A week ago, my period arrived 4-5 days early for the second month running — an alarming luteal phase of just eight days. This time, though, I felt like it was a very early loss. But, sadly, I was relieved. Only a day or two after I ovulated we learned that the genetics lab would expect “the majority, possibly all embryos to be abnormal” and I was worried that I might, in fact, be pregnant and miscarry again.
When I saw a massive drop in temperature at 5dpo, suggesting implantation, I was quietly terrified. When my period arrived, I didn’t experience the usual feelings of disappointment. I felt relieved. My period was the heaviest it’s been since my miscarriage, and I kept passing large clots. Physically, it felt similar to my miscarriage. Emotionally, I was grateful. I understood what was happening. My problem is not getting pregnant — miscarrying over and over and over again is.
Is this to be my life for the next two years or however long it takes to grow accustomed to the idea of using another woman’s genes? How much money will be wasted? How many miscarriages are you prepared to live through again? And if you did overcome the practically insurmountable hurdles of a) retrieving enough eggs, b) fertilizing enough mature eggs, and c) getting even one normal embryo, and did get pregnant, could you enjoy your pregnancy after all that stress? Could you relax knowing that at 16 weeks your amniocentesis might still give you devastating news? And how are you supposed to start all over again then, emotionally and financially depleted? And how much time will have been wasted? How many more pregnancy announcements can you live through, dammit? And when you have tried and failed, how will moving to donor eggs feel like a choice then?
But I couldn’t get past the thought that DH and I wouldn’t have a genetic child together if we used another woman’s eggs. Until I learned that there is a big difference between a genetic child and a biological child:
In a donor egg pregnancy, the pregnant woman’s womb is the environment. It is her genes, not the donor’s, that determine the expression of the donor-egg-baby’s genes. A donor-egg-baby gets her genes from the donor; she gets the ‘instructions’ on the expression of those genes from the woman who carries her to term. … The child who is born would have been a physically… [and] emotionally different person if carried by his genetic mother.
In horse breeding for example, it’s not uncommon to implant a pony embryo into the womb of a horse. The foals that result are different from normal ponies. They’re bigger. These animals’ genotype – their genes – are the same as a pony’s, but their phenotype – what their genes actually look like in the living animal – is different.
Source: Parents Via Egg Donation
As I would later explain to members of our family, Trying with my eggs almost guarantees failure. Using donor eggs almost guarantees success — if not at first, then eventually. And we’ll have the option of a sibling in a couple of years…
But it’s not easy, coming to terms with this. I’ve always loved breaking down people’s features to see what bits they inherited from whom. I am a real mixture of my parents, a living photographic morph:
| Mum | Dad |
| Nose | Eyes |
| Right Ear | Left Ear |
| Teeth | Mouth |
| Jaw | Cheekbones |
| Body Shape | Head Shape |
| Nails | Hands & Feet |
| Voice | Wit |
| Charm | Spirit |
| Love of Food | Love of Music |
It’s not even like I care about passing on my genes to someone else. I’ve been told they’re not that great anyway. But it saddens to know I’ll never have the experience of seeing what our genetic combination looks like. In a donor-egg-child, I will recognise the parts that come from DH and his family… but there will be traits, features, talents that we will deduce come from our egg donor, “Nellie,” and her family.
I hold on to the knowledge that traits like humour are not genetically inherited. I remind myself that my biology will also influence how Nellie’s genes are expressed. I’m 6’1″, but Nellie is 5’7″, and DH is 5’8″– but like the ponies in the example above, perhaps I will have tall children anyway.
Besides, when we are dead and gone, it won’t be our eye colour or our nose or height that people remember, is it? (Okay, people will probably remember that I am very tall, but I hope they will primarily remember me for my personality and deeds, and not what I look like.)
I quietly wrestled with this internal conflict for 36 hours before announcing to DH that I thought donor eggs was the best way to proceed. It had to come from me, you see. I watched as my husband took a deep breath and softly said, I think you’re right…
Slowly, quietly, we have shared our momentous decision with only a few of our closest friends and family who have given us their most emphatic and empathic support. We have explained that we are going to be honest with our children about their genetic origins, we’re not going to be open with the world at large. People can be unintentionally cruel, and we are already protective of our as-yet-to-be-conceived children. (Should you and I know each other from before I started writing this blog, on behalf of my future child/ren, I appeal to your conscience to keep this most private information to yourself and thank you for your discretion.)
I squeezed my eyes shut and saw my hand releasing a balloon against a dark sky filled with clouds and stars.
And so I let go of my genetic child.
Thank you so much for writing this. I know these posts are old, but I’ve been searching the internet for some comfort and understanding re: DE and I am so grateful to have found your blog. I’m struggling hugely with the decision to use DE and so much of what you’re saying rings true with me. It’s really, really helping, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Maggie! Your comment really moved me. I hadn’t read that post in a while, but it really took me back to grappling with such a big decision. I can tell you that 5 years later I don’t regret my decision one bit. I am a mum to a spectacular 3.5-year-old who has brought nothing but joy (and sleep deprivation and occasional frustration!) into our lives. I can’t imagine loving a genetic child more than I love her.
