Farm Fresh Eggos in 2024
An updated essay about freezing my eggs
Hey horny readers! As always, thank you so much for reading the ADULT SEX ED newsletter! If you’re enjoying it, please share with friends, so they can be hilariously informed.
Adult Sex Ed comedically challenges why we think what we think about sex. In case you’re new, I’m Dani Faith Leonard, a comedy writer, film producer, and performer. In 2018, I started a comedy show called Adult Sex Ed and launched this newsletter last year. Each week, I take a fun deep dive into a topic that I’ve been researching. Want to know more? Read the whole description on substack here.
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This month is filled with religious celebrations and several of them include eggs as symbolism (dyed or eaten). This essay is from May 2023 and was my most personal post! I thought it was very fitting for this week, so I’ve added an update:)
My adult sex education is continuous. I’m constantly learning new things about myself and I’m committed to sharing those revelations, especially if the topics are a bit taboo. In honor of Mother’s Day just passing, I wanted to share what I experienced when I took the [cold] plunge and froze my eggs.
Not everyone wants to be a parent and if you have that realization, I think that’s great too. Nobody should be forced to be one! I’ve always wanted to be a mother, but I felt like it was in the distant future. Now that I’m in the later half of my 30s, that future has arrived, but I’m still hoping to meet the right partner. Also, I sometimes I forget how old I am. When I go to a completely normal place like the post office or the bank, I look around and think, “ewwww, look at all the grown-ups.” It’s wild to me that someone ten years my junior can be finishing med school and their residency. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to have a doctor named Kylie.
I first went for a consultation over a year ago when I started to think about preserving my fertility. It was one of those fancy places that’s a medical facility, but also feels like a tech company (and maybe it is?). The decor looked like it was designed by A.I. – floral prints, an instagrammable wall, artwork with fluid lines that mirror the feminine form, and neon signs that say culty things like, “awaken your future!”
If my memory serves me, the nurse showed up dressed like Steve Jobs. Based on my original results, she said I didn’t have to be in a major rush, but “we like to get those farm-fresh eggos.” Holy shit! Things don’t always need to sound so cute. What farm are you talking about? And I don’t want you to call them eggos. I’m spending almost $15,000 - these are golden eggs!
I waited another year and this January, I figured I’d take the plunge since I was single and it was winter. I was grateful that I was able to freeze my eggs at all. The cost is prohibitive, even if an employer covers part of the process (I paid out of pocket, as most people I know have done).
The following is an oversimplification of the egg freezing process: The cycle starts when your period begins and involves daily injections that you administer yourself, plus many visits to the office for ultrasounds. These medications will stimulate the ovaries to produce multiple eggs. I felt like a human science experiment, mixing vials of medication and getting strangely good at injecting them. The kitchen frequently looked like a scene from Breaking Bad. It can be a full time job (on top of whatever job you already have) and you’re expected to order your own medication, pay attention to how much you have left, and keep up with daily appointments. At those appointments, the waiting room was bustling with straight couples, LGBTQ couples, singles, and sheepish men who were about to jerk off into cups and didn’t want to make eye contact.
The side effects during the two weeks vary greatly from person to person. I personally didn’t have vast mood changes but I’ve had friends say they experienced major depressive episodes and explosive anger. I noticed I was a bit irritable when a family member cleared their phlegm at dinner and I wanted to punch a hole in the wall, but that was a one-time episode. I had vivid dreams that usually involved different styles and varieties of cooked eggs. I experienced bloating and 5-10 lbs of weight gain.
After two weeks, I was ready for the egg retrieval procedure, which is done under anesthesia and takes about thirty minutes. I was told I wouldn’t be informed how many eggs were actually frozen until later that day, but a nurse handed me a post-it with a number much larger than I was expecting. I was groggy and excited.
In the weeks after the procedure, I struggled with Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS), which is defined as an exaggerated response to excess hormones. OHSS causes the ovaries to swell and become painful – normally the size of grapes, my ovaries swelled to the size of grapefruits, pushing my organs out of place. When I couldn’t sit upright in a chair, I knew I had to see a doctor, and was eventually able to get an appointment back at the clinic.
Now completely pissed off by the neon lights and florals, I got on the table for an ultrasound. The doctor exclaimed with a smile, “Wow, girl – you’re all ovary!” I was sent home to let it resolve on it’s own.
My first takeaway from this process was gratitude that I had a successful cycle. Unfortunately, I’ve had friends who have gone through this process and not come away with any eggs, in addition to friends who have endured years of failed IVF, lost pregnancies, and an over-complicated adoption process. I felt guilty complaining about my own discomfort, which paled in comparison to their pain. This led to takeaway #2: we’re expected to endure so much pain, no matter what the path to motherhood/parenthood is. Fertility is still a topic that people are afraid to discuss. The least we can do is share information, so we can build compassion for each other.
My third takeaway wasn’t necessarily a comfortable one. When I was back at the office struggling with enormous ovaries, my doctor was already trying to sell me on paying for another cycle. Fertility is big business. The fertility industry is set to reach $41 billion by 2026. I was left asking myself how safe I actually felt having for-profit companies handling my medical needs. These companies are selling empowerment and hope, but can doctors who also need to sell treatments fully have your medical needs in mind?
When I was out and about again weeks later, I recounted the experience to friends. One of my male friends asked me something that I wasn’t expecting: so…where are the eggs now? Holy shit. I hadn’t a fucking clue. I had cryogenically frozen eggos in a storage unit somewhere waiting on the other half of the ingredients and I didn’t even know the address. I was wracked with guilt. Did I panic freeze? Rent is free for the first year, so it’s not my fault, right? What kind of mom am I going to be if I don’t even know where my half children are living these days?
I still have so much to learn about fertility. Maybe I won’t need to ever use these eggs, but the process of IVF is so complex that I have friends who seem to have the equivalent of a masters in it. That led to perhaps my biggest takeaway:
Sex ed is so focused on preventing pregnancy (and AIDS, if you grew up in the 90s), that we actually learn nothing about fertility.
I’m embarrassed to say that I was in my 30s when I learned that you are born with all of the eggs you’ll ever have in your life. How can we be expected to make smart decisions if we know so little about ourselves? These decisions don’t only affect one half of a couple. So wouldn’t we all benefit from knowing more?
Since your mom had all of her eggs in utero, technically everyone, including you, has been inside their own grandmother. From now on, whenever I meet a douchey guy in a bar, that’s what I’m going to tell him, with no context whatsoever. You’ve been inside your grandma. And then I’ll just slowly walk away.
PS - It should go without saying, but I am not a doctor - I am a comedian! Please don’t take any medical advice for me.
2024 Update: The other day, my friend Lindsay posted about my missing eggs. Yes, it’s true—a year later and I still had no idea where they were. I had every chance to call the clinic, but deep down I liked the mystery. As fate would have it, just a few days later my eggs would be found, or rather, they found me. I finally received a bill for $600 to store my eggs for another year (or until I use them). It’s been confirmed they are New York City eggs, living in a lovely building near Bryant Park. They send their regards.
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Great post. Thanks for the link to livestream, much easier then driving from Delaware.