Women who choice to have their eggs frozen while between the ages of 32 and 35, because let’s be honest, no 28-year-old is going to think they’ll even need this as an option, are looking at a 40-50% success rate. It’s not very promising. Those women who freeze their eggs between 35 and 38 have on a 35% chance of getting preggers once those babies are thawed; and tragically, the women who are really late to the party and decide to freeze their goods at the age of 39 or 40, are looking at only a 20-25% chance of being able to get knocked up. After 40, forget it, because it’s less than 10% at that point.
So while I fall into that first bracket, do I really want to head up to NYU and drop 12k on something that may or may not even lead to a future pregnancy? And more realistically, do I even have that chunk of money to be able to invest in this? The answer to the first question is I don’t know; the answer to the second question is a resounding NO.
After running this idea past my therapist, she tried to steer me away from the idea of freezing my eggs because of those less than appealing statistics. She explained that if I wanted to freeze anything to procure the chance at motherhood later in life, I may want to consider having embryos frozen, which is not only even more pricey, but involves sperm. I’ve yet to meet a sperm with which I’d like to make the babies — and my mother was so hoping for a granddaughter at some point from me.
At this point, it’s just a thought — this whole egg freezing thing, it’s a serious thought. Because maybe my family is right; maybe I’d be a lousy mother since I think nannies are the best! But honestly, my mothering skills aside, because no one will know for sure until I have one, I am definitely in the market for a baby. I think I’d really like a baby within the next five years. This urge is a foreign concept for me, but for some reason it’s there and I’m starting to get nervous that maybe my chance to have one is non-existent. It hasn’t started keeping me up at night, but I fear that someday it will.
Once again, I’m late to the party. But in this case I wish I would have had these urges early so I could have done something about it. I’m not saying I would have run out and gotten pregnant at 29, but had I known that maybe, just maybe I’d like a mini-me at some point, I may have at least started a savings account for such a procedure just in case Mr. Right was late to the party, too. And apparently, he is.
Photo: Mauricio Alejo