i'm freezing embryos even though i'm on the fence about kids
when depression meets the biological clock
In a few weeks, I will be cycling. Not riding the Tour de France—rather, I’ll be stabbing myself with multiple shots a day for 8-14 days before injecting an even bigger needle into myself to finally undergo surgery to remove as many eggs as I have from my ovaries. Before my first reproductive endocrinology (RE) appointment earlier this year, I didn’t even know ovaries had follicles. I thought only hair had follicles. Now, I pray that my follicle count is high. I’d shave them if I could, the same way my mother shaved my head when I was an infant in accordance with a Chinese old wives’ tale that shaving your baby’s head would result in thicker hair.
Women subject themselves to this special type of hell for three reasons: (1) infertility issues; (2) fertility preservation; and (3) to donate eggs. In college, I remember seeing an advertisement in the Yale Daily News offering $20,000 for a donor egg meeting certain requirements (height, athleticism, SAT score, etc.). Even though I fell below the height requirement, I considered applying anyway—$20,000 is a lot of money to a college student—but got too freaked out by the needles and hormones involved.1
I’d always assumed I would try to have biological children. If our gift registries signal social valuation of life events, then “having a baby” (baby shower) is right up there along with “getting married” (wedding day) and “marital sex” (bridal shower2) in importance. Until recently, I’d always striven to be “good,” to do the life tasks I was supposed to do. I lived with a frenetic fear that I’d miss out on some raison d’être if I didn’t collect the milestones that so many before me had picked up. My mimetic desires grew, crowding out any internal sense of want.
College, grad school, job, boyfriend, 401K, HSA, engagement, marriage, babies, 529s, promotions, retirement—this was the natural order of life, was it not? Why had I been so casual about the first seven trophies but now find myself resistant to marriage and screeching to a halt in front of babies?