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"Ok Lizzie, we’re going to administer the anesthetic now. You’ll feel a little pinch in 3, 2, 1…"
I felt the familiar, tiny prick of a needle going into my left arm as more doctors appeared in my peripheral vision. I spotted stirrups at the end of the bed, and the last thing I remember feeling is relief that I wouldn’t be conscious when my legs were placed into them.
You might think — after decades of pap smears, internal scans, an IUD insertion (and swift removal) — that I’d be used to the joys of women’s health by now (will we ever be?).
Not quite.
Watch: Manman's egg freezing journey. Post continues after video.
Besides, this particular procedure was a first — and hopefully, last — for me. Like a rapidly growing number of women in the West, I was having my eggs retrieved to be frozen.
Before we go any further, I want to acknowledge that I was doing this electively. I’m in a committed relationship, but we weren’t experiencing challenges with fertility or preparing to undergo a health treatment that could impact it.
Reproductive treatments of any kind can be difficult and triggering for a host of completely valid reasons that I would never dismiss. But doing this by choice rather than necessity, with the support of a partner, made the process less emotionally gruelling for me than it is for many.