Which way to BabyCo?

Once a couple of infertiles sign on for a donor egg cycle they kind of expect fireworks, girls marching to the accompaniment of a big brass band. At the very least the unfurling of a couple of streamers and the tossing of a handful of confetti would even suffice.

After great soul searching, we opened our minds and aging reproductive organs to the whole donor egg thing. We went on a clinic donor egg waiting list. We undertook mandatory counselling. We did all the stuff that is expected of couples in this position and even a bit more.We had arrived unfashionably late to the trying to conceive party. Our entree was a GP referral to a fertility clinic. We stayed on for five courses of IVF before being asked to leave just as the party began to get into full swing.

Our early fertility specialist discussions went pretty much the same way; “Too old, little chance of success – try donor eggs”, “Too old – try donor eggs”, “Too old” and finally; “Donor eggs.” The inevitable conversation settled into a rhythm all of it’s own momentum. My 45^th birthday officially marked our clinic’s use by date for my eggs. Poor cycle performance forced us to face facts. That shelf life had ended well before that date.

We had quietly started collecting our thoughts and hopes for a new future in donor eggs. We waited for other issues to resolve themselves. Then we would launch our campaign to find our own altruistic egg donor according to Australian rules. We had a plan. We had a goal.

So after the initial shock and elation of the unscheduled news from our usually bad news bearing fertility clinic we were left confused. They had found us an anonymous egg donor – no searching, no advertising, no begging required. It was so easy. Ahead of schedule we were on our way – again.

Slowly we discovered there were no clear guidelines on how to proceed. After days of drifting we became anxious about not letting this heaven sent pass us by. All the clinic could tell us was the donor was keen to “get going.” That was not a time-line with any real meaning. Eventually the idea would strike one of us. We should get an appointment with Dr Loverely. If anyone could help us unravel the invisible layers of the donor egg cycle, our enthusiastic young fertility specialist could.

Only thing was we had started out with Dr Loverely a few years back when he was brand new to consulting as an fertility specialist. Back in those days there was little trouble or time required in getting ourselves a booking to see him. With a growing reputation worthy of great popularity, accordingly we would have to wait some weeks for an appointment.

Those weeks passed excruciatingly slowly. Our hopes swayed exquisitely between choosing baby names and despairing of a life of certain childlessness. It was the best of baby times. It was the worst of baby times. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

The day of the appointment finally came about. After quick greetings we shared with Dr Loverely the news of the donor, and our idea for him to look after the cycle. He was thrilled; “It will be a delight…in fact it will be an honour.!” Our dream of having our preferred fertility specialist supervise our donor egg cycle from another clinic location was quickly becoming a reality. A quick read through the basic donor details we had been sent and it was; “You have won the donor jackpot!” a quick few phone calls and he had more information than we could ever have hoped to locate. Most importantly, the egg collection – he found – was to happen the next month. At most, we were six weeks away from the pointy end of the donor egg cycle. The dream was slowly, but surely becoming a reality.

Our faithful specialist spoke enthusiastically. We heard things that have never been uttered within our fertility earshot before; percentage chances of getting implantation, blastocysts, numbers to transfer, future frozen embryo transfers and more. We were flabbergasted. We were astonished. We were thrilled. The doctor sent us on our with a vague plan, and more hope than we ever dreamed of knowing in this search for our Wobble Baby.

We stumbled back out onto the street feeling giddy with our new heightened expectations.

Wobbles first words recalled an mega-baby department store advertising slogan that I would never have thought in one hundred full IVF cycles that he would have ever paid attention to; “Which way to BabyCo?”

Which way indeed. Never before had the direction seemed so clear.

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