One fertility doctor draws a sad face next to my bad AMH blood results to let me know they are, in fact, bad. Another speaks about reproductive studies done on mice, then repeatedly refers to me as an ‘old mouse.’ The internet tells me I’m a decaying swamp witch with little hope for kids. I’m 35.
Welcome to the fertility industry, a place which works tremendously hard to help people have children, but simultaneously is a for profit industry - one which is making increasingly lucrative returns.
I was thrown into this world two months ago without having even tried to have a baby. Naïve as it may be, I wasn’t thinking about it. I’m a writer oscillating between LA and Sydney, so my thoughts have been focused on how to build this fairly unhinged career. Around the time I’m deemed an old mouse, the writers' strike is in its fifth month and I’m not allowed to earn a cent - which also means I’m about to lose my US health insurance. Due to a medical condition any pregnancy of mine will be high risk, so said insurance is somewhat critical. Oh, and I’m packing to move in with my partner so it is really a bingo card of stressful events.
Sure, you say, but didn’t you notice the small army of babies that pop up in friendship circles around age 33? Was that not a tip off to think about it? I guess it should have been, but a lot of those friends are stressed and sleep-deprived, and another said she wished she'd waited a few more years, so I can’t say there’s been some Barbenheimer-level marketing going on over here.