It started in October, when I went to see a new GYN, who asked if ever had an AMH test done. That would be Anti-Müllerian hormone, and it tells you how many eggs you have on hand. My previous doctor had never suggested one, and since such matters weren't necessarily a priority for me at the time, I didn't even know that such a thing existed. But being a fan of self-awareness and science, I said sure.
About a week later I was getting ready to go to a members event at MoMA, and was just about to go down the escalator to the Q train when I got a call from the doc. It was a holiday, so I thought that was unusual, so I took the call. And the AMH results were not great. Like very not great. Like when I looked up my results later on a chart there was "Normal," "Low," "Very Low," and what amounts to "Women and Children to the Lifeboats Immediately." I was solidly in that last group.
I never DIDN'T want kids. I just never wanted to be a single parent. I still don't know that I want to be. But while I excel at a great many things, I still haven't quite cracked the absolute alchemy of finding someone halfway decent to like you back as much as you like them to want to sign on for such an assignment, and vice versa. I'm still working that out. And it wasn't all that pressing of an issue. Until it was. I was given the option of taking immediate action to even leave the possibility of having kids open -- or accepting that window was closing, and closing fast.
So last November I started freezing my eggs. Which means that every few weeks I stab myself in the tummy a couple times a night with hormones, and come in a couple mornings a week to get more blood taken and say hello to my new pal the transvaginal ultrasound. Then, when we've tricked my body into creating a couple of eggos and they get good and ripe, I take a day off work to get 'em sucked out and sit on the couch drinking a shitload of Gatorade and watching movies and hope they make it through freezing and slowly accrue a collection of Shepsicles that live in a lab in Midtown right near Bloomingdales.
The magic number of eggs you want to have on ice to make this endeavor worthwhile is 30, since not every one is gonna take. And once you start, you're kind of in it to win it to get to that number since anything else is a waste of your time and resources. Most folks get about 10 eggs each cycle. But because I don't have that many rounds in the chamber, it's taken me a lot more.
I just finished my fifth cycle. I will likely need at least one more. So far I have 14. I'm trying to beat my record of 5 eggs frozen in a single cycle. One time I only got 2. That sucked.
The whole thing sucks to be quite frank. The doctors are great. And the procedures are mostly covered, though I still have to lay out a chunk of cash for this ridiculous experiment. And my insurance gets "confused" frequently about what is and is not covered so I've spent a couple of hours every week since January fighting with them. I have a nurse patient advocate named Vickie who finally scared them into cutting some goddamn checks. If I do make a kid out of this endeavor, there's every chance I will name it Vickie.
If I had any queasiness about needles that's pretty much gone since I've jabbed myself over 100 times at this point. My arms and belly have perpetual green bruises, which is NOT cute. Though I have gotten alarmingly good at having to give myself injections in public restrooms when the occasion calls for it, which is not a skill I thought I'd be cultivating at this stage in my life, but it's never too late to start to develop a new talent. Also I can't have caffeine or alcohol during the process since my ovaries are so stinking DIFFICULT, so if nothing else, that was a major giveaway to my loved ones that I was UP TO SOMETHING.
And as for what happens next: I have no effing idea.
That's part of why I kept this on the D.L. for a while. Even from family. Because they would rightfully have a lot of questions, and I honestly don't have answers. I just knew that when I was faced with the possibility of never having kids I had a big ol' case of "DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN'T DO" so here we are.
I share this not just because it takes up a HUGE amount of my brainspace any given day, and NOT because I need or want advice, but because maybe it will help folks who may be in similar positions. I don't know if my AMH levels are what they are because of my age (extremely possible) or maybe ever was it so, and I just never knew (also extremely possible), but maybe my ovary-having friends would be interested in learning a little something about themselves sooner rather than later so they don’t have to find all this out on the Q train platform. Also I suck at keeping my own secrets. Other people's, sure. Mine? Awful.
Thanks for reading, and I'll let you know what's next as soon as I do. #LeggoMyEggos
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