Story Time: Hormonal Changes During Egg Donation

I'm leading up to my fourth egg donation, and each time has been different. Donation is a stressful process; your body is full of artificial hormones meant to kick your ovaries into hyperdrive and you need to go through a pretty invasive procedure, which can be very upsetting. It definitely was for me -- you can read more abut my first donation here, but a general summary is that the personal situation I was in was not the best. I had a very serious partner who supported my bodily autonomy but did not understand why I would donate eggs yet not want children myself. He badly wanted children and the donation brought the incompatibility within our relationship to the forefront. It ended shortly afterwards, as it would have eventually, only sooner.

Since then, I have done two additional donations and have a third scheduled near the end of the year. South African law allows donors to donate seven times in total between the ages of 18-33. I'm almost 30 and would have liked to donate to my fullest capability while I am still eligible, but I'm starting to re-evaluate that. I have, however, tried as best as I can to donate to LGTBI+ recipients as much as possible. My first donation was to a heterosexual couple; the second was the very first instalment in an egg bank which may have multiple recipients. The third and upcoming fourth donation recipients have been in same-sex relationships, and I really, really want to maintain this as much as possible.

My reasoning behind this is due to simple allyship. I'm a pretty basic cishet girl. Although I would love to be more involved in the LGTBI+ community, the circles I run in are just too ... straight. As I like to say to Minerva, "I have sunned myself in the gay beaches and dipped my toes in the gay ocean, but have never swum in the gay seas."

This, to me, is a way to make a meaningful difference to someone's life. By prioritising recipients on the queer spectrum, I can make that difference in such a lasting and meaningful way. I can finally achieve my goal of subverting the heteronormitive patriarchy with my uterus. My genetic offspring could have the rainbow-friendly childhood I would have wanted for myself.

Despite all this, it's still a massive ordeal. Here's a crash course of Weird Stuff Your Body Does During Fertility Treatment.

• Brain fog. This was the most annoying thing about being on the drugs. I would inject and feel hazy/spacey for a few hours afterwards. This was often accompanied by:
• Jitters. I'd feel sort of hollow and anxious, a little clattery. It wasn't anything noticeable in terms of tics; my heart-rate just seemed higher and I would feel shaky. This and the brain fog would feel a lot worse after my usual brisk walk on the treadmill, and would often be alleviated after I had a meal. Even the mental effects seemed more manageable after getting some carbs into my system. I blame my snacking on the hormones.
• Crying. My emotions were turned way up. I cried when a sex toy I had ordered for my birthday arrived one day late. I cried when I couldn't find my preferred snacks in stock. At one point, I had a pretty normal interaction with my partner and somehow became convinced he was about to break up with me. My housemate had to sit me down and say, kindly, "There is no feminist way of saying this, but your emotions are not real."
• Bloating. At the end of hormone treatment, your ovaries are roughly the size of oranges. No joke. I enjoy asking the doctors how big they are during the scans (a golfball! a nectarine!), which may be a touch body horror for some people. Even taking this into account, you retain a bunch of water. I don't know if any of it is actual fat gain, but you just generally feel larger.
• Weird abdominal pains. You have giant ovaries now. This is your lot in life.
• Hair loss. I experienced something similar with the Mirena IUD. Now I've lost about a third of my hair. It bothers me more than I'd like to admit, although the doctor says it should recover.
• One absolutely rampant experience with diarrhoea. This happened with my first donation and fortunately not again. However, I am committed to following the trend of attributing it all to the hormones.
• Your post-donation period is messy. I left a literal trail to the bathroom one morning.
• General low-key trauma. While consensual, it's an unpleasant experience.

Despite this, it's not all doom and gloom! There are some rad pros that come with hormone therapy:

• The Glow. Ah, the fabled Glow of ovulating or pregnant women. The hormones that indicate to those around you, hey, I am fertile and magnificent. I did not notice The Glow, but my housemate made the connection. He just said that he'd caught himself noticing my skin had been looking particularly rad before he'd thought to ask how long I'd been on the juice. This was corroborated by a few of my friends and I choose to accept it.
• That is all. Just The Glow.
• You are a shining beacon of fecundity and oestrogen. You are mesmerising. Pro tip: weaponise The Glow to lead unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. Your siren-call of hormonal glory cannot be ignored.

Does anyone else have any strange experiences after fertility treatment? Any cases of medical professionals not being aware of the side effects? Tell me your tales of woe.