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While egg freezing is nothing new and many many women have done this, I could hardly find any written accounts of someone my age online. If you find any, I’d love to read. That was my motivation to write these posts, in hopes of making someone out there feel less alone on their whole fertility journey.

Read part one of journey here

I anxiously awaited the results of my last ultrasound to determine if I even got to do the retrieval. If the eggs didn’t grow enough, the doctor wouldn’t go through with the procedure and I would have to try it all over again next month. If they did, I’d have to go get a covid test immediately (for this hospital, it was up BOTH nostrils!). It’s daunting to say the least. I had so many dreams of Hayden as a baby during this time (pictured above). Maybe I was trying to manifest? I was filming Bold and the Beautiful the day before I did my trigger shot. This gives the eggs that final boost and pumps me with the most amount of hormones to date. I did not feel my best. I had bruises on my abdomen and was retaining a ton of fluid (common side effect). I actually weighed in 9 pounds heavier at the hospital than I was 2 weeks before.

But, everything did look good with the eggs and we could move forward with the retrieval. An immense weight was lifted, at least for a few hours. I feel so much for women that get this far and then cannot move forward. It’ s emotionally, physically and financially draining.

I’ve been putting off posting this entry. I know why.

The morning of the retrieval, I am sick to my stomach. Of course, it could be the lack of food or drink for 12 hours, or the anxiety of going under anesthesia. But, I know it’s the emotion. If I hadn’t lost the last baby (about 14 months before the day of the surgery), I wouldn’t be freezing eggs at all. So many people have told me the miscarriages were “meant to be.” I know they are referring to the events of the past year: being granted a permanent domestic violence 3 year restraining order, then having to go through court custody battles and divorce proceedings with that same person. I know my friends mean well. But, I still don’t look at it that way. It was a loss. I never had a real chance to grieve because I went into survival mode shortly after the miscarriage.

I guess this morning, it hits me.

It’s like any other surgery- no eating or drinking beforehand, get there very early. I have my trusted caretaker at the house for Hayden. I uber to the hospital because I can’t drive home. You bring limited personal items, everything goes in a bag. You fill out a ton of paperwork, check your vitals, get in your sterile gear, and lay down on the bed just staring at the ceiling waiting. I advise asking for all paperwork ahead of time. I wasn’t allowed to sign anything until I got here, but at least I had already read over all the risks and waivers and insurance issues, etc.

The nurse arrives to put in the IV. I’ve never had good luck with my right arm, which tends to be the arm closest to the machines in almost every situation I’ve been in…. giving birth, drawing blood, DNC from miscarriage— and true to form, even right now. I beg her to go straight to the left arm. One would think the nurse would appreciate the tip, since I know my body better than they do. But, it’s kinda like a new hairdresser that doesn’t listen to you because they think they know your hair better than you ever could, only to learn you were right in the fist place— after your hair looks slightly orange. She insists on using my right arm and said all the other nurses must not have known what they were doing. After one failed attempt, I ask to speak to my doctor. I don’t want bruises on my right arm again. She switches to the left arm, very annoyed. But it works perfectly the first time on the left arm. I’m proud of myself for being assertive. My people-pleasing nature too often wins the struggle.

It all becomes a bit of a blur after that. The doctor comes in to say hello; the anesthesiologist arrives, asks a few questions… and I become very relaxed.

I wake up groggy, but ok. My dearest Jennifer Garies is there waiting for me. (Yes, we are really like real family). She brought snacks and drives me home, making sure I am ok. I am ok- but probably best I don’t drive. I was hoping for 12 eggs, but through the retrieval and freezing process, they got eight, then only seven made it through the fast freeze. Funny- seven has always been a special number to me.

The crazy part? All the hoops I went through, doctor’s appointments, injections, etc— there is absolutely no guarantee. And we’ll never know how viable those eggs are until I try to have a baby at some point.

So, my hope is one egg (the first one!) makes it through the thawing process, fertilization process, testing process and then my body receives it, allowing the embryo to grow. It may not be the traditional way, but I still call it a miracle.

My body went back to it’s normal state within a week or so. Be gentle on yourself. I did not feel any pain afterward, but just uncomfortable for a day or so.

And all in all, it was cathartic. I deeply felt this was something I needed to do. And, as I’ve mentioned in another post, what if everything goes as well as it possibly could? I still believe in love, and for certain still believe in miracles. Ready for both.

If you’re curious about fertility, I still highly recommend IT STARTS WITH THE EGG. i wrote more about his book and what I learned HERE.

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