Make money egg donor

Log in or sign up to create your own posts. If I'd known then what I know now, I wouldn't have done it. Albert and I were set up in an all-white seaside hotel room in the tony San Diego suburb of La Jolla.

At our disposal was a California king bed, a Jacuzzi, spa-fluffy robes, and best of all, a fairly fat expense account — all of which helped to make up for the escalating abdominal pain I experienced throughout the stay. As an egg donor jacked up on a superdose of fertility drugs, I reached new heights of being bloated and horny that weekend.

My procedure was scheduled to take place on the fourth and final day of our stay. Each afternoon leading up to retrieval day, I had to strip from the waist down and get penetrated with a probe that felt like an ice cube. The doctor whom my agency contracted to collect their stock used these sessions to monitor the sizes and counts of my eggs. Which meant I had to stick close by his clinic; hence the egg broker—sponsored hotel room and per diem dining allotment.

The year was I was 25, disastrously broke, and determined to live it up with my long-distance sort-of boyfriend as if this were all some carefree jag that Albert and I could actually afford. My fecundity, I was told, was at its all-time peak.

I was also experiencing the type of cramps that make the worst menstrual aches feel like tickles. My ovaries had ballooned in size, leaving little room for anything else to comfortably exist within my torso. Suffice to say, intercourse was a challenge. This notion, however, proved the opposite of easy — I lived in L. But still, I would usually stop pressuring us both and reserve my vaginal bravada for the next probing.

Albert and I would just spoon, or maybe get more gelato, before succumbing to plus hours of black sleep. During the trip, Albert, a trained emergency medical technician and social worker, took over the administration of my twice-daily fertility shots.

Days passed through excessive meals, sea lion—gazing, and geriatric-paced strolls through town before we had to report back to the hotel room — always by 9 — for my p.

I wanted the whole thing to feel aphrodisiac, exciting — the equivalent of a decadent getaway with a mistress. Whereas Albert was careful, caring, and calculating, egg donation was thrilling, enigmatic, potentially dangerous. It caused me to act secretive, cagey. Whereas Albert and I started sleeping together soon after meeting, egg donation had showered me with gifts of agency-branded chocolates and Starbucks cards, and promises of riches — eight thousand taxable dollars — before even moving to get into my pants.

I took up with egg donation soon after moving away from Chicago, away from Albert, in pursuit of a sunny new existence in Hollywood. Becoming a surrogate ovulator was never part of the original plan. At the time I was accustomed to dating self-involved, alcoholic poet types.

Once I worked up the courage to approach Albert, I found his intense, straightforward nature even more arresting than his eyes and experienced a tingly rush when he asked me out for ice cream. Things quickly escalated into what I thought was a steamy, pre-relocation fling.

Egg Donation Make Money | Let’s Donate

After I went through with the move and we technically broke up, though, we stayed in daily communication. He sent handwritten letters and thoughtful little gifts in the mail. Despite the nebulous, sort-of status of our relationship, I invited him out to celebrate my first holiday away from home and family — Thanksgiving of A few weeks before this visit, however, I celebrated my 25th birthday too hard. More specifically, I downed cheap champagne to the point of blacked-out oblivion and fell down outside of a hip L.

When I awoke the next morning, my arms were hooked to several IVs, and I was harboring a catheter. At the time I was working as a TV development intern by day and a cocktail waitress by night — a totally uninsured one. A thwarted attempt to escape the ER undocumented ended in tangled IV cords and gurney restraints. Sobbing and shoeless — my heels had gone the way of my cell phone — I navigated my way back to my rented bungalow attic via the public transportation system I was still getting used to I was too broke to have a car and, once home, fell into a deep sleep.

All I was capable of thinking about was the surely monstrous bills headed my way. After wading through a slew of Craigslist ads seeking plasma donors, I finally hit upon a gig that sounded promising: Being a few years more savvy — i. Picture a hungover mess of hospital bracelets, bruises, and E.

ORGANIZE

Impaired as my brain cells were, I apparently aced the questions. Yes, egg donation saw something desirable within my broke, underemployed self. Already, I was swooning. Also looming large in my mind? A close friend — I had shared my egg-ventures with few — had speculated that I was, in essence, biologically cheating on Albert.

According to this conclusion, things were indeed heating up with the concubine.

When I heard the news, a tidal wave not unlike sexual thrill washed over me. Anytime I sensed any moistness in the panty region, I would excuse myself to run to the bathroom and inspect myself.

