep for the first three months and get very little for the next six
Twins are hard
The cons outnumber the pros, but that's not how decision-making works. You have to ask yourself what's in your gut: do I want twins? And my gut's answer is Yes! absolutely!! I really, really, really want twins! And even though I was afraid of the prospect at first, I've been watching YouTube videos about tandem nursing, and I'm totally ready for the challenge.
Especially because twins are so cool. I mean really, really cool. Everyone loves twins. Twins are so cute, and if you have twins, then people everywhere will stop you to tell you how awesome your twins are, because twins are so cool!
It was during a particularly long daydreaming session that involved a double-stroller at a shopping mall that it hit me: did I only want twins so that I could feel special? The truth was, Kinda. Yeah.
After years of infertility, I wanted to compensate for my uterine inadequacies. I was craving a level of cooing that would make up for all the attention I'd been missing. I needed to show the women who had effortlessly bred before me, "sure, you have kids, but I have twins."
It was ego and pride. It took me a while to figure that out, but once I did, I had to let the idea go. I wasn't willing to let pride win at the cost of premature delivery. Ego doesn't beat out health complications. Ultimately, there was no way I could allow the next steps of my fertility treatment be dictated by my emotional damage, no matter how cool twins are.
This means that (besides obviously needing to to schedule an appointment with my therapist) I'm committed to transferring only one embryo. It's the more rational decision, and the truth is that I can still give my kids siblings to play with; I would just need to build my family one child at a time like normal people do. Besides, even if I do transfer one, there's still a chance that the embryo will split, and I'll still end up with twins, and they'll be identical. Wouldn't that be cool?
Monday, December 12, 2011
Quotable Quotes: DE vs OE Child
I've been browsing a billion blogs, websites, and forums about egg donation, and I came across this thread:
Now, there were loads of knowledgable, wise, and compassionate responses, but this one was by far my favorite:
Do you feel differently about your biological and donor egg children?Good question, right? The woman elaborates that she and her husband conceived one child using her own egg, but they haven't had any luck with a second, so they're considering using a donor. She goes on to say,
I'm pretty much on board, but I'm worried that somehow I won't bond with the DE child, or that I'll consciously or subconsciously prefer my biological child and mess up my relationship with my DE child. I've seen lots of wonderful posts about how little the genetics actually matter once the child arrives, but I guess I need some reassurance in that regard or if that's not available, at least some candid feedback about the family dynamics that I might expect. Anyone have any feedback?First of all, I'm completely in love with this woman for so articulately asking such a sensitive question, and I have so much admiration for her openness that it makes me want to cry. (My version of this question was ... well, ... uglier.)
Now, there were loads of knowledgable, wise, and compassionate responses, but this one was by far my favorite:
I have 3 kids - the two youngest via DE ... [and one] genetically related to me ... I tend to forget that all three aren't via DE. In fact, just the other day, I was wondering if my oldest would ever want to get in touch with his genetic mom. And then I remembered that his genetic mom was, um, me.
How amazing is that?
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Sophie's Choice, Reprise
I've been working hard to wrap my head around the ins-and-outs of what it'll mean to raise a child that isn't genetically my own. There are a lot of layers to it, especially since my discomfort stems from some deep-seated issues, but overall, I'd say I'm in a pretty good place with it.
But in rereading a post I wrote a few months back, there's something I said that still haunts me a little. In imagining a future fight with my DE child, I wrote:
OK, so, yes, the idea that I might ever say something like that to a child is pretty horrifying, but what scares me a little now is that - even after all this time and therapy - there's still a grain of emotional truth in the sentiment.
Let me explain: It's not true that I won't want the kid himself. Of course I will. I've pretty much let go of any doubt that I won't bond with my DE children, or any children that I might be fortunate enough to raise.
What's true, however, is that I will have never wanted a situation where I couldn't have genetic children. Obviously I'd never want that. Who would? But that's different from "I don't want you." It's different enough that I no longer feel any reticence or reservation about pursuing donor egg IVF - but it's similar enough that I have to admit to still feeling a little scared.
What if my kid discovers how much I struggled with infertility? What if he feels like he wasn't my first choice of kids? I know what I'd say, of course. It'll be something along the lines of, "I'm glad I couldn't get pregnant on my own, because if I did, then I wouldn't have you, and there's no other kid in the world I'd want, blah, blah, blah." I worry, though, that there'll be a part of him that won't believe me, just like I worry that there's a part of me that doesn't believe me.
My self-consolation is this: I probably have about a decade before this imaginary fight comes up, and I can't know what things will be like until I get there. In the meantime, all I can do is trust what I do know: between therapy, my friends, my family, and (above all) N, I'm doing everything I can to be a responsible parent to a DE child, and my intention is to continue to do what's best for the children that I'm working so hard to manifest.
In the meantime, I'm still nervous about saying the absolute right thing to my kid, but at least I'm not nervous about saying the absolute wrong thing. Hopefully that's enough for now.
