It’s a crap pun, I know, but it was the least crap pun I could come up with. (Honestly, when it comes to egg freezing the pun potential is huge.) But I did feel egged on – in the best possible way, by some lovely friends – not just to freeze my eggs in the first place, but also to write about it.
I did my first cycle of egg freezing in January 2014 and I’m about to start my second. Part of me wishes I’d started writing about it from the start, but I didn’t, so the first few posts in this blog will hopefully explain a little bit about everything up until now (I don’t know why but I sort of feel that that scene-setting is important – maybe it’s not) and then you’ll get normal real-time blogging.
So why write? Partly because writing has always been my way of getting complicated emotions straight in my head – and egg freezing is about far more complicated emotions than I ever imagined, even before you amp things up with hormones that make you uber-emotional. But also partly because I came to see that there is some serious black humour involved which I just feel has the potential to be a darkly comic screenplay or book at some point when it’s less recent. Although that makes it sound like this blog is one long pitch – it’s not – because one of the other reasons that I wanted to write this in a public place (I’ll come on to the anonymity aspect later) is because when I wanted to find out more about the procedure, there was very little out there for people like me.
Being a single person who is stimulating your ovaries to get eggs that you want to freeze, rather than being someone who wants to get pregnant there and then, or is donating eggs to someone else, is such a relatively new procedure that while outcomes and techniques have improved, you’re still in the minority, you’re still basically doing the first half of IVF (which people have been doing for ages). So what I found was that most of the info and advice is geared towards people doing IVF. I’d google the drugs I was using to discover if a side effect was normal and find Mumsnetters talking about their DHs (Darling Husbands if you’re not down with the MN lingo) injecting them. And then, in my hormone-induced pathos, I’d feel even more pitiful and sorry for myself, sitting on my own at my kitchen table with a syringe, wondering how the fuck this became my life.
Anyway, maybe that’s what the next post will be about – how the fuck this became my life – or why I decided to do it. But that’s the gist of what this blog’s about – me, 36, single, freezing my eggs.