I can’t relate to so many of you anymore. Or maybe it’s that you can’t relate to me.
Not in the “My trip to Europe was so much more unique than yours could ever be” kind of way. Don’t you hate it when people do that? Like their lives or experiences are so much more genuine than yours? They just feel too darn important to have ordinary experiences. Well—ordinary isn’t the right word; rather, not-as-unique-as-they-think experiences.
Seriously, though, I’m kind of just on a different side. Not the other side, but definitely a different one. I feel relief; I still feel inadequate.
Sisters who are doing traditional IVF: I’M JEALOUS OF YOU. There—I said it. I’d rather be in your shoes (kind of). I feel so much lesser than you!
Ah, welcome to my pity party. Who’s bringing the drinks? Well, it’s my party blog, and I’ll cry if I want to.
I don’t know if this is my grieving process or my pride. I think it’s okay to just feel how I feel and get through this shit. Talk about a bitter infertile infertile.
I transitioned from a traditional IVF patient to a donor egg IVF patient in exactly five weeks—Christmas and New Year’s included. Yes, I had to initiate many steps to get to this point, but—holy shit—I love my fertility clinic. They don’t eff around.
Yesterday was my mock embryo transfer. You know—the $300 procedure to make sure my uterus can handle an embryo transfer (even though I just had one a little over seven weeks ago). Nah, I bitch, but I’m glad my beloved doctor checked everything out and said everything looked great. I’m probably just making this up, but it kind of seems like he’s breathed a sigh of relief too.
I also had the opportunity to meet with my new nurse, Pam. She gave me our consent forms as well as a donor egg IVF protocol. So simple! Some Birth Control, Lupron, Del Estrogen, and PIO. That’s it, ladies. And I’m so happy to be using the PIO. I know that sounds twisted, but those Endometrin applicators literally get me emotional. The sight of those fuckers bring back baaaaad memories.
Last but not least, my husband and I met with our social worker. We had a wonderful discussion about our relationship history, our health history, the topic of disclosure; she asked a lot of What if? questions—which are always important topics to address for anyone starting a family. She showed us some really sweet and special children’s books regarding donor egg family building. She also provided resources that kind of “spell out” how we can discuss our family building story with our babies.
You know, it’s a beautiful thing—the technology, the compassion of other women to donate their eggs, our world in the year of 2014. It allows for so much more opportunity. Truly, it allows people who are broken and hopeless and barren to pursue their dreams of having pregnancies, newborns, families. God bless America.
Today I received our official access to the donor egg database. There are a few things standing in our way, but we’ll get there.
I’ve been thinking about what to call our donor besides … donor. The word that comes to mind is “helper.” That sounds kind of weird, and I don’t know how I feel about it. But—I’m the type of girl who hates asking for help. I am stubborn and will bang my head against a wall before I ask for help.
So this is kind of my ultimate “ask for help”—I’m just not huge on the term “helper” for my baby mama.
What do you girls think?