Well, obviously I’ve been remiss in blogging.
I have found a new, and more exciting love: Twitter.
I recognize that I am late to that game (but who are we kidding here, I am late for every game, with the exception of my early development of breast buds, but that is for a different blog post). Anyway, I am using Twitter for professional purposes, so those of you who know me, PLEASE follow me! I love twitter so much.
This all started after attending a medical conference in November. This conference was life altering in many ways. First, I attended a seminar on the use of social media in medicine, which resulted in my newfound Twitter obsession.
Then, I attended a talk on “Fertility after 40″. Of course, I found it serendipitous, considering that I have played with this idea all year, ever since my 4oth birthday last year . I had, in fact, taken all the steps necessary to proceed, except for the most important: “The Picking of the Sperm”. Yes, it does deserve the capitalization, because it was that momentous.
You may recollect that at some point last year Ryan/Jackson/Jake, henceforth known as “He who shall not be named” had casually suggested he could be the “donor”. Of COURSE I latched onto that throwaway comment, like a drowning girl in a flailing ocean of unknown sperm. It took me a long time to get up the guts to text him (Yes, I recognize this should have mandated a phone call, let it go) regarding whether he was still willing to consider it. When I finally did, at the end of the summer, the answer, understandably, was, no. ”Sorry, I feel like a bad friend”…yadda yadda. (Note to self- strike while the iron is hot, or drunk)
Once the answer was definitive, I perused the online donor catalogue.The “catalogue” is extensive. Like, too much information. I was unable to move forward with this cohort of candidates.
Hobbies? “Typing”. Seriously.
Favourite music? “Rock, because I like the beats”. I like rock too, but..
Favourite book: “comics”.
Etc etc. Not to mention these young guys (most in their early 20′s) had still barely gotten over their teenage acne.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pick one.
So, a few months went by, and I remained frozen with indecision.
And then came the seminar “Fertility at 40″. The OB/gyne giving the talk started off with a flippant comment about the typical ignorant woman who keeps waiting for the right time and then suddenly expects to conceive at 40 years old. “Like, how dumb,” (I paraphrase) I looked around. Is she speaking DIRECTLY to me?
She put up various slides with various stats: “The chance of conceiving is practically 0%”, and then, after you conceive the risk of miscarriage is up to 60%.”
WHAT?! Well, 60% of o is 0 isn’t it?
Ha. So there, lady.
I sat there, with a deepening sense of dread in my gut, or, perhaps it was my ovaries. I looked around in a panic. Was I the only one in here upon whom this information had a personal impact?
A young woman in the back raised her hand “What about freezing your eggs?”. The answer, of course, is that by age 40 there is no reason to freeze your desiccated eggs, but at age 34…
Most of the other female physicians in the audience were much younger, and eligible for egg freezing, but not me. Suddenly the sound of my ticking ovaries was SO LOUD, that I was unable to listen to any more of the talk. I started squirming in my seat, and, as soon as the speaker completed her terribly mean talk, I bolted out of the conference and forfeited the rest of the seminar day.
I HAD to get inseminated. ASAP. It just happened that was the first day of my period, so it was possible, if I acted quickly, that I could order some express sperm and have it in time for 2 weeks from now, when I ovulated. I just had to get home, pick the sperm, and call the fertility clinic to reserve my spot.
It was 2:30. The clinic closed at 3:30. I still had to take the subway home.
During the never-ending subway ride, I contemplated my situation. How could I have let things get this far? WHY did I procrastinate on this, like everything else in life? Why did I leave it until the last, old egg is ready to commit suicide due to loneliness??
As I exited the station, a sudden glut of oblivious stationary people obstructed the fast lane of the escalator.
“DON’T you see???” I shrieked internally. “HURRY UP!! I am late for my life!! TICK TOCK!!! Can’t you hear it??!!”
I made it home just in time.
(to be continued….)
So tired of OB/GYNs and other doctors suggesting that women don’t realize there’s a timeline to fertility. Every single woman who has turned 29 is aware of the timeline. Apparently most single men on online dating websites are also aware of this deadline, as they draw a line in the sand between women who are 34 and 35, and another line between women who are 38 and 39. I’m also tired of Margaret Wente’s misogynistic, singleton-hating articles in the Globe. Most single 30 and 40something women I know have been looking for a decent man since their 20s. Many have lost some time recovering from heartaches along the way. Most of the single ones are well-educated, and most of them can count the dates they’ve had after age 35. Sometimes being late with respect to milestones is due to circumstances beyond a single woman’s control.
Well I won’t lie, I think I forgot somewhere along the way that although I feel, look (ha ha), and probably arrested development at 29, my ovaries did not! And I had no idea about Wente- will have to follow her on twitter in order to ferret out her alleged misogyny
Today’s column: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/commentary/the-awful-truth-about-being-single/article7536781/