Tag Archives: IVF

Icky Reasons for IVF

5 Jun

I know IVF in Kansas was for infertile couples who desperately wanted a child.  As an egg donor in the Midwest, I felt my contribution was part altruistic, part financial.  The parents on the waiting list seemed to really want a healthy child.  I never got the vibe that people wanted a model-genius or anything like that.  At most, I knew parents wanted a donor that resembled them–probably so the parents could sort of see what their genes looked liked together and also so their family would look more cohesive.

Then, when you get to California and even Seattle, IVF is more a way to genetically engineer a beautiful, smart, child. A lot of the questions on the surveys regarded test scores and accomplishments, rather than just the health background I had in Kansas City.  And no one in Seattle ever picked me as a donor.  Maybe because the West coat market is more saturated with women wanting to donate, but also, I suspect, because I didn’t Ace the SAT or get signed by Ford.  It creeped me out that parents are picking traits they want in a child and trying to exclude different or unique characteristics.

It’s the variability in people that makes us special–however problematic for society.

Plus, that was some of the best (easiest) money I’ve made in my life.  Most definitely the easiest.  Even with the drugs, needles, and 2.5 hour (one way) driving time.  It honestly didn’t inconvenience me very much at all–especially when they handed me those big checks after surgery 🙂  I could certainly use that kind of income now!  Except, I’m running out of time.  You can only be an egg donor until age 30.  I have about one year to get picked.  Listen up, infertile people in Seattle–pick my profile, hurry!  *sigh* I need to go back to the Bible Belt so I can utilize my last 2 donations (you get 6 in a lifetime).  I should see if MT, ID, or Eastern WA have an IVF program. . .

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Audiology: Why I’d Be Great

18 Oct

-My Dad has hearing loss

–one of my earliest memories is grocery shopping while he struggled to hear

—I was simultaneously embarrassed and motivated to help him

-I am practiced at nonverbal communication

–I have worked with animals my whole life, and “reading” them is a requirement

–high volume vet clinic taught me to quickly evaluate and work with different temperaments.

—I have worked with cats, dogs, horses, cows, sheep, primates, birds, rodents, and reptiles

—-each species and individual has a different way of communicating

—-I can easily become attuned to most styles

—noting aggression before it occurs

—seeing if a pet is scared

—noticing pain when they can’t tell you

—looking for signs of health/behavioral/comfort issues

-I have compassion for working with people with disabilities

–again, my work with animals proves this

–I also donated my eggs to infertile couples

-I am capable to working with the public/people

–communicate to crowd through clogging performances

–taught clogging to all age groups

–convey crowd control, motivate players, and show school spirit during cheerleading

–cheerleading youth camps

–volunteered at elementary Christmas party for 2 years

–volunteered at Senior Citizens Prom for 3 years.

–I got an A+ in my college speech communication class

–I volunteered with LGBT youth and other organizations

–I talk to owners about their pets when I take vitals/history/phone calls

-As in vet med, I like to have a different kind of day all the time

–this is good for working with youth, hearing deficit, and senior citizens

Pink Panther [6-19-08]

1 Jan

But not as cool.

Background:  It is my policy to abstain from using the air conditioning both in my car and apartment.  I figure that I would rather use excess heat in the winter, so I need to make up for it financially in the summer.  Yesterday I had a stressful day at work.  As I was watching TV I had the sliding glass door open and I found later there is a slight crack where the screen gaps.  This didn’t seem like a big deal when I found it.  I fell asleep anxious and dreaming.  I tell you these mundane details because they come into play later..

I wake up severely anxious and itching all over my legs, arms, neck, and torso. Itching horribly!  I stumble to the bathroom and see a billion mosquito bites! Pink 1.  Some mosquito must have come in the gap in the screen and literally must have bit me repeatedly a billion times.  You know how cellulite looks?  That is what my hands, arms, legs, neck, and torso looked—bumpy like that, only red and itchy.  I was bad off.

