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“Self-contained within its shell”

November 22, 2009

I’m of the belief that the body is a precious, beautiful thing and thus should be utilised in as many ways as possible. Since I’m on the organ donation register and give blood, I flirted with the idea of egg donation after sitting in on a fertility clinic. If the body is a commodity then I’m holding a clearance sale.

 A friendly acquaintance had a positive experience of donating her eggs and on the scale of usefulness and potential, giving away ones gametes to those who wanted them really appealed. The dark, twisted narcissist in me also wanted my genetic material ‘out there’ in the world since I was unsure if I’d ever get the opportunity to grow my own. Working in abortion care with a background of Catholicism opens up many weird ideas about being struck down by subfertility in an act of divine retribution.

Eggs have a beautiful longstanding surrealism that spermatogenesis just can’t deliver on: when my grandmother was pregnant with my mother in the early ’60s, as a foetus she already had the follicle which would later produce me. Trippy.

On a practical note, women get the bum deal. I can’t imagine it’s much fun for a guy to pretty much ejaculate into a jar on demand while everyone else knows what’s going on in that side room, but it’s far less drawn out than many medications including hormone injections or sprays during ovarian hyperstimulation and the invasive nature of egg harvesting.

When it came down to it, I put the idea to one side to simmer on the back-burner for a number of years simply because the idea of having my coil removed for the procedure didn’t appeal. And I guess I want to sprog my own and evaluate the results of that before blindly throwing my genes at some unsuspecting stranger. It’s only fair.

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