post-ex­trac­tion

Glamour (South Africa) - - Think -

Upon wak­ing up, I didn’t feel phys­i­cally dif­fer­ent at all. In fact, I hit up the mall soon af­ter leav­ing the clinic, as I was now what only my peers would con­sider a rich woman. I def­i­nitely felt the change emo­tion­ally, though. I don’t know whether it was be­cause ev­ery­thing had fi­nally sunk in or if it was be­cause of the way the doc­tors and nurses thanked me as if I had per­formed a mir­a­cle. I al­ways knew that my ac­tions were help­ing an­other fam­ily that was not able to con­ceive on their own, but I had never re­ally grasped how I had di­rectly im­pacted some­one else’s life for­ever. I wouldn’t de­scribe my­self as a very emo­tional per­son, but that re­al­i­sa­tion stayed with me long af­ter I left the clinic.

Months went by, I grad­u­ated, got a job and con­tin­ued to do­nate when­ever I re­ceived a call from Kinny. At this point, I had a steady in­come and wasn’t in it for the money any­more. Ev­ery time there was a suc­cess­ful preg­nancy that re­sulted from my eggs, the clinic would call me. I can’t re­ally de­scribe the feel­ing that came from re­ceiv­ing this news, but that alone was enough to keep me go­ing back.

Four years and six do­na­tions later (the max­i­mum you can do), I have zero re­grets. It’s not some­thing I’m shy to dis­cuss, but I don’t re­ally bring it up ei­ther. Ini­tially, my mother dis­ap­proved be­cause of the risks in­volved, but she’s since come around and thinks what I did was no­ble. As a nurse, she has been ex­posed to many women who have ex­pe­ri­enced dif­fi­culty bear­ing chil­dren. My fa­ther? Well, I don’t think he knows about it to this day, so that’s a con­ver­sa­tion worth look­ing for­ward to. My friends have al­ways been open­minded, though never with­out a sly com­ment. Now and then one of them will jok­ingly ask, “So, how many kids do you have now?” or “Kim, don’t you have like six baby dad­dies?”

For those con­sid­er­ing tak­ing this path, you might want to ask your­self if you would be able to cre­ate an emo­tional sepa­ra­tion from your eggs. For me, it was sim­ple, be­cause I’ve al­ways be­lieved that shar­ing DNA doesn’t make you a par­ent. And no, I’m not plan­ning on track­ing any fam­i­lies down, bang­ing on their doors and demanding my ‘child’ back. Be­sides, the clinic takes ex­tra pre­cau­tion to avoid those sce­nar­ios from ever oc­cur­ring by keep­ing all in­for­ma­tion about the child and fam­ily com­pletely con­fi­den­tial.

From a van­ity stand-point, I would have loved to see which of my genes I passed down. Did any of the chil­dren in­herit my green eyes, freck­les and curly hair? I guess I’ll just have to wait un­til I have chil­dren of my own. Well, if I have them. I’m not dy­ing to be a mother, but I’m not rul­ing it out, ei­ther. I feel like there’s so much I want to ac­com­plish first be­fore even con­sid­er­ing rais­ing chil­dren. So who knows, maybe I’ll start a fam­ily later in life. Maybe I’ll even end up on the other side of this whole thing, brows­ing through pro­files look­ing for my per­fect egg donor.

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