Take it.

A recent thread on a friend's facebook wall has got me upset. It starts off innocently enough with a new fb friend posting on his wall, thanking him for playing a fundraiser. He responds asking after a youtube video she had told him made her cry with laughter. She posts a link to the video.

Let me describe it for you. It's a community hall looking wedding, people are dancing, the DJ is on stage half-heartedly slurring stuff into the mike. He lethargically wanders stage right where a young woman is standing, without missing a beat he walks up to the woman and slaps her breasts back and forth to the music. The scene is played back again in slow motion but this time with different music that syncs up to the slowed down version of the hitting of the girls breasts. You know, in case we didn't get it.

I was horrified watching this video. I'm still horrified. In no way did I find the video even close to funny. The fact that someone laughed so hard they cried blows my mind. My friend posted a response saying he didn't find it funny, he found it sad and indicative of a society that finds it acceptable for men to work their frustrations out on women. The girl who posted the video responded: "c'mon, boob drums are pretty funny. And really - it's sad for the woman, but she just stands there and takes it - she doesn't do anything about it."

This response makes no sense to me, and at the same time confirms so much of what I already know.

The person who posted this video on my friends wall seems to be saying that the girl who is being assaulted is making the choice to let it happen. Why don't we look at the choices the DJ is making instead? From where I stand he's the one making bad - like criminal - choices. I'd also like to question the choices of the person who posted that video on youtube.

And if we do want to question why the woman doesn't appear to react, maybe we should wonder if she is in shock. Perhaps it seems so completely unbelievable that someone would walk up to her, in front of a room full of people, and just take a bunch of swats at her chest. Maybe she needs a minute to figure out if she is actually awake and if this is a fucking nightmare or not. Maybe right after the video ends she pushes him away. Maybe (since she's standing on stage with him) she's his employee and she's afraid to lose her job. Maybe she's been conditioned to think that this sort of thing is okay. I don't know, youtube doesn't provide context. It's worth noting (although it shouldn't be) that none of these 'maybes' make what that DJ did okay. I'm less concerned about all the possible reasons she appears not to react and more concerned about why this creep felt comfortable assaulting her like that. And he felt comfortable, he did it in front of a room full of people.

I was trying to figure out why this back and forth on my friend's wall enraged me so. Not that I don't think it's worth being enraged about. It totally is. But usually I'm pretty good at weathering other people's ignorance or awfulness with mild discomfort or a little condescending pity. I know this person to the extent that we have the one facebook friend in common. Her awful views on what constitutes humor shouldn't bother me so much. I should shake my head, give my friend a high five for calling her on some bullshit and move on with my life. But this exchange really got under my skin. Something inside me is not letting go. I've been reflecting on the feeling a bit and I've realized that for me it feels closely related to the experience I had earlier this year when a man masturbated outside my window while filming me. The next day I told some people at work what had happened and some people automatically started making jokes about it. It's not that I don't get why people deal with uncomfortable situation by making jokes, but just 'cause I get it doesn't excuse it.

I think the idea of this video being perceived as funny triggered me because it reminded me of feeling extremely vulnerable and scared and angry and shameful and exhausted. And then on top of all these emotions, on top of dealing with a very traumatizing event, I also had to hear people I care about make lazy one liner quips about it.

This is a video of a girl being assaulted. A very specific and personal incident of assault is being treated like a joke. Not only that but when confronted with the possibility of this not funny thing actually not being funny the person's defense was that the girl "just stands there and takes it." How the hell does that make it funny? You had better be doing some serious bottling of some serious shit to pull off that fucked up logic. How do you justify focusing all attention on the woman and none of it onto the DJ and his actions. This weird (read: completely fucked) way of viewing the dynamics of this video highlights a very upsetting trend in our society to make it seem as if the victim (and it seems to me especially if the victim is a woman) was complicit (she was wearing skinny jeans) in their own assault.

It also brings up another issue I've been thinking about lately, which is the way people seem to ignore or rationalize away actions that are not okay in their day to day lives. The person who found this video funny probably wouldn't have also posted a video of a woman being raped, telling everyone she laughed so hard she cried. There's something about this assault that makes it not assault to some people, and I'm not sure what it is. Or maybe I'm giving her too much credit, for some people there clearly is no line.

