Issue 05: We have an egg donor match!
Saturday July 14, 2018
I realise some of the terms I use in this column may be a little confusing to the uninitiated, so I thought this week I would do some untangling. There are a few types of surrogacy, but the first distinction is between gestational and traditional. In gestational surrogacy, either the intended mother’s eggs (my ideal option, although sadly not possible for me because I don’t have any), or a donor’s eggs are used. In traditional surrogacy, a surrogate’s eggs are used, making her the biological mother of the child. The latter is rare because of all the next-level emotional and moral issues this understandably adds.
We are using a donor — not to be confused with the surrogate, more of which later — so let’s meet her. Not literally, of course, that never happens (unless you use a friend or a sibling, but that option was not a route we wanted to go down). This probably deserves some elaboration. I’m sure there are people in our lives who would gladly have helped, but my worry is the protracted jealousy. It comes in bursts as it is, and I manage to process it fine, but the thought of mothering a baby that was the result of an encounter between my husband and my friend or sister (in a petri dish, yes, but still) was a bit too much. So an anonymous donor who would contribute to one half of my future child is the route we have chosen, and it is monumentally mind-blowing. But first, the logistics.
For whatever reason anyone needs to use a donor — IVF, surrogacy, homosexuality — there is a “choosing” process to go through. In my case, the goal is to match their physical features as closely as possible to my mine.
To some people — including one assertive work colleague — this throws up a moral issue. There was a new app launched for the London Sperm Bank that allowed users to search for potential donors based on physical characteristics. Exactly the premise on which fertility doctors and donor databases work, but with an easier user experience for the prospective parent. My colleague thought this was somewhat dystopian, and instead we should “get what we’re given” rather than have the ability to choose. Needless to say, she hasn’t experienced an agonising infertility diagnosis, where your only hope is always the “next best thing”. Or indeed any other alternative route to parenthood that might require help from a third party.
Our chosen donor, henceforth to be known as No. 435, is based in Miami, has a degree in something something and a job, and kindly wants to donate her eggs to help people in exactly our position. The “something somethings” are a psychological coping mechanism that has effectively wiped my memory of donor details, because essentially I don’t need them. No. 435 is willing to help us by having a psychological, then medical assessment (she passed with flying colours), taking medication that will stimulate her ovaries to produce more than the one egg nature would have afforded her that month, and extract them, which, I’m told by my many IVF-ing friends, is not without pain. What a woman. Stick all that on the tab, we’ll deal with the financials later.
Now you’ve met the donor, don’t forget the surrogate. I’ve already introduced you to Laura, the woman who, all being well, will carry the resulting No. 435 + Mr B embryo. She takes over where No. 435 finishes, so while she and the donor will never meet, live in separate states and have very different (and equally important) jobs in this journey, it’s Laura who we’ll be getting in the car with, if you like.
I’d say nine out of ten people we discuss this with still call the surrogate the donor, and I guess Laura is donating her womb, so I can see where the confusion sets in, but Dad, if you’re reading this, pay better attention. Donor, surrogate, Mr B and me. There are four wheels on this cart. But hopefully one day my role will be referred to as “mother”.