A Valentine’s Day Gift to My Frozen Embryo
For Valentine’s Day, my husband and I arenâ€™t getting a babysitter and going out for a fancy dinner, instead, we are paying the five hundred dollar storage fee to keep our embryo in deep freeze for another year.
Our embryo has a first name. They donâ€™t name the embryos at the storage facility; that would be creepy. No, I gave the embryo a name all on my own. An embryo we ultimately may decide to donate to science. So yeah, not creepy at all…
Let me back up a little. Because we loved each other, and knew we wanted to make a life together, my soon to be husband and I decided we should make a baby right away. But mostly we decided to make a baby right away because we were old as fuck.
After trying the old fashioned way to make a baby failed, we moved on to more unorthodox methods- not in the butt; that totally doesnâ€™t work no matter what anybody tells you. I charted my basal body temperature, went on a PH balancing diet, swallowed all sorts of expensive fertility vitamins, underwent acupuncture for fertility, practiced yoga for fertility, chanted a mantra for fertility and cried alone in the bathtub for fertility. No matter, none of these extra curriculums succeeded in getting me knocked up, but they did give my antidepressants a run for their money.
We learned through our fertility investigating that I was perfectly fertile and that our main issue, aside from my â€œadvanced maternal age,â€ (FUUUUCK OFF) was male factor infertility. It wasnâ€™t that my husband didnâ€™t have any sperm; he had at least ten sperm that could swim. People love to say, â€œit only takes one.â€ Those people are bullshit liars. You need somewhere around fifteen million. Ideally.
After talking through the options with my OB, we decided to try something called an IUI. Short for Intrauterine Insemination, the IUI is a fairly simple procedure and way cheaper than IVF. We tried this four times, over four consecutive months. Each attempt was an epic failure and instead of blaming my husbandâ€™s uncooperative sperm, I totally blamed myself. I am woman; hear me roar (ROAR=Sob into glass of wine).
We were done screwing around, it was time to bring in the big guns: IVF. Hereâ€™s a very basic explanation of IVF. If you want actual medical information talk to your OB, a fertility doctor or literally anyone else, but donâ€™t rely on the writer of basic cable gems like, â€œHollywoodâ€™s Hottest Cougar Tales,â€ and â€œKiller Karaoke,â€ for accurate medical information. First we took all of our money and gave it to the Fertility Clinic. They let you do it in chunks to give you the illusion that itâ€™s not all of your money, but trust me; itâ€™s definitely all of your money. The IVF drugs arrived at our doorstep in a giant cardboard box, carefully packed in ice. I cried when I opened the box but that was the last crying I would do for the next few weeks as the daily hormone injections made me feel pretty great. We trekked to Beverly Hills every few days so our fertility doctor could track my bodyâ€™s progress. They wanted to make sure I was producing lots of big fat healthy eggs, but that I didnâ€™t accidentally hatch my eggs early. And, of course, thereâ€™s a host of other things that can go wrong that I wonâ€™t get into here because as stated previously, basic cable writer.