Tonight I watched a documentary called "Maybe Baby," produced and directed by Shannon O'Rourke (full disclosure, she's the friend of a friend), which follows six single women (none of them spring chickens) trying to have babies, and I am SO not a movie reviewer, so take it with a grain of salt when I say I thought this movie was terrific, but... I thought this movie was terrific.
For one thing, I learned a lot. Like, the California Cryobank has masterbatoriums. Who knew? MASTERBATORIUMS! Suddenly, I want there to be a sequel to Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium! And you know where I think they should set it? Thaaat's right. The Masterbatorium Emporium. You think I'm being facetious, but I'm gonna work on a pitch. Take it to HBO. Make a ba-zillion dollars.
I also learned that the California Cryobank distributes 2500 ampules of sperm every month, and 40% of them go to single women. When I say "you're not alone in being alone in this," I MEAN IT, PEOPLE! Every month, more than a thousand ampules of sperm JUST FROM THE CALIFORNIA CRYOBANK get shipped off via Fed Ex to SINGLE WOMEN ALL OVER THE WORLD! That's a lot of starfish envy, folks.
Now, I'm being glib because that's my way, but there were things in this documentary that broke my heart. In pieces. Teeny, tiny, cracked-heart shaped slivers. One woman threw garage sales to raise money for her in vitro treatments (and eventually had a baby using an egg donor, which is more heart wrenching and then heart warming than heart breaking now that I think about it). Another ran out of money and had to stop trying. Another accepted that she simply wasn't going to be a mom.
Now, my blood pressure's been a little elevated lately (although I read on the internet today that it's completely fine by British standards, so GO BRITS!), which I think is just because of the heat in my UN-AIR-CONDITIONED-HOUSE and the hideously awful air I've been breathing thanks to the wildfires, but it's still totally freaking me out and spinning me into "what if I can't even do this?!' land. I'm not even pregnant, I'm not even TRYING to get pregnant, and I'm positive I have preeclampsia. Premature preeclampsia. Pre-pregnancy premature preeclampsia. It could happen. Because what you DON"T want, when you watch a documentary like this, is to end up like the women it doesn't work out for.
You want to be like Betsy, who got pregnant the first time she did in vitro. Or like Joanna, who was turned down by one doctor because of her advanced age (43) and went to another one and within three months was pregnant with her adorable son Tyler. THAT is how it is supposed to go for YOU. YOU are the success story, the happy mom with the giggling, healthy, dimpled toddler. (Apparently, the most popular sperm donors have dimples.)
Most of all, watching Maybe Baby made me feel incredibly lucky. Because, whether I get pregnant or not, I don't have to throw a garage sale to try (thanks, tax refund!). And that, alone, is an enormous relief, because it is simply TOO DAMN HOT to go through my stuff right now. Seriously, if it's on the curb, you can just have it.
I take back the comments I made about moving. Anyone without AC should move immediately.
Second: Do you have to use a doctor? First they take birth away from the midwives, now they take insemination from the turkey basters? Really?
Could it be worth at try? How much is sperm these days?
Posted by: Heather | 09/02/2009 at 08:50 AM