I think we can talk about assault and rape and sexism and racism and all sorts of bigotry and violence in an informed way; and a lot of the time I think talking about these things effectively can and does involve humor. All of my favourite comedians are able to address issues of sexism, racism, homophobia, fat-phobia, etcetera with humor. The awful things people say and do to each other really are absurd; an intelligent person can draw out the absurdity and make us laugh at it. But laughing at a bit by Louis CK is different than laughing at a specific and personal instance of violence.

Music during yoga class is the worst.

I used to think maybe music during yoga class is only the worst when the music is horrible. You know the music with 'exotic' instruments and a Sarah McLaughlin impersonator singing about the earth being the mother of us all, and returning to it, and om. The worst. Last night I went to a yoga class and the instructor was playing music I know, and some that I like. Turns out that's worse. At least I want to block out the crappy music, it actually helps me be more aware of my breathing and my body because it's beneficial for me not to hear terrible music. But when it's music I like or at least know the words to it's way more distracting. Don't play Fast Car by Tracy Chapman and then talk all the way through it. Shut-up yoga instructor I'm having a nostalgic moment here. And don't play fucking Dave Matthew's Band during savasana, that shit reminds me of high school and how much my friend Claire and her boyfriend liked that band, you brought me back to high school yoga. What the hell?

Can we just agree that listening to music during yoga is stupid? Can someone really give me a good reason for it? It's not like they play it loud enough that it drowns out fart noises or something.

I'm tempted to get yoga-teacher certified so that I can teach classes and play nothing but gangster rap. You know, just to make a point.

Fort McMurray

I finally made it up to Fort McMurray. Which has never been a goal of mine.

This past Friday Matthew went up to Fort Mac to play Jazz standards and Christmas carols for the Syncrude regional managers Christmas party. I went with him, but I wasn't actually allowed into the party. I entertained myself by watching ER Vet and some movie with Alec Baldwin in it. During set breaks Matthew snuck scotch, port, and an assortment of food up to our hotel room for me. I don't have cable at home, or 12 year old scotch, so the whole thing was quite novel for me.

When I decided to accompany Matthew to Fort Mac I contacted an acquaintance Jasmine who works there. Jasmine and I have a lot of mutual friends, and lived in Toronto at the same time. Once I ran into her when Guy and I were running home from the bar (I had decided it was taking to long to walk). Shortly after running into Jasmine I fell and fucked my foot up. I'm not blaming her. It's just a memory I have.

Jasmine and I made plans to grab a drink or two, which ended up happening late because she had to go do some work at a site that was pretty far out of town. We got to the bar around 11:30. Women are out numbed quite significantly by men in Fort Mac. It made for an interesting dynamic at the bar. It was just Jasmine and myself and we were sitting in a corner by the pool tables talking. We got a lot of attention. Conversation starters were usually come-ons but I found that once we started talking to the guys they just seemed happy to have a conversation with a woman.

I didn't see much of Fort Mac, but when I was in the bar I got this funny feeling. As if I had just assumed the place I lived was so much better than here, and that by association I was too. Then I thought: this is what almost everyone thinks when they come to Edmonton, and I hate it. I make a choice to live in this city, and it may not be perfect and I may not always love it, but it's a conscious choice I've made. I encounter people all the time who tell me where they're from like they're insulting me. They might as well say sorry disdainfully after saying Toronto or Vancouver or Victoria.

I really didn't see much of Fort Mac. Just the hotel, the strip of road to the bar, the bar itself, and a gas station, but I got the sense that not a lot of people wanted to call it home. It has a very transient vibe to it.

At least I can check 'Going to For Mac' off that list I don't have now.

