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It also meant that I had to abstain from vaginal sex for about a month and a half. Even if I used condoms or the (less recommended) removal method, the chances of an unwanted pregnancy were too high. If I wanted to donate eggs, I’d have to agree to giving up the P-in-V action for a while. But I have different holes and my boyfriend has different organs. While we weren’t thrilled with this part of the process, we knew it wouldn’t leave us totally celibate either.
Most egg donors are between the ages of 20 and 29 – SART recommends that donors should not be “women whose age has advanced to the point where their fertility potential is significantly compromised” (which, OK, but, Ouch). At the geriatric age of 27, I was on the older end of the spectrum. Most of the women I saw donating were college age, around 21.
Shots, shots, shots
I thought it was kinda cute that the NYU nurses handed me thousands of dollars worth of hormones in a big paper bag, gave me a little demo, and then sent me on my stupid happy way and assured me I’d “find out.” .” I’ve never injected anything into my body and I’m mildly afraid of needles. But for the next ten days, every night at 5 p.m., I would inject two drugs into my stomach: one that stimulates the growth of ovarian follicles, and another which prevents premature ovulation I have seen friends who have been public with their IVF journeys getting their partners to put the syringes into their skin sweetly and gently and everyone encouraged me to get my own friend to do it to put me on the hormones. But then I remembered the time I fought him off like a wild coyote, when he lovingly offered to give me eye drops, so I figured it would be best for me to do this alone.
One of the shots was pre-packaged so all I had to do was inject it into my stomach. The other consisted of two drugs that I had to mix before administration. The first few times I inserted the needle, I hesitated just before pushing it in, which resulted in some bleeding (normal) and some pain. However, I became more confident with each new attempt and it became easier. That didn’t mean the pain went away entirely – I became a pincushion, having to find new places to put a needle every night, and an oval bruise bloomed on my stomach.
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The nurses told me that the shots might make me feel bloated, crampy, or nauseous — that for most people it just feels like a bad period. They also told me not to exercise under any circumstances. Because the drug causes my ovaries to swell, any extreme movement could cause them to twist, causing severe pain, nausea, and vomiting, necessitating immediate laparoscopic surgery. If left untreated, it could stop blood flow and cause tissue death, which would mean a doctor would have to perform an emergency procedure to remove the ovaries. This is rare but very, very dangerous, so I’ve been told to cool it down with the regular yoga and running exercises I usually do to calm my mind. Using my only positive out of pocket coping methods, I looked forward to being an angry maniac for two weeks.