I Want Babies: My Decision to Freeze My Eggs
There are two things I’ve known to be true, but have been putting off:
I’m meant to live in the mountains (I’m on the way there …)
Freezing my eggs is a necessary insurance policy.
After acknowledging and avoiding for some time, on Monday I decided it was time to pursue #2, and booked an appointment at Kindbody, yesterday. I threw on a shirt that said Trust the Universe, put a yellow bow in my hair, recent ins-bow from my one year old niece whose taught me many things (blog to come), and headed a few blocks east to the office. I pulled up to find the closest parking spot vacant, which seemed like a valid sign that I was right on time — where I was meant to be, trusting. I walked in grounded, and ready. Masks required, whoops, strike one for me. But the staff was cool and didn’t enforce much of anything. After a bit of paperwork to retrieve medical history, I slashed a line through No top to bottom for all the familial cancer history questions, but checked yes for Are you of Ashkenazi Jewish decent? I put my clean pen in the dirty bin and waited. There was a part of me, momentarily that felt nervous sitting in downtown Austin, a progressive city, but in very conservative Texas with the recent overturn of Roe vs Wade and the many mass shootings — anxious that an egg freezing / fertility / embryo clinic, what should be a safe place, could be a target. I took a breath and kept waiting. Olivia Young? Yep, that’s me! I followed the attendant into the room quickly. Kindbody is to eggs as Warby Parker is to eyewear. The decor is lovely, staff friendly, service through but efficient. Simply put, they know what they’re doing. Different than a Dr.’s office, they’re backed by lots of venture capital, it’s a brand, but they have a gynecologist on staff. My choice felt simple — to start here at least, get the information and testing I need and then decide how to proceed. Kindbody makes egg freezing approachable, they take the stigma out, its less sterile than traditional medicine, more comfy, they paint the place pretty, and make you feel seen. The procedure is pricey but competitive but it feels different than the typical lab coat and clipboard experience — and the staff was all Female, which I appreciated. After entering the room, the nurse offered me a variety of seats — a table and chairs, the reclining chair or the nook, which I chose, obviously. The technician arrived and ask that I undress from the waist down, cover myself with a sheet, and use the stirrups for my feet. If you’ve ever been in this seat — it’s not exactly a treat - feet up, legs spread eagle. I reminded myself as always to just breathe. Another woman arrived, kind, Have you ever had a vaginal sonogram before? I have … I think. I replied. Ok, well I’m going to put this wand in you and move it around a bit and we’ll look on the screen to just see your ovaries. Exciting !! I’m thinking, not in the least. The last thing I want is something stuck up me, but also, cool, I want to see my ovaries.
Deep inhale, the cold wet wand entered me — which is still not fun, even in a not-sterile setting, but I focused on the screen. Funny, I’ve seen so many sonogram photos of friends and their babies, their uterus full with a growing shape, but mine was empty. Now at least. But I’m taking steps so that I don’t have to stress about my future story, an insurance police because no matter what life brings me, I want to know that I have options. My heart knows I’m meant to be a mother. These are follicles, she told me. You have 15 on your right and 18 on your left. Is that good? Yes, perfect. Most women your age have 15-30 total so you’re on the high end of that, a good sign. Phew, I sigh. And your ovaries are healthy.
She pulled the long, cold, wet wand out of me and with it I felt the lubricant goop, gooey, drip onto me. I took the sheet and wiped the excess from me, You’re all set, you can get dressed, I’ll let the Doctor know you’re ready. More? I think silently. It wasn’t painful, physically. And the enormity of the experience didn’t hit me until later that evening. The doctor arrived and informed me, more than anything assured me that I was doing the right thing. She was a pro, previously in her own private practice but couldn’t resist the perks of working for a larger company, with less stress on billing insurance companies and more benefits. But beyond all else, a woman and a mother who shared her own story, and her lack of options when she was of the age to have babies. I felt seen, I know that all my healing work is just preparing to be an even better parent eventually. We spoke options, timelines and pricing. She shared concern for legislation and laws that might effect harvesting embryos in Texas. Is it safer if I do this in New York City? Up to you, but you’re just doing eggs, not fertilized so nothing will affect them. What if I’m planning to move? They can be transferred. I was careful to hear for any sales pitching … but I think this is too sensitive of a topic to be sold even marginally. The first step is to get the legally required bloodwork, do you want to do that now or go home and think about it?
Let’s go.
And so I did, while laying down, because I tend to pass out when they poke me. Do you think you could talk to me? I asked, about anything really, small talk to distract me. The nurse obliged and I did fine. After a quick urine sample, I grabbed a juice box, and walked out, with my yellow bow in tow and a neon green wrap around my right forearm. I walked to my car and was overjoyed to see that I escaped a parking ticket even though my one hour appointment neared almost double. I took, We took our time. No rush in rushing such sensitive discussions. After a sip of the sugar laden juice situation, I tossed it out and grabbed a few ginger candies from the corner and sat in my car for a while, before calling my mom. Healing has taught me to hone my boundaries, and find comfort in me, almost a reparenting, instead of seeking approval, opinion or validation outside of me, rather honoring me, my body — my experience — my story, mostly. I fall into the trap at times and look for assurance or reassurance - from friends, family or healers, which sometimes helps and sometimes just clouds my knowing. But my mom and my relationship has changed, healed, significantly. I see her and she sees me. And I know she knows that becoming a parent is really important to me.
When my tears cleared I again found quiet, and reminisced about the time I was four or five, dressed up as a bride, in a wedding dress that nearly covered my nipples, but veil in tow, and bags packed for my imaginary honeymoon trip. My mom played Here Comes the Bride as I walked down the long hallway of my childhood home, the aisle. I’ve long dreamed about getting married and having babies, although I didn’t much play with dolls, more Ninja Turtles, really. When I was in elementary school I planned my life story — I would be married by twenty four, and have four kids, like my mom, but first I would become an actress. Comparing aside, I feel a deep societal pressure to be “farther along in my life,” sometime getting caught in the thought of we just want you to be happy as meaning — get married, have babies. But it doesn’t feel that simple to me. I don’t want to get married just to have babies, or get married to get married. I want to make life decisions for me, let life unfold in flow as I go, flowing with me, less thinking more feeling. I’ve come to know that what makes sense isn’t always the best choice. So, step one of egg freezing and my insurance policy, feels like an opening, allowing me more space to to worry less, and just be, with more options in my future family planning.
And then after all the rationalizing … I sat on my balcony and cried. I cried because we plan and Gd laughs. And I understand why, because planning takes us out of our present lives. But this kind of family planning is for my benefit, so I can be present and make decisions that are more authentic to me. But the tears flowed heavy. I think before I started sharing my story, or uprooting my past from my subconscious mind via psychedelic assisted therapy, I experienced much of my life on autopilot, and I hate the term wasted time but I wasn’t living, I was really just surviving — in old patterning, much of which involved choosing partners who were never meant to be … but I consider myself quite lucky. Through all of my healing, I feel empowered to make decisions that only fuel me forward, that aren’t reacting, but are of my choosing, completely. Freezing my eggs feels like another step in choosing me, and my sovereignty. My one year old niece, baby Kay, who has been so much of my inspiration lately, claps at herself for everything. So after my tears dried, and before my boyfriend took me for a baked potato and a 50:50 gin:vermouth martini, my choice, I sat on my balcony, alone, and applauded me.
It isn’t about having the most, it’s about making the most of what we have. I’m more and more certain that I have everything I need, inside. I’m putting in the hard work — to learn me, to love me, to live young, I’m aLIVe.
Love always,
Olivia