Lesson two: Fertility preservation isn’t just about science
Lessons from the Waiting Room
When I decided to freeze my eggs, I naively thought the hardest part would be the science. The needles, the hormone injections, the ultrasounds—I braced myself for a physically demanding process. What I wasn’t prepared for was the emotional journey that came along for the ride. If you’re imagining a calm, rational experience where you simply pay the fee, do the shots, and waltz out with a set of neatly frozen eggs—let me stop you right there.
Egg freezing is not just a medical procedure; it’s an emotional odyssey that forces you to confront your deepest fears, desires, and doubts.
Let’s start with the forms (yes, the forms)
Before you even start injecting yourself with hormones, you’re handed a stack of paperwork that feels more daunting than a mortgage application. You’re asked to make decisions about things you’ve barely considered.
“What do you want to do with your eggs if you die?”
It’s a surreal moment, sitting there alone, trying to imagine scenarios where your future self is either no longer here or no longer in a position to use these eggs. It’s not the kind of existential crisis you expect to have on a Tuesday morning, but there you are, initialling next to options like donate to science or destroy.
The hormones are just the beginning
Once you’ve tackled the paperwork, it’s time to move on to the hormones. These tiny vials pack a punch, both physically and emotionally. On the surface, it’s simple enough: mix the solution, inject it into your stomach, and move on with your day. But what they don’t prepare you for is the wild rollercoaster of emotions that come with it.
One minute, you’re crying over a coffee commercial. The next, you’re filled with unexplainable rage because your friend dared to send you a text that said “Hey, hope you’re doing okay!” (How dare they, right?)
And then there’s the bloating. I went from feeling like myself to resembling a human water balloon in a matter of days. My clothes stopped fitting. My patience for anything remotely annoying disappeared. And don’t even get me started on the cravings—I could have eaten my weight in salt-and-vinegar chips.
The waiting room feels different when you’re alone
During the process, I spent a lot of time in the clinic’s waiting room. It wasn’t lost on me that most of the women there were part of a couple—partners holding hands, whispering quietly to each other. Meanwhile, I sat there scrolling through Instagram, pretending I didn’t notice.
The truth is, being there alone felt… complicated. I was proud of myself for taking control of my fertility, but I couldn’t help feeling a little out of place. Society has this way of making single women feel like we’re in a holding pattern, waiting for life to really begin when we meet someone. Being in that waiting room was a reminder of how much I was stepping outside the usual script.
But here’s the thing: I wasn’t waiting for someone else to make decisions for me. I was taking charge of my own story, and that mattered more than any awkward glances or silent judgments.
And then there’s the price tag
Let’s talk about the elephant in the room: the cost. Freezing your eggs is expensive, and it’s not a decision most people take lightly. Every step of the process—from the initial consultation to the medication to the storage fees—comes with a price tag that adds up fast.
And the emotional cost? That’s harder to quantify. There’s the weight of wondering if you’ll ever actually use these eggs, if they’ll lead to the future you hope for, or if they’ll simply sit frozen forever, a reminder of a path not taken.
What I wish I’d known before freezing my eggs
Looking back, there are a few things I wish I’d known before I started this journey:
It’s okay to feel all the things. You’re allowed to feel empowered and terrified at the same time. Freezing your eggs is a big deal, and it’s okay to acknowledge that.
Support is essential. Whether it’s a friend, a therapist, or a community of women who’ve been through it, having people you can lean on makes all the difference.
This is about more than biology. Freezing your eggs isn’t just about preserving fertility; it’s about preserving hope. It’s about giving yourself options and taking a step toward a future that feels uncertain.
It doesn’t solve everything. Freezing your eggs is empowering, but it’s not a guarantee. It doesn’t magically fix the uncertainty of life or erase the pressure of the ticking clock. What it does do is buy you time to figure out what’s right for you.
The emotional takeaway
For me, the process of freezing my eggs wasn’t just about biology—it was about reclaiming my narrative. It was about saying, “I get to decide what my future looks like, even if it doesn’t fit into society’s neat little boxes.”
It’s not an easy decision, and it’s not one-size-fits-all. But for those of us who take this step, it’s a reminder that we’re allowed to take up space, to live life on our own terms, and to hope for a future that’s uniquely ours.