I think I caught a glimpse of my donor. I can’t be sure. It’s an anonymous process, and they go to great lengths at Cornell to make sure the donor and the recipient don’t meet. But they had me go in for bloodwork and ultrasound very early one Saturday, the day before the donor’s eggs were retrieved, and there was only one other woman getting bloodwork that day, and I know she was a donor because the blood nurse asked her if she’d just had her trigger shot. She said yes. In fact the nurse asked me if I’d had my trigger shot, which was disconcerting. The shot — an injection of the hormon hCG — triggers the eggs or oocytes to go through the last stage of maturation, before they can be retrieved. Egg recipients, like me, don’t get this trigger shot. Egg donors get the shot. It’s always frightening to be reminded how little the medical community knows us, and that the only thing keeping doctors from amputating the wrong leg is the big “X” they’ve spray-painted on the target limb.
I told my friend, Trish, that I thought I saw my donor but that I wasn’t certain.
“And then you looked down and saw she was wearing ballet slippers,” Trish said.
I hope it wasn’t her. She looked nothing like me.