I slathered calamine lotion (pink 2) over the majority of my body because I didn’t have Benadryl (pink 3) in the house.  I still couldn’t stop scratching, so I put on a long sleeve shirt and socks on my hands.  Then, I was convinced the mosquito-devil was still in my apartment ready to bite some more.  In my frenzy and paranoia, I decided to create a wind tunnel and put the fan on high to ward away any insects.  Then, I turned on a lamp so I would not be the only hot, bright attraction for the monster-bug.

I woke up in the morning and my skin was completely better.  No visible bug-bites at all!  I thought I just had some kind of freak-out anxiety attack and must have imagined the multitude of red (or pink, if you will) bites all over my body. My belly, however, was not fairing so well.  I had to drink my entire bottle of pepto bismal (pink 4) over the morning.  I was starving, but couldn’t eat the entire day!

At night, my belly started feeling better, and I drifted off to sleep. . .  Only to wake up later in the same state as the night before! Red, itchy bumps covered my neck, arms, hands, torso, and legs.  Pink 5, in case you were wondering.  I was also very anxious!  Pink 5 (6 for those keeping track).  Those that know me realize it takes a lot to get me out of the house once I have my PJ’s on.  I went to Wal-Mart to buy Benadryl after sleeping—that’s how bad off I was.

I took the medicine (pink 7) and iced my mosquito bites, but wondered what I should do.  The mosquito was obviously still in my apartment and biting me!  Should I change my bedding?  Look for the bastard bug?  I thought I would search my symptoms online to see what kind of allergic reaction I’d had and what to do.  I found out that “bug bites” that come on suddenly then disappear or move location was actually hives.  These were not mosquito bites, I had hives from my allergy to insect bites.  That’s why the red bumps came, went away, made my belly sick, then came back along with anxiety.

So I’m sitting here (sick of pink) waiting for my antihistamine to kick in and trying not to scratch.



Thursday night I was all about prevention.  I was all empowered by knowledge of what was going on and took cimetidine to calm the belly and 2 benadryl to calm the skin before going to sleep.  I thought this would solve all my problems.  Not so much.

I woke up with hives on the right foot, left elbow, neck and. . .  face.  I had less hives, but had gained a bonus symptom–facial swelling.  Along with the hives, I had the lips of Angelina Jolie.  Not exactly what I wanted.

When I got up in the morning, the hives were gone as usual, but my lips were even larger.  To the extent I couldn’t purse them or even close them all the way–not good.  I was going to call in sick to work, but realized that would leave only 2 people to walk dogs–not awesome.  So I went to work, thinking they could give me steroids to help my obvious systemic reaction.

I asked for pred and was told it was too risky.  They didn’t know how I would react.  The doctors also knew they didn’t want me going home and leaving them short though so they told me if I walked dogs they would call the health center for me.  I finished walking with my big, puffy face and went to see a doctor. . .  Who subsequently told me I had hives.

He said I was too small to be taking 2 Benadryl (especially if it wasn’t helping) and too small for an injection of cortosol.  He perscribed cortosol pills, zymox, and rinitidine for my sick stomach, and I felt much better when I went back to work!

The end–unless I wake up with hives or swelling again tonight–hope not!


Surgery #2 [12-6-08]

1 Jan

I had my second surgery yesterday.  This one hurts a slightly more.  Who knows why.  Last time, I didn’t follow any of the aftercare instructions, and I went right back to work the next day.  This time, I feel sort of like I have a side ache across my entire abdomen.  I can’t imagine lifting anything!  I’m uncomfortable ALL the time.  I’m also really tired, but I can’t sleep because things are a little tender. . .  Needless to say, I didn’t go to work today and won’t be going back tomorrow. . .