I'm pretty proud of this email I sent to my good friend Zach:

I worked at the outlet gravity pope store today. I psyched myself up for it to suck, so it wasn't so bad. The people were fun, also I made a point of being slightly ridiculous. Both with customers and the people I was working with. I think it made the people I was working with like me more. I don't know about the customers, and I don't really care. There's this one pair of unbelievably ugly shoes, a 3-d satin flower bud is involved (IMAGINE IT), and my goal all day was to get someone to try it on. If I saw someone browsing near the shoe I'd ask them what size they were. If they were a ten I'd grab the shoe, hold it up and say " would you please try this on for me?" No one bit. Because they were all humourless and lame! OBVIOUSLY.

Anyway. That was a story.

I miss you a lot. I'm really feeling your absence, and I'm really excited to see you (sorta soon!) in December. I feel almost strange about meeting up with you in New York, like you'll be a different person. Don't get a sex change, kay? Just kidding, even with a vagina you'll be be my friend with a beard.

Love you lots,

b

Whoa. Is it six am? I don't remember that happening. These meatballs are good.

Mom, sushi, etc.

Autumn in Edmonton is beautiful. The leaves are all yellow and on the ground, and it's still warm enough (sort of) to justify wearing short-shorts.

I went to a sushi place for dinner with my mom tonight. We haven't hung out in awhile and there's something about being around her that makes water just pour out of my eyes sometimes. I was getting all emotional and trying to look at anything but her -- so that I wouldn't cry -- and the only thing I could find was this piece of cloth hanging behind her that had a bunch of sumo wrestlers on it. I was staring at the their huge bellies and sort of saggy, but really muscular, arms and all I could think was "god, I feel like I'm in an indie movie."

That reminds me, when I was a kid I had trouble remembering how to spell piece. My mom told me she remembered how to spell it by thinking "I'd like a piece of pie" (you know, because pie is the first part of piece). I still think about that every time I write piece. I also think "people eat orange peels like elephants" every time I spell the word people.

Baby Cocktails

I've recently started my own business, a cocktail catering company called Distill. So far I've made drinks for a wedding and a garden party. Both lots of fun. Next week I'll be doing a tasting at deVine Wines and Spirits. Serious stuff. Let's get drunk.


Some people might enjoy a wrap up regarding the whole egg donation/hyperstimulation thing? I'm afraid the conclusion is a little anticlimactic. It doesn't seem to have taken. Meaning, no one is pregnant (at least not with my genetic material). A few months after the retrieval I inquired about how it was going. I was informed that the first try hadn't worked but they were trying again. I haven't heard how that went, and I'm assuming, in this case, that no news is in fact bad news. It's a little disappointing for me, and obviously much more disappointing for the prospective parents (but since I don't actually know how they're doing, I'll just continue to write about myself). I eventually deflated, which was a relief. I know it's not all that logical but I was a little worried I'd never be back to my normal self. I completed my New York and London trip, albeit an abbreviated version, and I've been back in Edmonton (and gone again) for some time. I guess I'll add donating my eggs to that list of possibly-inappropriate-but-way-more-entertaining-than-small-talk discussion starers.

Hyper Stimulation

This is a little overdue. But here's what happened shortly after the retrieval.

I felt fine until about midnight, then I started feeling really uncomfortable. It got to the point where I was in so much pain that I decided I should go to the hospital. Matthew and I got in a cab and went to Western Hospital. Once we got there we realized they didn't have a gynecology unit, so we decided to go to Mount Sinai. But first I threw up all the Indian food I ate for dinner into a plastic bag. Once we got to Mount Sinai it was probably around one in the morning. We signed in -- or whatever -- and waited. Matthew was pretty stressed out and he spent a good amount of time harassing the triage nurse, asking her questions like "Do you know what ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome is?" He went so far as to tell her "My dad is a doctor." This did not put her in a good mood.

