Anonymous donor (not any more)

I am going to devote another post to choosing our donor. But I really have to spill the beans regarding something about our donor. I know exactly who she is. I know her name. I know where she goes to school . I know her date of birth. I have even seen her. So you say, big deal lots of people can say this about their donor, but I don't thing they can say this about their ANONYMOUS donor. I am sure this makes me sound like a stalker. Trust me I am not. I have stopped myself short of asking to be her friend on facebook. I know my boundaries and don't want to freak out some innocent and giving individual who took time and effort to provide me with the genetic raw materials to make a baby.

First I'd wondered if I broke some unspoken code. Though shall not ponder any facts about the donor that are beyond the extensive history provided. I looked through the documents that I had to sign, and there was nothing about doing any investigative work on my own. Seriously, I have always wanted to be a private investigator. I love using deductive reasoning. Nancy Drew, Encyclopedia Brown, Bone, Scully. I want to be them. Growing up I wanted to solve tiny neighborhood problems. Figure out that Mr Halifax's alibi about driving back from a two hour trip couldn't be true because his car hood was cold. That is who I wanted to be.

Having an anonymous donor was a mystery for me There were little clues along the way I found out the university where our donor attended because it was provided in her bio. The agency forgot to scratch it off. The agency also told us her father's occupation. Well, sort of. In fact the agency misrepresented the father's occupation, but it was enough information to cross reference as needed. The donor also mentioned that she likes ulimate frisbee. What did I do? I went to facebook and searched groups from that university and that sporting group. Lo and behold there was the donor's picture. One catch there were two people in the picture. I didn't know if the name listed was the donor or a friend. Oh, Mr. Google can you help me? A short image search and there she is with her full name. I looked up the father's last name and it agreed with the agency's information. Found the donor's birth record and it agreed with the donor's age.

For some reason having this information made me feel better. I felt like I was in control. If I ever wanted to I could find this person. It would be easy. She has a very unique name. I haven't done much since then. But I envision I will check up on her status at school occasionally. Thank goodness their is no privacy.

My story doesn't end here. The day we had to drop off Mr Hoo's contribution to our child, we had the choice of an early morning drop off or a later morning drop off. Quickly calculating when the egg retrieval would be, I chose the morning. I wanted the little buggers to be processed and ready the minute the eggs were retrieved and cleaned. I admit in the back of my mind, I thought we could hang out in the parking lot and catch a glimpse of the donor.

It turned out better than expected. We arrived at the office a little late, but they made us sit there for over 45 minutes. I noticed something was up because all of the nurses kept looking out into the waiting room with very nervous faces. And then it happened . The donor walked in with a small woman who I can only assume was her mother. I poked Mr. Hoo. He didn't seem to know why I was poking him. I kept at it and nodded a few times in her direction. Then I think he figured it out. It was hard not staring at them. Not scrutinizing every facial expression. Her body language, but I don't think she had any idea that I was the recipient of her kind gift. She and her mother were chatting. I couldn't hear them, but it was clear they were close. Like best friends.

She was beautiful. She was tall and fit. She walked with certainty, but she did have the full ovary waddle. She was a college woman who knew she was smart and gorgeous. She was dressed casually in sweats and had her hair pulled up. She wore clunky black Euro glasses. I find it funny that it is so easy to pick out donors in the office. They are always dressed in sweats and tennis shoes. Often donors are frantically typing away on computers. They always seem to have a calm air about them. They don't have anxiety upon their faces. The worry lines suggesting too many visits with negative outcomes. Or the fear-filled look of hope that women who have just had embryos transferred have. Women who have been visiting the RE for over a year rarely walk lightly or energetically. They are more matter of fact. Their lives are filled with routine. Daily injections, weekly blood draws, patches, pills....