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Fitness expert Rebecca Cardon, from Amazing Race and Bravo’s Workout, opens up about her decision to freeze her eggs, chronicling the process from beginning to end. In her last post, she wrote about discovering that her egg supply was rapidly dwindling.
The waiting room of my fertility clinic is where the party’s at on this busy Friday morning. Four brown suede couches spilling over with anxious couples create an almost perfect square as I sit solo and feel all twelve sets of eyes burn into me, trying to ascertain what I am doing there.
I return their inquiring glances with a warm smile and began to mentally attach stories to my waiting room friends; “I bet he has a low sperm count,” “She is probably dying for a baby and has tried IVF several times and is certain this next time will be the one.”
“When is my name going to be called?” I impatiently wonder. “I have to be somewhere in an hour and this is the last place on the planet I want to be.” This procedure is going to be painful and I’m thrilled my Percocet is starting to take affect. I feel warm and fuzzy with a strong desire to hug my new friends and assure the IVF girl that the fifth time is going to be the charm!
As I peruse the parenting magazines the nurse calls out “Rebecca Cardon,” causing my stomach to sink. No turning back now, I tell myself, feeling empowered and strong. I’m having this procedure alone, my choice. Although I’m not excited about it, I’m proud of myself for making this proactive decision and following through on something for once.
I undressed from the waist down, laid on the table, placed my feet in the stirrups and waited for the nurse to come in and give the low down on my plumbing. After she inserted the camera we looked at the screen together as she morphed into the tour guide of my dark and mysterious womb.
Her voice was eager and enthusiastic… “and over here on the left we have your egg supply and the many dark circles are an indicator that you have several of them!” I was half expecting her to tell me to keep my hands and arms inside the vehicle until the tour bus comes to a complete stop. I joked with her and said, “I think I see a tumbleweed in there.” She smiled, “oh honey, there will be a baby in there one day.” I tried to imagine what it would feel like to look at the screen and see a baby growing inside me. I tried to picture it, but I couldn’t.
Another nurse entered the room snapping me out of my failed pregnancy visual. “There’s been a mistake,” she said, “you don’t not need to have the HSG test because you are only freezing not carrying.” I was equally annoyed and relieved. Happy to not need the test, but eager to move this process along and put it behind me.
The next step is another blood test during my period, which isn’t until late June. I’m accepting of my rapidly declining fertility situation and grateful that the option to freeze is available to me, but I must be honest and tell you that I do not want to take birth control pills for two weeks and then inject myself twice a day with four types of hormones. I’m afraid of gaining weight and of becoming overly emotional and crazy.
For now, I will put a bookmark in this laborious endeavor. Maybe three weeks will buy me an epiphany. I think I need one.