We ended up spending about twelve hours in the hospital, both of us falling in and out of sleep. Me going for one test, waiting, talking to a doctor, waiting, talking to a different doctor, going for another test. It went on and on. Eventually Matthew called the fertility clinic, and they said I should come in. So we waited another three hours to talk to the doctor and see if they were okay with me leaving. They diagnosed me with hyperstimulation and we left. Once I got to the clinic they did more tests and more ultrasounds and the doctor said this wasn't a very bad case of hyper stimulation and he wrote me prescription for tylenol three and asked me to come back on Tuesday (about a week later). I had to reschedule my flight to New York and London, and over the next few days I bloated up so much that I looked very pregnant. I put on about twenty pounds. When I went in on Tuesday the doctor was a little more impressed with the extent of my hyperstimulation. They ended up draining me, which involved sticking a needle about as long as my forearm up my vagina. They drained three liters, and I was still about ten pounds heavier than usual but I felt much more comfortable. The doctor told me the last time he'd had to drain someone was three years ago, and that hyperstimulation only happens to one percent of people who donate eggs. Never again will I be comforted by the fact that such-and-such a thing only happens to one percent of people.

In Toronto.

Here's are a couple entries I wrote while I was in Toronto. The first I wrote after my second visit to the clinic (Monday morning) and the second entry I wrote shortly after the retrieval.

I'm in Toronto now. I went into the clinic Sunday morning and got an internal ultrasound and some blood work done. The nurse told me I'm doing very well, and that I've produced a lot of eggs (18 in one ovary and 19 in the other) and that this is really good, but that she's worried I'll be 'very uncomfortable' because of it. I haven't been super uncomfortable, but I have been sore in the uterus area, I feel like I have a stomach ache all the time, it is more uncomfortable than usual when I need to pee, and my breasts are very tender. After I left the clinic I got a call asking me to please come in again the next morning and that the doctor would see me then. So I went back and got another internal ultrasound, after which the doctor decided to move the retrieval date to Wednesday, two days earlier than it was originally scheduled for. I think this is good because as it stood I was going to be flying to New York the very next morning; this way I'll have a little more recovery time after the retrieval. They seemed a little worried about me over stimulating, to help prevent this they gave me a list of things I should drink and do. I'm not allowed to drink coffee so I'm pretty sleepy all the time. I slept a lot today.

- - - - - - - - - -

The retrieval went down this morning. It went well, I think. Matthew and I got to the clinic at 8:45am. I had to dress in a hospital gown and wear a cap and slippers, Matthew had to wear a yellow gown, and a cap, and mouth mask. We ended up waiting quite a while to go into the operating room. They took me in first and hooked me up to an IV and strapped my legs into some stirrups. Then they brought Matthew in. There was an ultrasound monitor on the wall opposite from me so if I sat up a bit I could see the screen. They drugged me and then the doctor got to it. I didn't feel all that out of it. I watched most of the procedure take place on the screen. The doctor inserted a long ultrasound wand into me so he could see what he was doing, and then he used this tube-type thing to suck the eggs out. On the screen you could see the follicles get pierced and they would turn from black to white (or white to black, I can't remember) when the egg got sucked out. It was pretty interesting, and pretty quick. After I sat around for awhile drinking gatorade and falling in and out of sleep. Then they sent me home with some more medication that will help make sure I don't hyperstimulate and get my hormones back to normal levels. Everything should be back to normal after my next period. I was pretty sleepy all day, and felt fairly sick when I got back to Matthew's after the procedure, I thought I might throw up. But I didn't and Matthew went and got us some Pho for lunch and everything stayed down just fine. I feel almost one hundred percent now, just my uterus is really sore, it feels sort of crampy, mostly I just feel it when I walk though.

Quick Update

My retrieval date has moved up. Instead of going in to get my eggs sucked out Friday morning I'm going today, in about twenty minutes.

countdown

Tomorrow morning I go to get some blood work done and then to the airport. My flight leaves at 2:45pm and I'll be getting into Toronto around 8:22pm. I'm pretty happy to be leaving. Tuesday evening/morning a man knocked on my bedroom window, which is in the basement. He was masturbating and video taping me. I feel pretty fucked up about it, and I think it'll be good to get out of here for a little bit. The cops came really quickly, and they even had the helicopter flying around my neighborhood. They brought out the canine unit but couldn't find trail. They did get his DNA though since he ejaculated on my window (it's still there, the police circled it with red ink). I couldn't see his face, so all I know is that he is white, which has made me suspect of pretty much every white man I see (there are a lot of them!). This morning I was leaving the house and I saw a guy packing up his car, he had a pillow and a bag of chips like he was going on a road trip, and I was sure it was him and I couldn't look at him, and then while I was trying not to look at him I made eye contact with this guy driving by and I was sure it was him. It's so ridiculous and scary, and I am so angry. Anyway. A vacation will be good.