It might not have been the preeminent (did I use that right?) idea to have a chicken chimichunga, salty tortilla chips, a margarita, and peanut M&Ms the night before surgery.  I forgot I wasn’t permitted to eat or drink after midnight, and my surgery wasn’t until 1 pm the next afternoon.  Needless to say, I was thirsty the next morning!  This might account for the fact that they couldn’t get any blood out of me.  I was probably thoroughly dehydrated and I was cold to boot.

It took probably 30 minutes, 5 nurses, and so many needle sticks that I lost count, to finally find my vein.  I was bright and upbeat the whole time though, cause I figured my blood draw karma was coming back to haunt me.  Mostly, I get blood without difficulty, but there are times at work when I can’t find a vein, have to poke numerous times, or end up digging around.  Sidenote:  It’s not the poking that hurts, it’s the digging!

The top of both hands, my wrists, both forearms, and the inside of my elbows are all critically sore!  I also have multiple, diminutive bruises, even though I never bruise!  By the way, the contusions hardly show the pain I feel—NOT fair!


For part 2 of the story:  My memory sucked a lot when I woke up.  Last time, I remembered all the details:  The nurse roused me, I said 6 on the pain scale even though I felt a 2-3, and I chatted with the nurses, begging for extra food.

I don’t recollect waking up this time.  I also don’t remember what number I gave on the pain scale.  Apparently, it wasn’t high enough to warrant extra drugs.  I tried to change my pain digit, but the nurse said my first answer was final. . . Pity, I’m putting 6 in my mind for next time.  I am much more sore this time—probably cause I didn’t get that extra hit of injectables!

The first thing my (male) nurse said was, “Let me check your pad.”  What?!  I was super-mortified.  Both by the fact I was wearing a pad, and because a total man-stranger wanted to look under my gown.  How much worse could it get?!

Since we were now so intimate, I felt like we should conversate.  I asked my nurse what he was doing for Christmas.  He said, “You just asked me that!”  Oh. . .  I didn’t remember the response, or asking the question.  I guess one of the side effects of the anesthetic is short term memory loss.  I tried another inquiry, I don’t even remember what is was now, but he said, “I already told you.”  I DO remember him mentioning his girlfriend of 5 years a bunch of times.  I don’t know what I said, but evidently it led him to believe I was hitting on him. Maybe he was just one of those lame guys that thinks he’s hot and EVERY girl is hitting on him.  I wasn’t, by the way—far from it!

Well, I hope I remember posting this, and I sincerely hope I feel better tomorrow.  I want to enjoy my day off!

Surgery Re-Cap [11-5-08]

1 Jan

After surgery, I felt fine.  Not overly happy or drugged from the IV, but not painful either.  I felt so well, that I found the prescription they gave me completely unnecessary.  It was all strong and had a lot of warnings on it anyway—I’ll save it for later.  I didn’t even need over-the-counter aspirin though!

Mostly my trouble was what to do in a vacated apartment for 4 or 5 hours.  I decided to eat some Doritos (yum) and watch “Pauli Shore is Dead”  I made it through the movie somehow, but by the time it was over I WISHED I had been drugged.  Wow, it sucks horribly—don’t watch it.

Lauren and Josh finally arrived and were overly cautious of my condition.  I suggested we go out and eat.  I was pretty stir-crazy by that time, as my day (aside from surgery) mostly consisted of waiting.  Suggestion:  Rainforest Café is yummy and reminds me of Vegas, so go there!

That night, I slept on a loveseat.  I’m pretty short, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have potentially been, but let’s just say it wasn’t the MOST restful sleep I’ve ever had.  Saturday, I had to get up at 7 am to make it to work on time.  Yeah, I worked half of Saturday the day after I had surgery, cause I’m hardcore like that.  Well, and there was no way out of it. . .

All in all the whole egg donating venture was pretty painless.

