DD Day

Today, December 31, 2011, the last day of an already momentous, blessed year, is DD day.  Donor Decision Day.  Just moments ago, S and I purchased our donor sperm.  The sperm that will be used to help bring our first child into the world.

A year and a half ago, in June 2010, we found this donor at a cryobank and put his profile into our "favorites."  There was something about it that felt pretty good.  We knew the basic stats of the donor (height, weight, eye color, hair color).  And we read his basic medical history and personal essays.  We saw the "celebrity look-alike photos" and thought he seemed like a pretty good match for S.  And then we stopped searching for a while.  I actually forgot that we had even saved any profiles.

I logged in to our cryobank account about a month ago, when we started looking seriously at donors once again.  S and I went through many searches, and still, the donor we had selected not only had IUI vials available, but still felt like a really good option.  We ordered his full medical history and learned about the health of his family, including his siblings, parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents.  All the information checked out.  We were almost ready to make a decision.  The only significant dilemma was that he was an open (identity-release) donor; we had been very clear that we only wanted an anonymous donor.  So I called the cryobank to ask about our options.  There was nothing they or we could do to change the status.

During the past week, we sat with the information, read study after study about the benefits of open versus anonymous donors ("the internet is very biased toward open donors," said S to me in a frustrated text message).  We sat and felt and talked and cried.  We looked at other donors.  S found one other that felt pretty good to him, and it turned out he was an open donor as well.  We fought each other and wrestled with the information and the implications.  We decided we needed more information.  So we purchased a subscription for access to more information about all the donors in the bank - including childhood photos.

When I opened the file containing the single childhood photo of our first-pick donor, my heart jumped.  I grinned at my computer screen.  I couldn't believe how much the baby picture resembled S.  And at the same time, of course I could.  The eyes, the mouth, the forehead - all the major features of this donor look stunningly like S.  Meanwhile at home, S had pulled out his own baby pictures and was staring at them in shock. 

S and I are both people who live our lives and make our decisions by listening to our hearts and our guts.  And both of our guts, time and time again, said this was the one.  S said he was trusting the universe, that there was a reason the donor about which we felt so strongly happened to be open.  He said he wanted to listen to the signs.  So we did it.  We are now the proud owners of five vials of IUI-ready, identity-release donor sperm.

Let the new year begin.

Cycle Day 3

I went to the clinic for "morning monitoring" today.  I wasn't quite sure what to expect; all I anticipated was I would be given a prescription for Clomid to help induce ovulation.  When I arrived, I was instructed to go to billing first to get "clearance" from my insurance company to begin with the cycle of insemination.  A nurse then drew some blood, and I was ushered into a small examination room and instructed to undress from the waist down and wait for the doctor.

I struggled with this.  I was worried about sitting on the examination table while bleeding.  I worried about making a mess.  I have a lot of shame about that stuff.  I also hadn't been able to shave my legs that morning since there had been no hot water in our apartment at 6am (I heated water on the stove and took a bucket bath), and I had shame about that, too.  And my toenail polish was a mess.  I worried about being judged, about being perceived as "unclean."

I gave myself a pep talk ("this is a reproductive health clinic, hello, they see hairy legs and bleeding vaginas all the time" and "obviously you're going to get some blood on the examination table, that's why there's a big padded disposable cloth there" and "there is NO WAY to control the bleeding, it's not your fault if I make a mess, you won't have done anything wrong.")

The doctor visited promptly and conducted a quick vaginal ultrasound to make sure it was okay for me to start Clomid.  She showed me each ovary on the screen and said, "those dark, round spots are early eggs."  She told me I looked good, that I was ready to start a cycle.  I smiled with anticipation.

The beautiful thing about this process so far is each visit where I am poked and prodded helps me become more comfortable with my body.  The fact that every doctor I've worked with at the clinic has been exceedingly kind, patient and gentle has been a blessing.  I walked out of the clinic with a prescription in my hand, and was told to return next Thursday, 1/5 (cycle day 10) for another ultrasound.  I didn't feel ashamed.  I felt proud.

The Cryobank, and Open vs. Anonymous Donor

I called our potential cryobank today to ask some basic questions about storage and shipping, and about a potential donor.  We have until December 31st to purchase the vials we'd like to use if we want to get in on the 2011 rates.  Because we are nearing the time of our first insemination, this is important to us.  We've mostly settled on a donor and still feels good/right to us, and we're about ready to purchase the specimen.  The only challenge is that it's an open donor, meaning our child would have the option to try to potentially contact the donor through the cryobank once he/she turns 18.  S and I want use an anonymous (closed) donor with no option to contact.  I called the cryobank to ask about this concern and what our options might be.  The conversation went something like this:

Me:  "My partner and I have decided on a donor, but it's an open donor and we were hoping to use an anonymous donor.  Is there anything the cryobank can do to change the status or remove the option to contact on our behalf?"

Staff:  "Well, it's totally up to you.  If you choose not to tell your child how they were conceived, that's up to you."

I was in shock.  Implicit in that statement was so much judgement, so much assumption.  My mind raced as I struggled to rephrase my question.

Me:  "The issue is, we don't want to have the option to contact the donor.  Can you convert an open donor to an anonymous donor?  Is it possible to just seal the records or something?"

