Today I arrived at the fertility clinic slightly early and alone.
It may very well be my last daily blood test if we can go ahead with the extraction on Friday. Almost done.
The waiting room is not that crowded and today they have magazines. There are women coming in and out toting what are clearly their office bags, as this has become their morning routine before going to work. I cannot help but wonder how difficult it must be to come in here with your bag of hopes, day in and day out, waiting to hear if this time, the news is good.
What if these women had frozen their eggs in their 20's? For most of them, like me, this was not an option, but for the generation coming after us, it may become a reality (at a price).
A tall, handsome man passes by me and looks at me he goes into the examination room. I do not know if he is going in to donate sperm or if he's part of a couple and knows exactly who will use it. But when he looked at me, I almost had the impression that he was thinking, "What if she gets it?" Although I'm not here for that, I found myself questioning if a child with this donor would come out well.
At least this procedure is awakening in me the decades-dormant desire to have a child.
But no, I'm not doing it now, and no, I'm not freezing an embryo to increase my chances of having a child... not even if Ryan Gosling walked into the clinic right now and offered to donate his sperm to me. Then again, if he came into the room, wouldn't it be better to try it the "traditional" way at least once, since all my tests say I am fertile?
I hear my name called and I'm snapped back into reality. Today is my lucky day -- this nurse is my favorite, and she always remembers who I am. She's done with me in no time, and three seconds later I'm called in again. A nurse I haven't met before asks for my social security number, which I have to look up every time. The other day a young nurse even gave me a lesson on the importance of memorizing it....
She asks me if I've done this before. She means if I know I have to take my underpants off, lay on the table and cover myself with the piece of paper they give you. I know it would be ideal to always have the same team taking care of me, but it does not seem possible (at least at this center). Today even the doctor is different...
Never mind, by now I'm a pro at this and this anonymity suits me.
I'm wearing full tights and I'll have to remove them. I think to myself that if there is a next time, I may very well wear thigh-highs -- they'd be much more practical and who knows? They might keep me feeling sexier all day long. If only my hubby was around to see me. Wouldn't that be funny? Going through all this and then conceiving the natural way?
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