Sock Puppet

1 Jan

When I first woke up I thought it would be a good idea to take off my hospital socks.  I don’t remember if I was hot or what.  I, in fact,  don’t really remember the thought process behind that decision at all.  .  .  I took off those socks though!  Apparently, the hospital staff doesn’t want you to take off their socks.  My nurse immediately noticed I wasn’t wearing my socks, despite the fact my feet were under the covers.  She knew my feet were bare, and said, “Let’s go ahead and put your socks on.”  I was just like alright. . .  I figured why fight it—I don’t remember my reasoning for taking them off anyways. . .  It was quite random.

Not much happened after that, except I had to wait and wait. You are legally intoxicated 24 hours after you wake up from surgery (a cool fact I didn’t know before), so needless to say, you can’t drive yourself home.  Most people are picked up by family, but mine is super-far away.  Some are picked up by friends, but the people I know live 2 hours away from the hospital.  I was staying with friends (thanks Josh and Lauren!) in KC, but neither of them got off work until 6:30.  Lots of waiting. . .

I think the hospital was concerned about the trouble I could get into at the hospital, so they sent for a cab.

As I was waking up, they asked me my friend’s address.  I hadn’t been to their new apartment yet—I didn’t know.  My phone wouldn’t work in the wake-up area either, so I couldn’t ask.  The hospital staff just kept demanding repeatedly an address.  My friends were at work, which made the situation even MORE stressful.  I didn’t know what to do—I  was still a little muddy from the anesthetic, I guess.  Finally the nurse called my friend at her work herself, and obtained an address.  No one ever told me what that address was.  I was just relieved they stopped asking me questions I didn’t know the answer to.

I felt fine—completely normal, actually.  Mostly I was bored sitting there waiting for the cab to arrive.  It took the better part of an hour *yawn*  and when the cab DID arrive, I was not trusted to even stand up.  A nurse had to supervise me as I got dressed, which of course is mortifying.  She also thrust a pad at me.

TMI side story:  The only time I EVER wore a pad was the first day I ever had my period.  I was home alone and only used it because I wasn’t very familiar with the tampon.  As expected, the pad was uncomfortable, diaper-like (crinkling when I walked and sat), and dirty!  As soon as my mom got home that night, I received a tampon instructional and never went back.  I NEVER use pads—because they are filthy and disgusting.

Back to the point:  Even if I did use them, I certainly did not want to put one on in front of somebody.  As I dressed, I hid the unused pad in my bedding.  Crafty, huh?  Then, she put me in a wheelchair.  My first time being pushed was exciting.  But mostly because I don’t need anything like that in real life.

It was my first cab ride, but I was pretty sure that you were supposed to sit in back.  My nurse deposited me in the front seat.  I think it made my driver feel just as awkward as I felt. She handed my driver a voucher, then left us.  He immediately asked what my friend’s address was!  I STILL didn’t know.  He started pushing random things into his GPS, and drove aimlessly.  The toll clicked higher and higher as he drove.  He asked what neighborhood my friend lived in—I didn’t know.  He asked what state they lived in.  I thought probably Missouri, but didn’t know for certain if they were on the Kansas side.  It’s these kinds of thoughts that I look back on and come to the conclusion I WAS intoxicated, by the way.  I called my poor friend (at work) again, and got some highway numbers.  This satisfied the driver so I relaxed.

I observed a McDonald’s billboard advertising the new coffee beverages and asked my driver if he had tried them yet.  He said he hadn’t and asked if I wanted him to stop so we could get one.  I said no [in my head:  Dude, I was just making conversation].  Then, my driver seemed to be driving aimlessly again.  The toll was at $50 dollars or something and we were still on I-435.  Then, he pulled off the highway, and seemed to be heading in a bizarre direction.

This could have been a very perilous situation.  I’m all alone (and intoxicated) with this strange cab driver in a foreign place. Foreign in the sense I didn’t know it well, not actually in another country, mind you.  He got back on the highway, but then exited again, this time to fill his gas tank!  The entire time, the toll was ticking upwards!  Not very ethical—but I guess the hospital makes enough money to handle it.

