A couple of weeks ago, I told you about my visit with Dr. H and our conversation about chemo and fertility. If you missed it, I have included the link for you below:

https://afreshchapter.com/chemo-and-my-biological-clock.html

When I left that day, Dr. H told me that I needed to book an appointment with a fertility counsellor before I could get approved to use a third party sperm donor. In order to explore my options fully, I took his advice and have included a snapshot from that session below.

I hesitantly push open the heavy door into a wood panelled waiting room and a sign encourages me to take a seat in one of the rickety chairs.  My nerves flutter in my throat. I pick up a dog-eared Reader’s Digest and take a deep breath as I notice the smell of old carpet and mouldy wood. I prefer Dr. H’s waiting room.

She calls my name and I look up in surprise. With bright green eyes, curly black hair, and skinny jeans tucked into her boots, she looks like she could be my age. She beckons me into her office and her positive energy bumps up against me. Still in pain from my recent surgery and overwhelmed by what lies ahead, I am not in the mood for bouncy smiles today.

As I settle myself on the couch, I pre-empt her questions. She sits back wide eyed as I regale her with antidotes about my diagnosis, my surgery, and the upcoming risk of chemo. I keep it light. I already cry on someone else’s couch, I don’t need to cry here.

Then, we move on to my single status. She wants to know how I feel about being alone at this time in my life. She suggests that I am lucky that I have the freedom to make all of the decisions myself. Apparently a lot of relationships break down under the pressure of sickness and fertility preservation. I avoid her smile by looking at my feet. I don’t feel lucky.

She continues her questions. Have I looked through the sperm donor websites yet? Have I come up with my criteria for selecting a donor? I continue to avoid eye contact. I don’t want her to know that I have a paper bag in my closest full of syringes, hormone prescriptions, blood test requisitions, and donor profiles. I keep it in there so that I don’t have to look at it.

I distract her by cracking jokes about dating with cancer. Her peppy smile returns as she tells me that I will meet the right man when I least expect it. I glance at the wedding ring on her left hand and want to reach over and scrub the smile from her face. Does she know a contingent of single 30-year-olds that walk through life not expecting to meet someone? I am pretty sure that any woman over the age of 29, who wants to have a family, has her baby Daddy honing device charged up at all times.

I hide my irritation as she moves our conversation along by sharing tips on how to select the perfect donor, tell my future child about where he or she came from, and explain to a potential boyfriend how I already have babies in the freezer. She suggests that we role play some of these conversations. I smile and tell her that as tempting as that sounds, I would rather wait until I have made some decisions. I am still just reviewing my options. Maybe I won’t need chemo or maybe it won’t affect my fertility.

I stand up to leave and she encourages me to take my time with the donor websites and come back if I want to talk further. I nod, tune her out, and wonder how I got here. Six weeks ago, my biggest concern was choosing a Halloween costume and today I am supposed to decide whether to inject my egg with a random guy’s sperm and then store my future babies on ice?

I walk out the door and leave the conversation in her office. I am still not ready to make any decisions.

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