Source Huffington Post
A while ago I went through an IVF cycle to donate my eggs to you, a couple in your 30s I didn’t know. Why? Because, at 35, it was now or never for me. Because a generous sperm donor had given us our family, and I felt a duty to pay it forward. It was about integrity, gratitude and doing the right thing.
I felt enormous responsibility for it to work. I wasn’t going through all the injected medication, diary rescheduling, overstimulated ovaries and endless driving back and forth to the fertility clinic for you not to get pregnant. I held your dreams in my hands and I couldn’t bear to let you down. Then the fertility clinic counsellor told me that wasn’t the point. I wasn’t giving you a baby, I was giving you a chance, and that was my gift whether it worked or not. And, as I relaxed about the whole thing, I realised the gift I was making was not just of my eggs; it was a gift of hope, of humanity, of love. That may sound weird and probably pretty corny. We’ve never met. I don’t know who you are. But a gift of love doesn’t just evaporate. It lasts
