Freezing My Eggs At 19

This past week I’ve spent most of my mornings at a fertility clinic and all of my nights (@8pm) doing self injections for an egg harvesting process. The intention behind this is kind of like an insurance policy (my dad will love this analogy). It’s so that I have a safety net of options when I want to have little clones down the line, as chemotherapy increases the risk of infertility. I wasn’t ready to share this step on social media yet because for some reason I though that people would automatically assume that I can’t have children naturally in the future- which is not true. Essentially, I’m taking a conservative approach by freezing eggs so that I can ensure things run smoothly in however many years. 

Fertility appointments at 19😵…am I right???

Here are some messy thoughts that I will share: 

Cancer & Timing

At my initial consultation about two weeks ago my doctor mentioned to my family that “we need to start discussing family planning options” to which my mom replied “yes but that’s much further down the line…right?” Well, everything regarding treatment is moving much faster than I ever could have expected. I started the treatment process nine days from that initial conversation. Nine days felt too soon. Even talking about family planning/freezing eggs felt too soon…. like ummmm 10-15 years too soon. I’ve learned that there will never be a right time for any of this. Sitting in a fertility clinic waiting room with a bunch of older women who are trying to get pregnant feels wrong. Injecting myself with needles every night feels wrong. Sharing personal information about fertility at age 19 feels wrong. Getting breast cancer in the middle of college feels wrong.

Despite this, I’m not convinced there is “better” timing for any of this. Would I have rather had cancer a few years back in high school? Or later, when I’m starting a job? Would I have rather been harvesting eggs when I’m 30 because I -actually- can’t get pregnant? The timing for all of this is wrong, and yet, it never would have been “right” or “better.”’

I am proud of myself for accepting the wrong timing enough to sit and listen to the information given to me, survey my options, and make a decisions for myself. I will continue to do this for the remainder of my treatment.

Self injections

Lets talk about it because MAN… stabbing myself with needles really stunk!!!

Three injections a night, ~in the stomach~, @8pm for ten days straight. And one of them burns... a lot

Self injections have taught me that this process may be equally, if not more, a mental challenge than it is physical. (And that is not to discount or underestimate what I will physically endure because I feel like if I do I’m gonna be sh!t on by idk what higher power.)

The first injection I did was mentally super tough. Obviously it’s extremely counterintuitive to stab yourself with a sharp needle when you really don’t want to. This remained difficult until my last injection but my anticipation time went from minutes of sweating to just seconds of hesitation and by the end, I was a pro self injector. I realized that when I had control over my mental state and reduced nerves, the actual pain was easiest part. I’m hoping this is true for parts of chemo/ surgery- and I am certain that hair loss is entirely a mind game- but that, we will talk about another time;)

“I Don’t Have Time In My Schedule For Cancer”

The other key element of the self injections was the timing of the 8pm routine. A cancer survivor recently wrote to me that “she didn’t have time for cancer in her schedule.” I adore this sentiment and believe I embody it too in a lot of ways. This week I’ve had parties and dinners and hangouts with friends and self injections don’t exactly fit into my schedule. But I made them. This looked like leaving a party with my classic “don’t miss me too much” to sit in the back of the car with my mom, who helped me greatly along the way, and returning 20 mins later with a smile on my face, eager to get back to dancing and normalcy. This looked like setting up needles and sanitizer on the women’s restroom counter in the middle of my dad’s birthday dinner. This also looked like, some nights, staying home, because it was easier that way, and laying on the floor with nausea from the abundance of needles and lack of food that day due to a low appetite. 

Generally, I handled the 8pm routine like a champ and didn’t let it take over my life. I hope this is at least a vague metaphor for what chemotherapy will look like. 

__________________________________________________________________________

Today, I am celebrating a tiny, tiny, tiny win in hopes that I can channel this mental fortitude and use this win when I need a little extra boost, or simply a reminder about how powerful I really am.  

So… we have eggs on ice.  May they never be needed, and donated to science down the road after I have my kids on my own and get to bring them into this weird, messy, beautiful world. 

That’s all for now. T-1 day until the commencement of chemo and a whole new chapter of life.

XO,

M