I was off work today, and so finally took the plunge: I called the local fertility centre. “My partner and I are interested in becoming clients of your clinic, to conceive using donor sperm,” I said. “What are our next steps?”
I gotta tell you, readers, my heart was beating super fast. All the research in the world did nothing to prepare me for how it felt to actually move forward on this queer baby making project.
So it turns out that I need a referral. Not having my own doctor , I’ll have to go to a walk-in clinic and ask for it. For some reason, I find this funny. I mean, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with my reproductive stuff (that we now of!), yet I still need to go to a walk-in clinic and say Hi-I’m-gay-and-I-want-a-baby-please. Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to go straight to the fertility centre and say the same thing? It’s not really a mystery, my reasons for requiring their services.
“And your partner will need to get one too,” said the receptionist. I actually laughed. “Well, she won’t be the gestational parent, I will,” I told her, “Is that still necessary?”
It’s just how they usually do it, I was told: They treat both women as a couple, and the referral is so that blood tests and other parts of the process are covered by the provincial health care system.
“Are you sure she won’t be carrying…?” Asked the receptionist. “And you won’t be using her eggs?”
No, that won’t be happening, I assured her. We’re quite certain. The receptionist agreed that in that case, it’d be silly for Oats to get a referral too… Let alone go through the blood work and whatever else is required. I’m glad she was as amused by this as I was.
I called Oats and gave her the update. She had her own news: She saw her own doctor this morning, regarding some unfortunate health problems, and his solution was to put her on the Pill. Ha! So, depending on how this all goes, we’re looking to be a right mess of hormones at our house in the upcoming year. Good times, good times.