Finally, we got to the apartment complex.  When it was in view, he stopped for me to get out.  Normally, this is whatever.  I don’t mind walking.  You have to remember I was loaded into the cab from a wheelchair!!!  What was he thinking making me walk 2 blocks?  Besides, he could have gotten that little extra (above and beyond the $78 he racked up from Overland Park to Blue Springs) toll from driving me up to the door.


Pre-Surgery #1

1 Jan

It was finally my big day of surgery.  I had been waiting for 2-4 months, and surprisingly, I wasn’t feeling scared.  First of all, it would be ridiculous to be afraid, since I was the one who WANTED to do this.  It’s not like I got sick or something and HAD to undergo an operation.  Secondly, I was more afraid of the drive to KC than anything.

I had to leave at 5 am to get to Overland Park by my surgery check-in time of 9:15.  I left early, because the surgery was on a tight schedule and precisely timed with my injections.  I was also unsure if the bug truck would make it, AND I knew I would have to deal with the morning traffic in the city.

I arrived to the hospital at 8:45, about a half hour early. Normally, you would think people would be happy that I was early.  The nurse was super disgruntled and rude.  She was like, “You know your check-in time isn’t until 9:15, right?”  I replied, “You know, I had to drive 2 hours to get here, right?”  Stupid bitch.  She kept complaining to co-workers right in front of me that she had to check in TWO patients at the same time.  Big fucking deal, lady!  At every place I’ve worked, I’ve had to deal with multiple customers at once—even at campus dining services!  Besides, if she really couldn’t handle it, all she had to do was ask me to sit in the waiting room, which by the way is there for just that purpose—waiting.  The bitchy nurse did not make it a good start to the day.

One funny thing about my check-in was the girl in front of me. See, they tell us to wear loose clothing, and it was the crack of dawn.  I had chosen to wear pink and purple PJ pants, with a pink tank, and a pink short jacket.  My hair was in pig tails.  The girl ahead of me was there at her correct check-in time and filling out paperwork.  She was wearing pink PJ pants, a pink tank, a pink short jacket, and had her hair in pig tails.  We were dressed as twins!  How embarrassing.


My Back Yard (Bummed)


A kind nurse led me to a back room containing 16 or so curtained “rooms.”  Patients, nurses, receptionists, and doctors wandered around the open area.  The nurse took my vitals (no surprise, I’m fatter) and led me to my curtained room, where she told me to remove all my clothes and put on the hospital gown and socks.  I tied the 3 closures on my gown and awkwardly stood in my curtain-way, if you will, waiting for someone to give me further instructions.  The next nurse had me lie in the bed and put an IV (set in the off position) in my hand.  She wanted me to sign paperwork-AFTER the (creepy) needle was in my wrist. That was difficult to say the least.  A couple more people came through and had me sign various documents.

Everyone seemed very concerned that I pee before surgery.  I hadn’t been able to eat or drink the 12 hours prior to surgery, and my STS disallows public bathrooms, so I didn’t have to go. They insisted.  A (male) nurse had to escort me, probably to make sure I didn’t fall and sue the hospital, and also to carry my IV bag.  My nurse walked me into the middle of the floor, holding my IV bag.  I was really freaking out, wondering if he would have to go IN to the bathroom with me.  This would be a nightmare, and I wondered how I would be able to go in front of some man-stranger.

In my frenzy, I wasn’t really thinking about anything else.  When we were about in the direct middle of the open area, my nurse grabbed the back of my gown and said, “I’ll I’ll take care of this for you!”  I totally mooned the whole damned place!  My closures apparently left me more than exposed, and I had been so worried about peeing that I had forgotten my naked booty.  I tried to play it cool and hide my mortification by saying, “I guess I don’t know what’s going on in my back yard.”  This is pre-drugs, by the way.

