Adoption holds some advantages for infertile couples, especially if you can get a child from the United States.
That’s because a U.S. adoption usually is swift, virtually guaranteed and, unlike the world of medical miracles, rarely involves taking any prescription drugs.
That’s what I wanted: A baby. And fast.
My late start in the race for motherhood had led Peter and me to the door of the adoption agency. But it hadn’t worked out so well.
Before that, we thought about getting even more aggressive with my infertility treatments. We thought about implanting fertilized eggs inside me from a donor whose eggs — unlike mine — would still be fresh. We looked into it .
On April 10, 2002, we were told that it would be at least 10 months before we could even be evaluated as candidates for in vitro fertilization.
Waiting 10 months, with no guarantee of success, meant I’d have to be put into a straitjacket by the end of the year.
So I mistakenly steered our thoughts to adoption. That drove us straight onto some big rocks, and our marriage was sinking fast.
Until the phone call came.
It was Leigh Bell, donor egg coordinator for the Fertility and Endocrine Center at the University of Washington.
Bell left me a message at work. Were we still interested in the donor egg program? I couldn’t call her back fast enough.
Peter and I were getting bumped up on waiting list, she said. The poor economy following the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks meant more women needed money. So the fertility clinic was getting an unexpected surge of donors, who were paid about $2,000 for their eggs.
Bell’s call was also an intervention.
Peter and I were straining the bonds of our six-year marriage with our failed fertility treatments, the scratched adoption attempt and my need to be a mother right now.
We threw money away like crazy at any hope of having a child. Our sex life went from romantic to a routine to a reminder of failure.
So, with frayed nerves, hardly believing our luck, we set up a screening appointment for June 18.
Bell was the first person we spoke with that day. She was a fast-talking woman who explained what was ahead with the enthusiasm of a kindergarten teacher listing that day’s activities.
This was our inch-thick packet of documentation, and this is what it meant. This is how donors are screened, they have to be healthy and drugs are a no-no. This is what the egg transfer is like. OK then. Do you have any questions?
I liked Bell. Even from the start she seemed genuinely concerned about our plight, making us feel like our problem was something we could whip. But with her quick presentation and the bulk of material to cover, my head swam in fog, much like it had during high school biology class.
My fog got thicker when we went in to see Dr. Angela Thyer.
She took us into an unclinical-looking consulting room with a tidy desk decorated with original artworks. A wall of shelves was stuffed with booklets — more information on infertility, menopause and similar topics.
Thyer explained to us again about the higher rates of success of using the donated egg of a younger woman vs. my own.
About now, even I, one of the slowest pupils in that high school biology class, was getting the point. There’s a finite window for women to reproduce. My window was shut and the curtains were drawn.
But thanks to scientific developments, I didn’t need to rely on my own rotten eggs.
We’d need to meet with a counselor to talk about nongenetic parenting. How much were we going to tell our offspring?
Then Thyer went through the mind-bending battery of tests I had coming before any eggs were forked over. Five blood tests: for chlamydia, hepatitis B surface antigen, hepatitis C antibody, HIV and syphilis. An EKG to check my heart. A mammogram. Tests to make sure I’d been vaccinated against rubella and chicken pox.
If I passed those, Thyer would do a kind of dry run to map out how the egg transfer would be done. She used a very thin catheter — a small plastic tube threaded through the uterus — to determine how easy it would be to transfer the egg.
Then there was that matter of the tumor in my uterus.
Thyer would have to take a closer look at my fibroid tumor, which suddenly bloomed when I was taking fertility drugs.
The doctor needed to determine if the tumor was going to get in the way during the egg transfer. To help get a better picture of the tumor, Thyer said she would recommend a procedure in which a small camera is inserted into the cervix.
Hmmm.
Camera in the cervix.
So many blood tests.
All those other tests.
I wondered how long all this would take. How old would I feel when it was done? Would I be able to pass medical boot camp?
Sometime during our three-hour appointment, it dawned on me. Peter and I were about to become stars of our own Discovery Channel program.
I still wanted that baby.
Next part: An egg needs a safe place to land
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