Lemondrop

In my 20s, there wasn't a whole lot I said no to. I smoked cigarettes. I had one-night stands. I instigated bar fights. But despite all the regrettable things (that I cannot believe I just typed), there was one thing that I am proud of: I donated my eggs to an infertile couple.

At 23, I was quickly going into debt. I ordered sushi every night and splurged at Banana Republic. To top it off, my student loans kicked in. I saw an ad in The Village Voice for egg donors, so I called for an interview.

When I told my parents, they were none too pleased at my frivolity in passing along their DNA for a few thousand dollars. This was back in the late '90s, and the compensation was $5,000. After passing the physical and psychological testing, the reproductive center started offering me out to desperate couples. It was an ego boost to qualify and to have these folks anonymously fight over me -- like a rare, fertile necklace at a Christie's auction.

Then there was the actual process.

Click here to read what happened after ...


A couple picked me (we never met), paid for the procedure, and then the hormone process began.

I injected myself in the stomach twice daily to spike my estrogen, tricking my body into ovulating more than normal. I learned to get used to needles -- during the 28-day cycle I was poked, prodded and examined more times than a lab mouse and invaded in every conceivable way.

Bitter(sweet) Harvest

The final stage was going to a hospital in Jersey for "retrieval." They put me under general anesthesia, and with a large needle ... I'll spare you. Let's just say that I delivered two dozen healthy, young, cage-free eggs that were now the property of the hopeful couple.

The woman getting the eggs, who was also on hormones for 28 days, would be attempting fertilization the very next morning. After I woke up and counted my money, I received a very lovely note from the couple (still anonymous) telling me what a mitzvah I had just performed. It was quite touching to know that they had tried everything to start a family naturally and that this was it for them.

Everybody Wins?

I still don't know if that couple conceived or not -- but I was asked to donate two more times to other couples, so I'm thinking that my spawn is probably out there. I paid off my student loans (I went to a state school, don't be jealous.) and bought a few pairs of hot boots.

If the donation was a success, the first child would be 10 years old right now. The kid would act like me and possibly have my old pre-nose-job honker. (I disclosed it.) Now that I'm in my baby-making years, the whole deal feels more important. Maybe I'll have to rely on a donor to make my own motherhood possible. Hopefully I'll be able to find a donor who is intelligent, charming, funny and, above all, kind. Nah, there's no one out there like that.

Jeni Aron (alias the Clutter Cowgirl) is a frequent Lemondrop contributor, raging Virgo and professional organizer living in New York City.