Now do you understand my mood for this blog-ha ha.  Oh—just to finish the story:  My nurse held the back of my gown closed and my IV bag, as we finished walking to the bathroom.  I was still concerned that my nurse would have to watch me pee, but luckily, he waited outside while I did my business.


Close to Death. . . Before I Even Enter the Hospital [10-5-08]

1 Jan

My car sucks.  The brake fluid has been leaking since about this time last year.  I would have to pour brake fluid in before I drove anywhere—it just became a part of my routine.  Before my big surgery, I had to drive 2.5 hours to Kansas city Monday, again Friday, drove there Sunday, came home Monday, and finally on Wednesday. . .  That was more wear and tear than my car could handle, and it started to overheat.  I would pour coolant in and before I even arrived in KC, it would already be over-heating.  I knew something was really wrong and was afraid to make the trip again.  Also, the surgery schedule was really tight and I didn’t want to mess all the preparation up by having car trouble.

I was already planning on renting a car to go to Oklahoma, so I called Enterprise to see if I could start my reservation 2 days early.  Randomly, on a Thursday in the fall, all their 13 cars were gone.  They had nothing but an obnoxiously huge Ford F140 truck.  I was pretty sure my car wasn’t going to make another drive to KC so I took it.

Chris was nice enough to drive me from work to the rental place.  I had to wait in line, and he was sort of lingering around, waiting for me.  I said, “You don’t have to wait for me, I’ll meet you back at work.”  He said he wanted to see me drive the truck.  He stayed to make fun of me—ha ha.  It WAS a pretty ridiculous sight.  Chris followed right behind me all the way back to work, probably laughing.

Everyone at work had to go look at the big monster, as I started calling it.  They were all laughing and joking about me driving it. Greg got the idea to send me across town to drop off the blood-work.  I pleaded with him not to make me drive that the big monster more than I had to, but he said it would be good practice.  On my way across town I started to hear a thumping sound.  I thought, oh great, I hit something and now I’m dragging it.  I checked the bottom of the truck when I got to the vet school—nothing.  Nothing was dragging and none of the tires appeared flat.  Was that noise there before?  Maybe.  I didn’t know.

When I got back to work I was a little worried about it, so I asked to Chris drive the truck around the block.  He was MORE than happy to take the truck for a spin.  When he came back he said, “Come look what I found in the parking lot.”  At this same time, Ewers tires next door called Noah’s Ark.  Chris had found a lug nut in the parking space.  Ewers had called to say the right front tire on the big truck was so loose it was about to fall off! All 4 lug nuts on the front right tire were so loose I could twist them off with my hand.

I was so scared and angry.  What if Dr. Greg hadn’t sent me across town with the bloodwork???  I would have driven that truck for the first time on I-70, on my way to Kansas City for surgery.  That tire would have fallen off at 70-80 MPH!!!  That would have killed me for sure.

Chris offered to jack the truck up and tighten the nuts.  I could have also gone next door and had them fix it quick.  I didn’t want the rental place to say I fixed it inappropriately and charge me though.  I also wanted them to know what happened.  I called over and they said, “Just bring it on back.”  I said, “You’re not understanding—the wheel is about to fall OFF, I can untighten those lug nuts with my HAND.”  They sent some old man over, and he took the truck somewhere.  Then, he came back and dropped the big monster off without talking to me.  I didn’t know where he had gone, or if he fixed it. . .

With all that drama, I wasn’t even nervous about my actual surgery at all.  I was just hoping at that point that I would arrive alive.

Eating for 17 [10-2-08]

1 Jan

As I said before, I’m selling my eggs.  I didn’t tell my parents because I did not want a moral dilemma.  Thanks to those of YOU blabbermouths who told them, by the way.  If my parents, for some reason, didn’t agree with me selling my eggs, I couldn’t go through with it.  I didn’t want to know if they didn’t agree, cause I could NOT say no to that $3,750!  That will help offset any debt I owe and ultimately fund school.  I NEED that money.