Staff:  "Again, that's totally up to you.  You can just not share the information about conception with the child."

I was hitting a wall.

Me:  "That is not the issue.  We are a queer couple, and we do plan to disclose information about conception with our child.  The issue is that we do not want to have the option to contact the donor, and would prefer for him to remain anonymous.  Are you telling me there is nothing you can do?"

Staff: "No," she said.  "We cannot change the status."

I told her I understood, thanked her, and tried to end the conversation.  She realized I was put-off and tried to say something "counselor-like."  But her comments were still based on judgement, still based on assumptions about who we are and how we will choose to parent our future child(ren).  I thanked her again and hung up the phone, shaken and angry.  That she assumed choosing an anonymous donor meant we would deceive or lie to the child, or that she was promoting that as an option at all, was just so surprising, irresponsible, and ignorant to me.

The truth is, we are a heteroqueer couple.  And as such, our experience resembles that of an infertile heterosexual couple more than it does that of a same-sex couple.  While we are proud queer folks who are out within our community and most of our lives, and we will be out to our children and raise them with love and honesty and with a fierce, loving queer family, we at the same time live in the world being perceived ("passing") as a straight couple.  We live with that privilege, we mostly relate to each other and to the world in straight, gender-conforming roles.  Our reality is different than that of a same-sex couple or a single parent where it is a given that to conceive a child there had to be another party involved.  In those family contexts, choosing an open or known donor may make sense.

Within our family structure, S will be the father of the baby, and I will be the mother.  S has expressed that to know there is a donor out there in the world with whom we and our child might someday have contact is at best, uncomfortable, and wost, very threatening.  As a trans man, his experience includes a desire to be able to produce sperm and conceive his child biologically.  To not have the capacity to do so is a profound struggle for him, and in many ways mirrors the experience of an infertile heterosexual cisgender man.  While I can't represent the depth of his thoughts and feelings about this myself, I had decided early on in this process that because I will be the biological parent of this child, S has the full right to examine his range of emotions and make a decision about the donor that feels right for him.

We have given this decision a lot of thought.  We have researched, we have read, we have talked with folks in a support group at the LGBT center.  And yes, we decided that we would be more comfortable with an anonymous donor.  We will continue to examine this decision with our whole hearts.  We are committed to honesty with ourselves, and honesty with our child, however challenging the journey may be.

Cycle Day 1

Yep, that's right.  I got my period today while at work.  I sat in that bathroom stall looking down for a good five minutes.  I felt like I had just gotten a positive pregnancy test result (or a  BFP - big fat positive - in TTC - trying to conceive lingo).  I wanted to call S, or jump up and down, and I couldn't stop grinning.  All I was looking at was a little dark splotch.  Yet I felt excitement and anticipation coursing through my body, realizing that while the past seven weeks of testing and planning and getting all our ducks in a row have been the beginning of our baby-making journey, it has all felt theoretical until now.  As of today, we are starting our first real cycle of TTC. 

I feel excitement in my toes.  I am ready.

Progesterone, Part II

I finally finished my 10-day course of progesterone last night... thank goodness.  It was a roller coaster ride.  In short, I was a M-O-O-D-Y moodson for the past week.  Feeling really grumpy, overwhelmed by everything going on in my day-to-day life (like waking up for work, cooking, cleaning and grocery shopping), hating the city and how hard it is to navigate, frustrated and irritable overall. I just didn't feel like myself.  It was NOT fun, and makes me nervous about how the Clomid is going to affect me.

Luckily, S was an incredibly patient partner.  He helped remind me that hormones are super powerful, and that I might be feeling overwhelemed because of them.  He supported me daily, listened to my complaints, and hugged me.  I was so grateful to him for his understanding, and for not becoming overwhelmed himself, even though his mom is visiting for the holidays and he's got a lot on his own plate.

Now it's a waiting game again.  Everything I've read indicates it could be anywhere from 2-14 days before I get my period.  Once I do, I'll head back to the clinic for my first round of Clomid.  One day down.

Caffeine Free

I finally did it!  I woke up one Saturday morning and said, "I'm going cold turkey."  No more coffee, no more caffeinated earl grey. 

It has now been three weeks, and I'm going strong on decaf earl grey every morning.  Soon to step down to herbal.  The only side effect has been more yawns around the 3pm hour.  Nothing too unmanageable.  Let the fertility boost begin!

Progesterone

It has officially been 39 days since my last period, so the doctor instructed me to report to the clinic to begin a round of progesterone (which should ultimately result in me having a period).  I'll be taking a 10mg pill per day for 10 days.  And from what I've read, it could take up to two weeks following the last pill for me to start my period.  If it ends up taking the long route, that puts our first possible IUI in early to mid January.  Which is a few weeks later than I had originally anticipated.  But right now,  I'm ok with that.  S's mom comes to town for three weeks starting tomorrow, and the idea of going through the first insemination during her visit is less than desirable.  I want us to have the emotional space to share in the experience in as relaxed, connected, and positive way as possible, and that will require us to be present with one another.

I'm still committed to trust the process.  I trust that the timeline we're on is right for us.