Bloody hell. Not to start on a negative note, but…
So, you finally gather together your courage and call the well-regarded fertility clinic. This is after years of having donor insemination in the back of your mind as Plan Z (as a mid-30s unexpectedly single woman), and recent months of realising Plan Z is now Plan A (as a single woman in the last year of her 30s). You pick up the phone with your heart a-flutter and ask to make an appointment, waiting for the warm and welcoming tones of an understanding and worldy-wise receptionist who’s seen it all, sister, the highs and lows.
“An intitial consultation? You’ll need to fill out the form on the website. We’ll get back to you.”
Eh, okay… Bearing in mind that most people who ring the clinic are in the throes of fertility problems of some sort or another and probably at a low ebb in their lives, not the most sympathetic response, methinks? And two days later, I still haven’t heard back. Did my form even go through? This is like an audition, or a job interview.
Let’s hope it’s not all an anti-climax like this one.
But on a positive note, the relief of having made the decision and taken the first step is just gigantic. It’s all out of my hands for now.
Here we go.