Ugh—all that birth control and the multitude of hormones stimulated my appetite.  They try to say BCP won’t make you fat—uh yeah it does.  I had never been on it before and as soon as I came off it, my eating returned to normal.  I didn’t notice ANY other side effects of all the hormones, just hunger.  I could eat constantly, and still be hungry.  My weight ballooned! Seriously, people who are 5’2″ should never gain 10-20 pounds (I became horrified and stopped weighing myself) in 10 weeks. Awful!  I hate to think how fat I will get if I ever have a baby for real.  If I gained so much after about 2 months, think about 9 months, ewww. . .

Selling eggs is not like donating sperm.  You don’t just walk in and jerk off in a cup.  It’s a 2-3 month deal—which is why they pay so well.  I went through the screening process, where they got my genetic history and had me complete quizzes and talk to a psychiatrist to make sure I’m not crazy.  Then they designed my profile and waited for an infertile couple to pick me.  Then the recipient woman and I went on birth control pills for 1 month to sync our cycles.  After that, they put me on 3 injectable hormones a day, which isn’t as bad as it sounds.  I just used tiny insulin syringes to poke myself in the booty.  You can poke yourself in numerous places, but I wanted to look normal in a bathing suit, as well as avoid looking like a heroin addict.

I also had to drive to Overland Park to get blood tests and ultrasounds.  These visits increased in frequency as the big day of surgery approached.  Towards the end, I had 9 eggs on the left side and 7 eggs on the right side.  Those 16 eggs, are not much more than a woman has during her normal cycle.  The drugs did make them larger than normal though.  Mine averaged 16 x 8 (I’m not sure what kind of units).

Oh, there was one injection I didn’t like much.  Two days before surgery I had to give myself an injection an inch below my belly button with a big needle.  It was a time-specific dose of GnRH, the main pregnancy hormone.  This helps release the eggs.  It was creepy giving myself an injection so close to my belly button, and it stung.  It hurt for about an hour after I administered it!  The next day, my abdomen felt heavy.  I FELT the eggs in there.  It was like I was weighed down.  At work, they were joking I had to drag my abdomen around.  What a strange feeling.

Anyway, my big surgery was scheduled for Friday, September 19.  It was crazy, because my dad was coming to town September 20-October 2.  Also, I had to go to Oklahoma for an interview September 23.  So surgery Friday, Dad Saturday, work the dumb weekend, then big interview Tuesday.  It was so busy I didn’t really have time to be nervous for any specific event.


Selling My Eggs (and I’m Not Talking Poultry) [9-14-08]

1 Jan

Oh, this is a little delayed.  I have actually been working on this endeavor since April or May.  I didn’t want to blog about it until it was a done-deal though.

I have been strapped for cash, you know needing to pay off credit cards, school loans, fix my car or buy a functional new one, or one of another billion things that I can’t afford on my current salary.  I work a lot, I just don’t have my big girl job yet, that’s all.  Anyway, I was selling things on Craigslist, doing whatever to make some money.  Rather than go to Moundhouse, I decided to sell my ova to an infertile couple.  No, not on the street, or as part of some weird three-some, or anything like that.  There is a reputable reproductive hospital in.  Kansas City that I found online.

The great thing is that there aren’t really any downsides.  The hormones are regular birth control then a couple of other dugs that have little to no side effects.  The number of eggs they take are no more than I would expel during a normal cycle, and I will still be able to have children if I want.    The surgery is as non-evasive as you can get—performed with a laser.  It’s all completely annomous.  Tiny-MEs will be running around KC, and the family can chose to send letters or photos or not.  The kid could find me when they are 18, but I’m ok with that—it might actually be cool to preview what my child might look like.

It’s a win-win deal.  Some couple who isn’t able to conceive a child will be given a family, and I will make $3,750.  Also, I can donate more than once—making the same money every time.  You can’t say no to that!