I just did the scariest thing I think I’ve ever done. I’ve never liked theme parks. I like dagwood dogs, churros and hotdogs – all of which are theme park related, but when it comes to rides, I’m petrified. What I just did is scarier than any theme park ride I’ve ever considered not riding.
In order to do what I just did, I needed to be pushed. A friend sat on the end of the phone chopping carrots while I did something that would potentially change my life forever. I made an appointment at Queensland Fertility Group. Well, I asked for one. They are going to ring me back with a time, but the first step is done. I sent a booking form, I registered for an egg freezing and sperm donor seminar in early February and put the referral for blood tests on the refrigerator door. It is done. The calculated plan of creating my own family has begun.
I’ve threatened since my early twenties that if I wasn’t married by 35 that I was going to buy myself a diamond, go to the Caribbean and inseminate myself. While it was not a hollow threat, it wasn’t something that I was hoping I would have to follow through with. But here I am. Thirty-five, no diamond, no Caribbean holiday and spermless.
My baby cousin, who is ten, was playing with my hair last week and asked me how many colours I had in my hair. I told her I had no idea and then she decided to count. She got to eight and stopped. There was a large pause and she announced it to my entire family on our Christmas holiday. ‘Eight!’ She announced triumphantly, ‘But if you count the grey it’s nine.’ They all laughed. It was funny. But what it really did was remind me that time doesn’t wait for you to catch up.
Life in the last little while has thrown some doosies. I changed my job, lost a parent, started a business, got a nephew, started moving in real estate, fell in love and am currently doing my best to fall out of it. Each one changed the way I see the world and how I move within it. I’m not ready, I’m not settled, I’m not prepared and I’m not financially ready to have a baby but when the choice is threatening to be removed, it’s terrifying.
I went to the doctor to talk about a plan for future solo parenting. Far future, two years down the line future. She was polite, supportive and not at all phased about me trying to become a single parent. She prescribed tests and smears and made lists of thing for me to do to get ready for the process. Then she says it. ‘You know we have to start moving on this immediately? They won’t freeze your eggs after thirty-five, so if that’s required, we need to do it now.’
She said it like it was a no brainer. Like she was reminding me about picking up milk on the way home. Like a reminder that dagwood dogs were not a healthy snack alternative. On my way out the door she throws in the kicker. ‘Make sure you call QFG and make your appointment now. You might have to wait and we might not be able to afford that.’ I left the doctor’s surgery slightly stupefied and still not having any idea what that would actually mean for me.
In the three weeks since walking out of the doctor’s surgery, I’ve managed to avoid it. I had a brushed over conversation with mum that I might have to freeze my eggs and then we talked about wine, Christmas and holidays. Anything we could to avoid the over arching fact that this was it. I am old (fertility wise) and I am starting a plan to BE a single parent.
It’s not a wish either of my parents had for me. It’s not a wish I had for myself but nonetheless that is where I am. It’s a decision that will not only affect me but it will affect my entire family. I will need them like I’ve never needed them before, and like always – they’ll step up to the plate. I know that I have enough to share a life with a kid. I know that it won’t be easy and I also know that the process is slow, painful and expensive. But there it is, with all of my grey hair and lack of compassion from time, I am going to try and have a baby. A real life baby. As much as my life hasn’t turned out the way I though it would the question of not being a mother was never really an option. I’ve been one all of my life.
So now I wait. Wait for the tests to be done, wait for the clinic to ring with an appointment date, wait for the date of the first egg freezing and sperm donor seminars to roll around and wait for it to sink in and not terrify the pants off of me. While I wait though, I’m going to the hairdresser. I am thirty-five, eight hair colours is way too many for a respectable grown woman. (not nine – grey is not a colour)
life in big frilly knickers 