So many injections so little time

Yesterday I did my first injections of Menopur and Puregon. The nurses advised that I take it around nine am. The boxes of both of these injections have pretty funny (not ha ha) packaging. All the needles and Q-caps (I'll explain later) for the Menopur come in a box with a picture of a baby foot on it. Everyone knows baby feet are the cutest part! I'm being serious. Written on the box in fancy italic writing is "Sometimes achieving parenthood needs a helping hand..." Puregon has three green fuzzy silhouettes on it of a woman and a man looking down on what is probably supposed to be the top of a little kid's head.

The Puregon is easy enough to administer, It's in one of those pens and you just load the cartridge, set the dosage, and press down. It was a little too easy. I'd be worried that I'm doing it wrong, but the Puregon makes the area I inject it into burn for about ten minutes after it's been injected.

Menopur however, is a little tricky. There are many steps. Luckily it came with DVD instructions. Menopur is a powder and needs to be diluted, so I start off with two vials. One is a diluent used to dissolve the powder so that I can inject it into me. What I do is put the Q-cap on a needle. One end of the Q-cap has a part that screws onto the end of a needle, the other end has a poky part that sticks into the vial. I withdraw one cc of the diluent and then I put that into the vial with the powder, once it's dissloved I withdraw the liquid, then I take the Q-cap off and put a needle on the end of the cartridge (I think it's called?) and then inject away. The volume of liquid I'm injecting with Menopur is larger than any of my other injections, as a result it's a little more painful to inject. Not terrible though.

I take both Menopur and Puregon in the morning when I wake up and I'm still taking Lupron in the evenings, but my dosage has decreased. I am also taking a little orange pill called Vibramycin twice a day. All these new drugs make me feel a little off for a while after, but by mid-day I feel okay again. At least that's how it's been for these past two days, we'll see how it goes.

I'm really looking forward to going to Toronto. It's less than a week now. I'm excited to see my friends and my boyfriend, and meet the people who are going to try to make a baby with my eggs. I think I'll be really disappointed if it doesn't work. I felt pretty unconcerned about the outcome when I first started the whole process, but I feel differently now. I want there to be a baby or two.

Here's a story in the Walrus about egg donation in Canada:
http://www.walrusmagazine.com/articles/2010.04-health-the-human-egg-trade/1/

Not noted in this piece -- at least not overtly -- is that no one seemed to have a problem with men getting paid for donating sperm. It really only became a question once the technology that allowed women to donate eggs was developed. The doctor mentioned at the end is the same doctor I'm seeing.

This is the box they gave me to transport all my drugs and needles in when flying between Toronto and Edmonton.

This is the woman who I had the counseling session with.

http://www.informedfertility.org/Site/Welcome.html

Puregon & Menopur & Vibramycin. Oh my.

I've started injecting the Lupron (this is day five). I inject it into my stomach everyday between seven and nine pm. It doesn't feel like much, although the next day that area is a little tender. Sometimes the area where I've taken the shot gets a little itchy right after. I haven't noticed it having much of an effect on my emotional well being. I guess I am a little more randy than usual. I go to get blood work (and a hair cut!) on the 11th. Then a few days later my Lupron dose is adjusted depending on what my blood work tells the doctor, and I also start taking two other injections and a pill: Puregon & Menopur & Vibramycin.


I had the phone consultation with the social worker last week. I really like her. We talked about a lot of stuff. She said I seem like a curious person and that if I'm interested I should ask them to give me less drugs so that I can be more 'present' during the retrieval, and to have them tilt the ultra sound screen so I can see it. She asked if I had a friend in Toronto who could look after me post procedure. I told her my boyfriend is in Toronto. I haven't really wanted to share this information with the fertility clinic. I was thinking about why that was after our conversation and I think it's because a lot of my medical experiences to date have been sort of patronizing on some level. No one at the clinic has given me any reason to think that they would patronize me, but I still felt like if I told them that the guy I was in a long distance relationship with was living in Toronto that I'd get a lecture about 'being careful' since I'm going to be super fertile the week before the retrieval, which is also when I'll be in Toronto. When I told the social worker about Matthew all she said was that he could be in the room with me during the retrieval if I wanted.


