I met my donor for lunch yesterday. The following are excerpts from our conversation.
My Donor: “I’m really good at a lot of things. Like flower arranging. I’m great at succulents. Look at these pictures.”
Me: “They’re beautiful.”
My Head: “I hope she doesn’t google search my house and see how bad my yard looks.”
My Donor: “I’m also great at make-up. I want to do make-up for the movies. Like for Johnny Depp.”
Me: “It’s wonderful that you know what you want to do.”
My Head: “But your eyebrows are drawn about an inch too thick, and they’re kind of scaring me.”
My Donor: “And I’m a great writer.”
My Head: “Your emails and texts suggest otherwise.”
My Donor: “So, what else should I tell you? Oh, yeah! I have a son! He’s 10.”
Me: “That’s right. I remember that from your profile.”
My Donor: “He lives with my mom. I was too young and crazy when he was born.”
Me: “Do you have a picture?”
My Donor: “Yes, you should see him. He looks exactly like me.”
Me: “How cute. He seems very happy.”
My Head: “Oh, god, he’s fat. My kids are going to be fat.”
My Donor: “I was a really funny-looking kid. I had a big head. And then I grew up, and I got skinny and pretty.”
My Head: “You’re not that skinny. Or that pretty.”
My Donor: “I’m really glad you’re pretty. I was hoping the recipient was going to be pretty. I don’t know why. I just was.”
My Head: “How I look doesn’t matter at all because my genes die with me. Yours, on the other hand, will live on in this arrangement. Lucky me.”
My Donor: “From my last cycle, the lady’s having twins. I love the idea that there are all these kids from me all over the country because I know I’m a really great person.”
My Head: “Holy shit. I’m breeding a narcissist.”
My Donor: “I might get a glass of wine when our food comes. I know they said not to, but I don’t think it matters. I drank wine throughout my whole cycle last time, and they still got, like, 26 eggs.”
My Head: “What?
“Also, they may have retrieved 25 eggs (not 26), but only 18 fertilized, and only 5 made it to transfer. That’s the number that really matters. Five.
“Also, who knows how alcohol affects the eggs with all this medication?
“Also, how much have you had to drink during this cycle?
“Also, if you’re drinking, what else are you doing that you aren’t supposed to?
“Also, do you know this is costing me $40,000 that I don’t really have?
“Also, WHAT THE FUCK?!“
On the bright side, I finally have a distraction from the panic that embryos won’t implant because my uterine lining is only 6.3 mm thick when it should be over 7. I’m not even sure if I want them to implant.
I should have chosen another donor.
I should have tried IVF sooner rather than wasting all that time with inseminations.
I should have tried to get pregnant when I was younger.
I should have planned my life better.
Why did I do this donor egg thing again? Maybe being childless wouldn’t have been that bad. Better than having overweight, not-too-bright, narcissistic children. Better than raising kids that aren’t my own.
And all the while, egg retrieval day is tomorrow.