The Frozen Eggs Diaries #1: The Decision
Panic, envy, and fertility anxiety
Welcome to the first edition of the Frozen Egg Diaries, where I take you, the reader, on a journey down the vulnerable road of freezing my eggs. When I first thought about freezing my eggs last year, I was terrified and isolated. It brought up so many emotions and truths I did not want to face. It is my hope that these diaries help you, dear reader, feel less alone, as we battle the issues that face the modern woman today: in technology, the romantic landscape, gender, and family.
This is for paid subscribers only. Thanks for comin’ along.
My doctor pointed to the egg follicles on the screen during my baseline ultrasound.
“These are your eggs. And this is where you just ovulated,” she said, highlighting a large black mass on a grey screen. It was surreal to see my uterus on a big screen, and I felt joy and wonder. I got dressed and they put me in a small fluorescent-lit room for a medteach.
A medteach is when a specialist runs through the many different medications, injections, and safety techniques that are required for egg freezing. (And medications, there are many: two large shopping bags were sent to my home full of vials, hormones, and needles.)
The medteach specialist came into the room and introduced herself. Trailing behind her was an annoyingly cheerful younger woman, her energy not matching the sterile mood. I was feeling anxious for many reasons; I was scared, alone, and not to mention, flash flooding was happening outside, and I wasn’t sure how I’d get home.
The cheerful young woman let me know she was going to be sitting in on the medteach.
The specialist ran through everything thoroughly, though her speed added to my mounting anxiety. I asked a lot of questions. Sometimes, the younger woman would jut in with her answer, interrupting me or the medteach specialist. I wanted to yell at her; my patience was wearing thin.
After the run-through of Menopur, one of the medications I’d be taking, my unease must have been showing on my face. I’m often told I wear my emotions on my face. I’m not good at hiding them.
The younger woman put her olive green manicured hand on the table, leaned in, and said to me, ”Are you doing this yourself? Because sometimes, patients like to have their partners help them with their injections.”
I’d had enough.
“I don’t have a partner to help me with the injections. If I did, I wouldn’t be freezing my eggs” I told her, snorting. “Instead, we’d probably be having a baby”.
I felt naked, like I’d just told her the most vulnerable reason why I was here, why I was freezing my eggs.
14 months ago, I wrote a piece on here about whether or not I should freeze my eggs. I was just beginning to explore the possibility. The biggest deterrent was the financial cost. On average, egg freezing In New York City can cost anywhere from $10,000-$25,000, not including the yearly storage fees.
I was terrified of signing that much money away, especially for something I couldn’t see, use, or even know I would one day need. I kept researching the data and never forgot the stat in the New York Times that said only 6% of women who freeze their eggs actually use them to get pregnant.
Many of my friends who froze their eggs got help from their parents or insurance, options not on the table for me. This would be coming out of pocket, out of the savings that I have for emergencies. The savings I’d always imagine using for a down payment on a house. A house is a physical, useful, solid, choice with a big ROI. Egg freezing is uncertain, unseen, without a clear ROI. I’m always thinking of the ROI’s.
I was angry for a while that I would have to saddle the costs, yet another downside of having a vagina. We are the ones who have to deal with the labor of having ovaries—be it birth control, pregnancy, IVF, egg freezing, or painful periods.
You mean to tell me, because I am finally ready to start a family, and all the men I seem to meet are still “figuring out their dating goals” and “aren’t ready to settle down”, just chillin’ until pop! they’re ready, and I’m the one who has to pay for it? While men my age can use that money for a downpayment, I have to use it to freeze my eggs?