And my last piece of big news right now is that it looks like I'll be meeting the people that I'm donating my eggs to when I'm in Toronto. GAME CHANGE.

Spicy

I got some legal documents -- drafted by the recipients and a lawyer, I believe -- via email this morning. I've asked that a clause go in that says something about me being notified if a child (or children) is (are) actually born. It's all so official, but also very mysterious. For example all I know are the recipient and the recipients spouse's initials. Little tidbits of information like that make me want to know EVERYTHING. Now I know that they don't have the same last name. That's all I really need to start my extremely intricate and detailed fantasy about who they are.

Today is my last birth control pill and tomorrow I start taking Lupron. The nurses just sent me an email (they send me reminders every time I have to start or stop taking something). They told me I have to take the Lupron between seven and nine pm. That means the first time I take it (read: inject it) I'll be at work.

I'm sort of (over) preparing myself to be an emotional mess. I think the hormones are going to fuck with me. I also think if I assume the worst It won't seem so bad. My friend Simon told me I should just tell people I am pregnant so that they'll cut me some slack and be nice to me. I pointed out that they would also judge me if they saw me drinking after I told them I was pregnant. I hope I don't write embarrassing rants and post them on this blog, that's all.

Today I'll be talking to the social worker who works for the fertility clinic. I'm feeling a little apprehensive. Mostly I'm feeling boring. I wonder if they would put that in their psych analysis: "very boring." I also wonder if that would effect the recipients desire for my eggs. I guess it all depends on if they think boring is genetic.

DRUGS.

I start injecting myself with Lupron in three days. That's really soon! The day before that (Thursday) I have an 'interview' with a social worker who works for the fertility clinic. I think it's to make sure that I'm stable (whatever that means) and won't freak out post egg donation. The interview will take an hour.

I'm not really looking forward to injecting myself with drugs. I guess I hadn't really been thinking about it, but now that I am thinking about it I keep imagining breaking a needle off in my belly.

Before I was contacted to donate my eggs I had booked an appointment with a gynecologist for a consultation with the aim to get an IUD. It took me a stupidly long time to get into the doctor, which is a whole other annoying story. Turns out it was probably good that I wasn't able to get the IUD sooner because I would have just had to take it right back out for the egg donation. I explained to three different people at the Doctor's office that I was donating my eggs. I think I'm getting better at explaining it. And less self conscious about it. I think it's cool and interesting, but I'm never sure how other people will react. I guess maybe I care less about that the more I talk about it. I've realized it's not worth assuming how people will respond. I've noticed that a lot of people are surprised that I volunteered to donate my eggs -- a little less when they realize I might get some money for it -- they seem to assume that a friend asked me to do it. People often seem a little mystified about my motivations.

That's a hard question to answer. I signed up initially for the money. I saw it as a quick cash grab during a desperate time. It being quick was certainly a misconception on my part. Now that I'm not broke It's a little harder to explain. I'm not doing it for the money. The biggest reason I can think of is that I feel like it'll be an interesting and different experience, and I think ultimately that's a good thing for me. And to be completely honest, I'm sort of psyched to spread my genes around.

Visit One

The clinic is decorated in upper-class clinic fashion. Something about it reminds me of the orthodontist office I went to for my braces in high school, but more grown up, maybe it's just the obvious money and poor styling. Gray greens, bamboo, rocks, blond wood, and black and white photos in square frames about sums it up. It looks like an Ikea display, but nothing is from Ikea.