When I re-read my post, I both cringed and laughed. Back then, I couldn’t have imagined being as open about DE as I am now. Everyone in our lives knows. I’m *FACEBOOK* out, haha! I couldn’t have known back then how little I would care about the lack of a genetic connection. That’s not to say infertility grief and PTSD doesn’t occasionally read its ugly head, but I have no regrets. But it’s a process, and no one can do it for you. All we can do is support each other.
Keep in touch. I’ll send you a quick email, hope that’s okay xx
I sent you an email when I wrote my latest piece about seeing the beauty of family in my children to kind of give you a heads up to be gentle and only read when / if you are able. But I saw just a moment ago that the message bounced. (Turns out I’m having a problem with email, and a lot of stuff has bounced.) I wanted to drop you a line in any way I could. I hope leaving a comment is okay.
While I was writing my piece, I found myself wondering what would be different if my kids didn’t look like me at all. I’ve always wanted to adopt kids as well as have my own so it’s not like I think that I could only love and raise my genetic or biological children. I know I wouldn’t love them any less but it would have to be acknowledged, right? I mean, there would have to be some major processing in order to free the relationship with the child of a bunch of hang ups. The fact that you’re even walking down this path in so short a time after your diagnosis is,like, HUMBLING. The human capacity for love is remarkable, and you are a beautiful and remarkable human being. I love you, woman. I’m so lucky to know you.
Also, your information about the genetic / biological child is AMAZING. I honestly can’t thank you enough for sharing this. Of course it makes so much sense, since we know how important the environment of the mother’s body is to the develping baby, even long after birth. So much food for thought.
Much love.
I just left you a very heartfelt comment on your blog. (I accidentally hit publish before I was finished, so you’ll see the workings of my inner mind!) I am so very GLAD. At the risk of repeating myself a little bit, here’s what I want to say:
That you even thought of me and how I might respond (or react!) to your piece fills my heart with joy, Celeste. I am so very glad that you didn’t censor yourself. And I am really touched by your compassion and thoughtfulness towards me, a person you’ve never met. You are a friend indeed.
I am also glad that you thought of me because sometimes it’s another person’s situation that challenges us to look at our own situations differently. Your blog post forced me to think, okay, if I can’t pass on my great-grandmother’s mitochondrial DNA (something that was so important to me, I really hoped to have a daughter at some point) then maybe I can be satisfied with passing on her name, her sense of humour which I inherited — but not genetically! (Such traits are a case of nurture over nature.) And without her DNA, perhaps I wouldn’t have this glorious uterus to nurture my future babies.
So, thank you for your thought-provoking post. I am glad that I, in my own way, caused you to examine your thoughts a little deeper too.
Mostly, I am glad for your continued friendship, love, and support. I love you too!
Hi Lauren,
I think you are making a great choice! Very interesting details about the genetic vs. bio child. I had no idea there would be a difference.
I was wondering, how does the IVF donor egg process differ since you have a short luteal phase? I have a 10-day luteal phase which my doctor is concerned about. I’m starting estriodol and endometrin on my next luteal phase to support implantation. However, I’m not doing IVF.
-Jackie
Thanks, Jackie! It was a big decision, but one we feel good about — especially since we learned the difference between a genetic child and a biological child.
I’m not too familiar with the process, and especially not as compared to regular IVF. As I understand it, my luteal phase will be fixed by giving me hormones — but they are those same (I believe!) hormones that would be given in regular IVF anyway, for the whole of the first trimester. I would imagine that you and I will take the same or similar hormone supplements. When I have more information, I will share it!
This IS a big deal.
The letting go may be a process. (It still saddens me to have lost that genetic connection with a partner, though I’m sure the sadness will fade into the background if/when I do have a child.) Anyway, it sounds like you’re reaching a point of some real peace. And that info about gene expression is fascinating. In a way, your child WILL still be a combination of you and your DH, plus this additional person who helped make it possible.
I keep going back to your paragraph in italics and that anguish of feeling stuck. When all of the current options bring up more dread than excitement, yes, maybe it is time to let go and try to make space for something new.
Wishing you the very best of luck!
Ah, Hope, different though our situation may be, what parallels there are. My consolation is that I will carry my child/ren. When (not if!) you have a child, none of this will matter. This is what I have been told by many women who have gone before us.
A friend of mine — someone I didn’t know all that well until we connected over our pregnancy woes, and with whom I am now quite close — is currently pregnant with her first child. Like you, she is single. All I can tell you, from her experience, is that it can be done.
So here’s to making space for something — and someone — new.
So much love to you xx
Wow. This is a big one. I knew you were headed here, but hearing about you making the decision is still emotional. I’m excited for you because this feels like a new chapter. No guarantees of joy and success, but just hearing you talk and reading your words lets me know this is so right for you. XOXOXOXOO
Yes! This is how I feel entirely. I am happy to read your version of my story! xoxoxo