PART TWO Freezing my Eggs: An EM Physician’s Personal Account

When it comes to cryopreservation, there is a noticeable lack of personal narratives, especially from women physicians who have undergone the process. Today, I want to share my own story. It began on February 3 when I started taking stimulation medications for egg freezing. At 30 years old, then a resident, I had debated this decision for a while. It wasn’t until I turned 34 and was approaching the end of my fellowship that I finally decided to pursue it. However, between traveling to see my partner across the country, presenting talks, long clinical hours, and waiting for my health insurance to partially cover the cost, another year slipped by.

The anticipation of the nightly injections of hormones was overwhelming. On that first day, I meticulously cleaned a section of my kitchen counter, prepared the syringes and alcohol swabs, and took one of the medications out of the fridge where it rested beside some chilled wine. As I prepared the medication, it reminded me of getting butter to room temperature for baking. During the process, I FaceTimed my fiancé for moral support. Aaron was calm, curious, and genuinely concerned, even advising me to sit down instead of standing while doing the injections. While many people across the country, including my patients, self-inject medications like insulin and Lovenox, this was a completely new experience for me.

Through this journey, I learned a few things. Injecting into my subcutaneous tissue wasn’t comfortable, but I soon realized it could be easily done at home, work, and even at a movie theater. It also hurt, and despite trying EMLA cream for relief, it offered little comfort. Storing my medications in the work fridge felt strange, but the strict timing of medication administration left me with no other choice. I discovered that many women in our emergency department, including nurses, fellow physicians, and some knowledgeable medical students, had already gone through this process; however, it was a topic that remained largely unspoken. Once I opened up about my experience, several others started sharing theirs. Regardless of how unrealistic it may be to believe that my follicles would suddenly grow at an incredible rate (Hulk-out) after the first few days of medication, nothing was as humbling as that initial ultrasound check-up. It was a reminder that I needed to continue injecting, visiting the reproductive-endocrinology and infertility (REI) clinic every two days, and sometimes even daily, to monitor my ovaries’ progress.

As an emergency physician, I found the ultrasound sessions to be precise and impressive. The sonographer meticulously assessed and measured each follicle, dictating the dimensions to their assistant for documentation. I watched each follicle on a large screen, silently urging my left ovary to keep up with the right, like a coxswain in college. I had quiet internal cheering and if I’m honest, some mocking, hoping to expedite the process.

This made me realize how clueless I was about the ideal number of follicles needed to achieve what I endearingly referred to as my “insurance plan” for a hopeful future child. So, I turned to the internet to determine the approximate number of eggs I could expect to harvest from each cycle and the number required for a successful pregnancy. It all boiled down to age and ovarian reserve. The earlier the egg retrieval and freezing, the higher the success rate. At 35 years old, I was at the critical tipping point; eggs harvested before this age had a higher chance of success. I hope to arm others with this knowledge, to feel better equipped to advocate for themselves as a patient. Because even my OB-GYN during residency often dismissed the topic, saying, “Don’t worry about it until you’re 35.”

As for the procedure itself, when I woke up, it felt as though I had just had the best nap in years. I remember feeling annoyed at the nurse for having to wake me. Still under the influence of anesthesia, I managed to send a garbled group text to my mother, fiancé, and my amazing friend who acted as my driver. The text was pure gibberish, clearly influenced by the anesthesia, as I couldn’t recall even having my phone in hand. My mom calmly asked everyone on the group text to decipher the meaning behind my words (she’s not in the medical field) and inquired if I was okay. Later, it became evident that the texts were not medical jargon but simply nonsensical ramblings.

The days following the procedure were when I experienced the most symptoms. Surprisingly, the weeks leading up to the procedure with hormone injections weren’t as challenging as I had anticipated. The post-procedure cramping was milder than my typical period, and I was surprised to be offered a prescription for oxycodone for pain relief. Instead, I chose to manage the discomfort with ibuprofen, Tylenol, and my trusty extralong heating pad. However, after the initial day, I began to experience significant weight gain, constant pelvic pressure, loss of appetite (which was highly unusual for me), early satiety, and nausea after eating. Even a pair of pants became a trigger for vomiting. I cursed myself for getting rid of my hospital-issued scrubs during a closet cleanup, as they were the only thing that could potentially accommodate my now swollen and uncomfortable belly. It was clear that I was retaining excessive fluid. I had to call in sick for a shift during my most symptomatic days, knowing I wouldn’t be able to provide proper care to patients while I was still in the process of recovering as a patient myself. Each day, I feared waking up to more ascites and worsening symptoms, becoming a patient in my own emergency department. Fortunately, that never happened. Instead, I learned to slow down, forgave myself for needing recovery time after a procedure, and made proactive choices for my wellbeing.

This is my unique experience, and yours may be different. Perhaps you have found a better way to navigate this journey. Whatever the case may be, I wish you all the best and encourage you to share your experiences and questions. Only through open dialogue can we learn more and improve the overall experience. Let’s find the courage to discuss this topic so that as a specialty, both men and women can feel empowered to support a growing need in our workforce. By sharing our stories, we can become better doctors for our patients who may also be grappling with similar decisions and experiences.

About The Author

Dr. Deutsch is a clinical instructor in emergency medicine and an emergency medicine wellness fellow at Stanford Emergency Medicine. @amandajdeutsch