Fitness expert Rebecca Cardon, from Amazing Race and Bravo’s Workout, opens up about her decision to freeze her eggs, chronicling the process from beginning to end. When your body’s ready for a baby but your mind isn’t quite there, egg freezing buys some time for the mind and body to get on the same page.
Walking into my fancy Beverly Hills Fertility clinic to speak with my doctor about my lab results was reminiscent of heading to the high school principal’s office to discuss my declining grades. Both experiences were intimidating and scary with a high potential for ominous news.
I nestled into the chair in my doctor’s corner office noticing the impressive view of the city as I helped myself to the Swedish Fish in the crystal bowl next to me.
“Okay, Doc, give it to me straight!” I ordered, through a mouthful of candy. He paused and smiled, “Well Rebecca, we tested your AMH levels which stands for anti-mullerian hormone, in order to check the size of your remaining egg supply, or ovarian reserve.”
I knew something was wrong, otherwise he would have opened more cheerfully with something along the lines of “Looks good, Rebecca, looks REEEEAL good!”
He continued, ” This test does not measure your egg quality, only the amount and having more eggs gives us more to work with.” This is a lot of build up, I thought, JUST.TELL.ME.
At this point I had polished off the remaining Swedish Fish and was about to ask if he had a master bag in his desk drawer, when he said, “The scale is 0 to 8, anything over 3 is excellent and you are at 1.26. We consider that number medium to low. It is good that you are deciding to freeze now, because that number is only going to drop.”
I didn’t respond, as I wasn’t sure how I felt about the information. Because I am ambivalent about having a child, I am not emotionally attached to test results outside of “you cannot have a child.” That would make me sad. But it is now a cold, hard fact that my egg supply is dwindling.
I have been an underachiever all my life, so why should my eggs be any different? They most likely gave up on me. They probably had an egg convention and decided to collectively bail out, skeptical about my motherly qualifications. Apparently, I have a few loyal eggs that remain believers that I will get there… one day.
“So there we have it,” I said to my doctor. “Not a surplus of eggs, but some viable contenders left. What’s the nest step?”
“The next step is not pleasant,” he said, waiting for my reaction. “ We are going to make sure your tubes are not blocked with a test called HSG (hysterosalpingogram) which involves placing an iodine-based dye through your cervix and taking x-rays to help evaluate the shape of the uterus and whether the fallopian tubes are open or blocked.”
“That sounds terrible,” I exclaimed, as he laughed and agreed, “It isn’t fun.” I wasn’t sure if I appreciated his honestly or hated him for it. I come from the school of ignorance is bliss and while I do believe knowledge is power, sometimes, the less you know, the better.
Next step, ink in my vagina, or as I like to call it Operation Octopus.
