With plenty of dates but no Mr. Right on the horizon, Andi makes the decision to freeze her eggs. In SINGLE STATE OF MIND, Andi shares her experience of the procedure to harvest them (with the help of her friend and fellow Bachelor alum, fertility nurse Whitney Bischoff).
When I was a young girl, I dreamed of being married and having kids and the whole white-picket-fence shit. I dreamed of it all. Except for freezing my eggs. So I’m not going to lie and say that doing what I’m doing feels like the proudest moment of my life. I’m not going to say I’m over-the-moon excited about the fact that I am freezing my eggs. Instead, I’ll just keep it real and say I think I am making the smartest decision I’ve ever made in my life by doing it. I’m pushing aside internal pressure, social norms, and, most of all, my ego and facing my own reality. The reality is that I still want all of those things I dreamed of when I was younger. I still want the husband, the children, maybe more of a penthouse in the city than a picket fence, but I still want a life like that. I’m just not there yet. I want to be, but I’m not.
I guess the empowerment sort of hit me yesterday, moments before I was about to go under for my retrieval. It hit me in a somewhat disheartening way, though. Whitney had admitted me into a small room, where another nurse came and took my blood pressure and other vitals. An anesthesiologist came in to tell me what kind of drugs he’d be giving me before having me sign a consent form. Then Dr. Kaplan gave me yet another rundown on what he’d be doing. Whitney followed him out and told me she’d be back in a few minutes.
I looked around the room. It felt so empty. I was so alone with everyone gone, I wish I had thought to have my mom come with me or a friend, maybe Kelly. But it was too late. I was going under, alone. And that wasn’t even what saddened me the most. What saddened me was the realization that I am doing this alone now, and there is a possibility that I will be doing it alone in the future. It dawned on me that love is not guaranteed. That finding a husband is not inevitable. That shit doesn’t always work out the way you think it will.
But it also dawned on me that if I can do this part myself, then maybe I can also do the rest of it. It wouldn’t be my choice to have a child alone, but I don’t know, a part of me feels a sense of peace at having gone through all of this alone, even the surgery. Because I know that if I have to, I can. It’s taken me two years, two weeks of hormone injections, and a hospital gown to have one moment of total honesty with myself.
As I was wheeled into the operating room, I was wheeled in alone. But alone and oddly content.
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