But in rereading a post I wrote a few months back, there's something I said that still haunts me a little. In imagining a future fight with my DE child, I wrote:
When that child's pre-pubescent voice inevitably shouts, "You're not my real mom," my response will most definitely be, "Well, I never wanted you either, Kid."(I'll give you a moment to close your dropped jaw.)
OK, so, yes, the idea that I might ever say something like that to a child is pretty horrifying, but what scares me a little now is that - even after all this time and therapy - there's still a grain of emotional truth in the sentiment.
Let me explain: It's not true that I won't want the kid himself. Of course I will. I've pretty much let go of any doubt that I won't bond with my DE children, or any children that I might be fortunate enough to raise.
What's true, however, is that I will have never wanted a situation where I couldn't have genetic children. Obviously I'd never want that. Who would? But that's different from "I don't want you." It's different enough that I no longer feel any reticence or reservation about pursuing donor egg IVF - but it's similar enough that I have to admit to still feeling a little scared.
What if my kid discovers how much I struggled with infertility? What if he feels like he wasn't my first choice of kids? I know what I'd say, of course. It'll be something along the lines of, "I'm glad I couldn't get pregnant on my own, because if I did, then I wouldn't have you, and there's no other kid in the world I'd want, blah, blah, blah." I worry, though, that there'll be a part of him that won't believe me, just like I worry that there's a part of me that doesn't believe me.
My self-consolation is this: I probably have about a decade before this imaginary fight comes up, and I can't know what things will be like until I get there. In the meantime, all I can do is trust what I do know: between therapy, my friends, my family, and (above all) N, I'm doing everything I can to be a responsible parent to a DE child, and my intention is to continue to do what's best for the children that I'm working so hard to manifest.
In the meantime, I'm still nervous about saying the absolute right thing to my kid, but at least I'm not nervous about saying the absolute wrong thing. Hopefully that's enough for now.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Case Study: Me
I've blogged about my theory that egg donation is not that different from adoption, and I've blogged about my negative feelings about adoption, and yet, I'm trying to adopt an egg. What gives?
Turns out I'm not the first person to have strong aversions to these things even while pursuing them, but there usually are reasons.
I know of one infertile woman who became pregnant with a donor egg baby, only to immediately regret doing it because she didn't feel bonded with the pregnancy. The root of her story was that she was physically abused by her father as a child, and her way of coping with the beatings was to tell herself, "at least we look alike, so I know he still loves me." She'd subconsciously learned that children must look like their parents for there to be love between them, and that's something she had to un-learn before she could bond with the baby she was carrying, which took some work, but she eventually did.
Then there's this other woman whose husband wanted to adopt even though she hated the idea. Turned out that it was her mother's recent passing that was the issue. Her sadness wasn't so much that the kid wouldn't have a genetic connection to her (although that was a part of it), but rather than the kid wouldn't have a genetic connection to her mom, and that loss was more than she'd prepared for. What she discovered was that she needed to grieve some more before being able to fill out adoption paperwork. She now has 2 adopted children, and she adores them both.
I have a story like this. In fact, I have two of them, but I'm not going to write about them here. There's a part of me that feels like I should because I want to justify things I've written in the past by sharing the traumas and vulnerabilities that made me into a person who would feel that way, but I can't do that here.
The point of all this is to say that I know I'm as messed up as anyone, and possibly more so. At best, I'm a work in progress. The good news, however, is that a part of this progress involves therapy to help me overcome the traumas that made it difficult for me to want to raise a child that I'm not genetically related to.
The other good news is that I'm getting there.
Turns out I'm not the first person to have strong aversions to these things even while pursuing them, but there usually are reasons.
I know of one infertile woman who became pregnant with a donor egg baby, only to immediately regret doing it because she didn't feel bonded with the pregnancy. The root of her story was that she was physically abused by her father as a child, and her way of coping with the beatings was to tell herself, "at least we look alike, so I know he still loves me." She'd subconsciously learned that children must look like their parents for there to be love between them, and that's something she had to un-learn before she could bond with the baby she was carrying, which took some work, but she eventually did.
Then there's this other woman whose husband wanted to adopt even though she hated the idea. Turned out that it was her mother's recent passing that was the issue. Her sadness wasn't so much that the kid wouldn't have a genetic connection to her (although that was a part of it), but rather than the kid wouldn't have a genetic connection to her mom, and that loss was more than she'd prepared for. What she discovered was that she needed to grieve some more before being able to fill out adoption paperwork. She now has 2 adopted children, and she adores them both.
I have a story like this. In fact, I have two of them, but I'm not going to write about them here. There's a part of me that feels like I should because I want to justify things I've written in the past by sharing the traumas and vulnerabilities that made me into a person who would feel that way, but I can't do that here.
The point of all this is to say that I know I'm as messed up as anyone, and possibly more so. At best, I'm a work in progress. The good news, however, is that a part of this progress involves therapy to help me overcome the traumas that made it difficult for me to want to raise a child that I'm not genetically related to.
The other good news is that I'm getting there.
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