I was ushered to and from the waiting room for about four hours on Thursday morning. First I had a urine sample and some blood work done. Then the woman who I had been in contact with from the beginning of the application process til now came and said hi. She was very pregnant. Next was an ultrasound. The woman preforming the ultrasounds was abrupt but not direct. She did the ultra sound on my belly, her eyes glued to the screen, tisking. It seemed like she was having trouble getting a good image, so when she told me to go to the bathroom and then there was some mumbling and all I caught was empty, I assumed that she wanted me to pee because it was somehow affecting the ultrasound. I didn't have to pee -- because I'd just given a urine sample. I sat on the toilet for awhile to see if anything would happen, and then I thought maybe my tampon was causing the problem, so I took it out. Back in the ultra sound room I took my pants off and lay under the provided sheet. The ultrasound technician (?) came back in and dimmed the lights. She moved the sheet and then said 'no take your underwear off'. Now I had an inkling of what was about to happen, but I thought there was no way that was happening without some warning. She motioned for me to put my feet in the stirrups at the end of the bed. 'Yep' I thought 'That's what's happening.' And then she stuck what was, essentially, a very long dildo with a camera on the end into me. So far everyone I've told this story to has been more horrified than I was, or am. She was up there for about fifteen minutes, she squinted at the computer screen the whole time, and I lay there thinking about how absurd it was that I was lying there in a dark room with a woman probing around my uterus. Every once and awhile -- to get the right angle (I assume) -- she'd have to move so that her forearm brushed against my inner thigh, it was most apparent to me at these moments how incredibly un-sexy the whole thing was. When it was all done, she asked me if it was my first ultrasound. I laughed. After that a nurse took me to yet another room where I got undressed and put one of those 'gowns' on. She took my blood pressure. Then THE Doctor came in. He did a breast examination, listened to my heart, and poked my stomach. I got dressed. Next I went to The Doctors office. He went through all the paper work I had filled out concerning my family history and my personality, occasionally asking questions. At one point he cracked a smile, looked up at me through his eyebrows and said "You like sandwiches." (one of the questions was 'What is your favourite food?') I confirmed this, even though it wasn't really a question, and he asked what kind of sandwich I liked best. I told him I really just like the mustard. He finished going through my paperwork, and then said a bunch of embarrassing things about what a wonderful thing I was doing. Then he explained all the medication I was going to have to take. And wholly shit am I going to be taking a lot of medication. (I'll talk more about this in another post.). The last part of the day was with a nurse who showed me how to administer the medication. By the end I'll be injecting myself with three different kinds of drugs once a day. For now I'm just on the pill. I went out to the front desk and they gave me a pretty decently sized box full of medication and ice packs (a bunch of the drugs need to be refrigerated) along with a letter for airport security explaining that I was allowed to have all these drugs and syringes. That's seriously pretty much the only thing the the letter said: Bryn Bratton Wall is taking these drugs. Signed, The Doctor.

In between each of these little events I went back to the waiting room. Sometimes I waited quite awhile. I watched couples come and go and listened to the women at the front desk gossip, and one nurse in particular fight with her mom over the phone about someone else wearing her clothes. All of the female staff wore dusty green scrubs and the men light beige. I had brought a book, but I thought that reading Everyday Drinking might not go over well in a fertility clinic.

Although the staff aren't 'normal' I was reassured that the clinic, and the people there didn't lean in a Stepford Wives direction.

my eggs are your eggs.

A year ago I was living in Toronto. It was my first time living on my own without student loan money, in other words, living only on the money I was able to make. I'd finished my undergrad at the end of the summer, panicked, and gone west to the middle of nowhere to take a wilderness guiding course, panicked again, and moved to Toronto. The first few months went well, but after getting fired from my job I was failing. Temp agencies gave me sporadic income, and I managed to feed myself and get drunk at least once a week at art openings or clothing launches. I started combing craigslist and medical experiment sites for ways to make money. The first thing I found, and seriously considered, was a post from a couple who were looking for an egg donor. I wrote them. It didn't work out. But it peaked my interest, so I typed 'egg donor' into google and was directed to the site of a fertility clinic in Toronto. At this point I had quite a bit of time on my hands so filling out pages and pages about my medical history and character traits wasn't a burden, plus I love talking about myself, so it was actually a somewhat enjoyable process. (Sarcasm.) A few weeks ago I was contacted by the organization that I sent my Egg Donor application to. A couple has seen my profile, and they want my eggs. I fly to Toronto tomorrow.