Chapter Eleven - Egg Donor
At the beginning of August, Dr. Wing diagnosed me with Premature Ovarian Failure.
I’d never had any perimenopausal symptoms. I lost count of the number of doctors I told that to whenever they said “menopause” at me. I say it like that because none of them sat me down, asked me about it, or investigated. I never had hot flashes, insomnia, brain fog, anxiety, mood swings, or any other perimenopausal symptoms beyond a lack of or upset cycle, which also coincided with when I was ill.
We’re told to look to our mothers for clues. My mother had symptoms. So where were mine?
Not that I’m complaining now – I know a lot of women who’ve suffered badly with them. I also know women who were barely in their late twenties when they went into perimenopause. But I just landed slap bang in menopause without warning, and none of the doctors helped me manage or deal with whatever perimenopause I did or didn’t have.
After everything, I still wasn’t ready to give up on myself. I was coming up on 43. It was time to move forward – for me, for Marco, for us.
Coming to terms
The next couple of weeks following the diagnosis were an emotional rollercoaster. Coming to terms with everything.
I was confused. I’d been tracking my cervical mucus, its position and feel, for a while. It was changing as if I were cycling. I was getting overwhelmed with the change in direction – the decision to go for donor eggs.
I was still listening to the Fearlessly Fertile podcast and getting everything down on paper. The questions, the worries, all out of my head and written down, processing them:
Would the bond between the baby and me be the same as if they were from my own egg?
What are they going to think when they find out they’re not genetically mine?
What if I don’t bond with the baby, and Marco leaves me?
The list went on.
The things that go through your head, that you worry about – they’re endless. I know now that I needn’t have worried. But that doesn’t invalidate the feelings I had then.
UK or abroad
I started researching whether it was best to go through IVF here or abroad. It wasn’t just about the money – there were other considerations.
If it were here in the UK, when the child turns 18, they have the right to find out who the donor was. If it was abroad, they didn’t.
We didn’t consider going abroad for long. No matter how uncomfortable or insecure I felt about my future baby finding out who the egg donor was, they had a right to know if they wanted to.
The clinic search
We approached a couple of UK fertility clinics.
The annoying thing? We had to pay for an initial appointment before we got any real answers. That’s before any IVF fees. In amongst all this, I needed to gather together all the test results and scans I’d had up to this point.
I asked for the final blood results from the first UK fertility clinic we went to.
That’s when I saw it.
The realisation
My oestrogen hit the floor after I had the progesterone tablets to force the withdrawal bleed.
I ordered a blood test to check it the next day. The results were worse. They weren’t any better a couple of months later when I had my bloods done with our chosen clinic. Still no change.
They had flatlined. No fluctuations. Just game over.
My mistake? I went to a fertility clinic expecting them to have the answers to kick-start my cycle.
They are experts in getting you pregnant.
I was told by a couple of doctors – and it came up in research – that forcing a bleed like that wasn’t the answer. If I’d gone to a female health clinic when I couldn’t get the doctors to listen, things might have gone another way.
They might not have. I’ll never know.
But what I do know is that I love where I am now.
The consultation that stung
One of the clinics we approached for egg donation was the same clinic we went to when we first got back to the UK. The one who cancelled the treatment after giving me the progesterone tablets.
While we were having the initial consultation, I asked about oestrogen therapy.
The consultant shot me down. Wouldn’t even discuss it.
Moving forward
We decided to go to Sicily for Christmas. We had the COVID vaccine, so we could fly. I wanted to get it over and done with before we went into IVF. Now I didn’t have to worry about it upsetting my own fertility – I wanted it to protect myself and the baby when it happened.
The end of the fertility treatment was like a release. It was no longer about me trying to protect and improve my own fertility and chances of getting pregnant. It was now about protecting myself so I could protect the baby.
I mean, I knew I had a beautifully healthy reproductive system.
We finally chose the clinic after all the emails and appointments to decide which one. We went through all the form-filling, blood and sperm tests, which all had to be repeated as they were more than 12 months old.
We had to have a “counselling” session where a counsellor asked us various questions to make sure we – I – was okay with it.
She spoke about support groups and talking about where they came from with the child early on, so you didn’t have to sit down and tell them the news. They simply grow up knowing. She pointed us toward books to support us in doing that.
Fresh eggs
Because of COVID, the egg banks were depleted. We wanted to go with fresh eggs anyway, so this just confirmed that was the way we were going.
We were second in the queue for fresh eggs.
The last push
I was looking into everything – embodiment coaching, somatic therapy, craniosacral, among others. I was even looking at egg grafting to reactivate dormant eggs.
I did, however, decide to try acupuncture with laser therapy at a practice near Harley Street, London. I had the first of four treatments on 21 October alongside my usual acupuncture. I had a really understanding boss, so we’d be able to drive up to the appointments.
I also came across Radiant Wonder, a company that offered similar medication to what I’d been taking with Dr. Wing. There was no harm in trying while we moved forward with our chosen fertility clinic. This and the laser therapy were the last things I tried.
Along with the gratitude, journaling, and affirmations, I was visualising. I was sure I was going to be pregnant by the time we went to Sicily at Christmas.
Positivity was never my problem on this journey. But this time, when the time came, I was ready to let go.
Sicily Christmas
We flew to Sicily in mid-December.
All the COVID tests we had to have before and after cost us more than the actual flights. It was ridiculous. We had to prove we had the vaccination, have a COVID test within 48 hours of arrival, one on arrival into Sicily (this one was free), a test before going back to the UK, and one on arrival back. We also had to fill out a locator form.
The whole lot came to around £260 – all the same as home testing kits but with a Fit2Fly certificate.
The whole thing took careful planning and organising, especially as we had to have the first series of vaccines before we left (if I remember rightly, there were three). I’d organised all of Marco’s family’s presents, which we took with us or had delivered.
The only thing I didn’t plan for? Mount Etna erupted while we were in the air on the way to Sicily.
We got diverted to Palermo.
When we arrived in Palermo, signposting to the testing centre was non-existent – a bit of a magical mystery tour to find it. When we finally found it, there was a huge queue. But for Italy, it was fairly well organised and went quickly.
We finally arrived for our Italian family Christmas.
I wasn’t pregnant. But I already knew it.
I’d let go.
The first offering
While we were away, we got the first notice of a potential donor.
My breath caught in my chest.
We were sent the profile. But it wasn’t quite right. Not quite what I was looking for.
It was odd turning it down. It made me anxious. I was impatient. How long were we going to need to wait for the next one? Can I wait? We – I – wanted someone with similar characteristics to me. But what if the next one wasn’t suitable?
Boarding denied
We had the COVID test to return to the UK the day before we came back. When we arrived at the airport and presented all the paperwork to board the plane, we were turned away.
The Fit2Fly certificate was in Italian.
Italian! We were in Italy. The people who needed to understand it were Italian. So why did they want it in English? “Risultati Negativa” is pretty easy to translate.
There was someone behind us who had the same issue the day before and was forced to miss his flight while he got his certificate in English.
Marco phoned the clinic and got them to email over the translation so we could board the plane. It came down to the wire. It was like something out of a movie.
We got the translation just in time to board the plane.
Finding our donor
On 14 January 2022 – the fifth anniversary of our first date – we were offered a donor that was spot on.
We accepted the next day.