She arranged a meeting — with a Beverly Hills doctor — and sent me a little something in the mail: Around this point, emails from the agency became more arduous. To the world, I was just another broke recessionista, irresponsible and poorly prepared for adulthood. Still, during the days leading up to his arrival, I fretted over how he might respond to the fact that I was ovaries-deep in the process of selling my genetic material to someone else. He looked at me as if I actually had a halo shooting out of my skull.

Albert was being such a caring partner that even I felt, in offering my body to the industry of egg donation, that I was acting as some selfless martyr. I was thrilled when he agreed to act as the companion required for my retrieval procedure — the friend who would drive me to La Jolla and deal with me while I overcame the anesthesia and returned to regular life. On that November day, everything seemed perfect. Soon after he flew home to Chicago, though, Albert actually did some background research on my other suitor.

The piece questioned the lack of scientific research that had gone into the safety of donation for donors. It also suggested the potential of correlation between egg donation and cancer, and between egg donation and infertility. Albert emailed the link to this article my way, along with an all-caps message urging me to read the story "A FEW TIMES.

Convinced the damn story was no more than slow-news-day slander, I was irate.

When I wrote back, I was a puddle of hot tears. My retrieval procedure had just been scheduled, I wrote. The egg donation agency already had Albert penciled in as my surgery companion. Was anticipation of our upcoming trip to La Jolla not consuming his waking fantasies like it had been mine? Did he not care at all about the family that was counting on my assistance?

Did none of this even matter to him anymore? After expressing as much in my email, I dialed his number. When he picked up the phone, I could already hear a tremor in his voice. The truth was, I loved them, and I believed they were enamored with me.

Abandoning ship at this point was out of the question — I wanted someone to have my baby. I credit the fertility drugs, at least partially, for that ultimatum. As soon as it left my lips, I became terrified of losing him. Thankfully, he opted for the former option, no further questions asked. True to his word, Albert did not utter any murmur of dissent anytime I spoke with him after that, nor throughout those final days of my donorhood in La Jolla.

It was only after I got my supersized eggs suctioned out of my uterus, on a gray morning in January , that Albert, over one last seaside brunch, told me he had begun actively planning to move to Los Angeles. I was still fading out of my anesthesia haze, still subject to the side effects of my last dose of fertility drugs, and I became so overjoyed that I cried into my crab Benedict.

Within a few months, Albert actually made it happen.

Become an Egg Donor | Paid Egg Donor Compensation

He found a great job on the West Coast, bought himself a bus pass, and moved in with me. Our relationship went from murky and technology-dependent to full-time, serious, no longer dependent on Skype and cheap flights.

My liaison with egg donation, however, has a different ever-after. But after taking what it needed from me and issuing that check, the agency all but formally terminated our relationship. I sent the agency an email, desperate to find out how everybody was faring. In fact I started bawling at my desk at work and ended up leaving, mumbling lies out the door about a terrible fight with my sister. Once home, I wrote the agency back, a sad, meek missive.

I expressed my sorrow, and asked my formerly friendly contacts to please do me the favor of letting me know if and when the final baby made it. Meanwhile, my boyfriend was more attentive than ever — especially as mysterious shifts began to occur within my body. Out of the blue, my breasts sprouted fibroid tumors that required biopsy. A few months later, my gall bladder became distended and infected. During the related ultrasound — my first since La Jolla — the techs discovered that my fallopian tubes are covered in endometrial scar tissue.

In the five years since donating, my Pap smears have been consistently abnormal. The response is fairly consistent: Albert and I just celebrated six happy years together. Sometimes we talk about having kids — each of us being 30 and neither vehemently for or against the idea.

Eggs are fertilized before implantation. An earlier version of this essay mischaracterized some aspects of the egg donation process. Contact Katie O'Reilly at katie. Got a confidential tip? Check your inbox and confirm your subscription now! More Hey BuzzFeed Community! Animals Audio Books Business Buzz Celebrity Community Entertainment Food Geeky Health Investigations LGBT Life Music Nifty Parents Podcasts Puzzles Politics Reader Rewind Science Shopping Sports Style Tech Travel Weddings World.

News Quizzes Trending More. Log In To BuzzFeed. Posted on July 01, , Katie O'Reilly BuzzFeed Contributor. Share On facebook Share On facebook Share. Share On vk Share On vk Share. Share On pinterest Share On pinterest Share On pinterest Share On pinterest Pin. Share On lineapp Share On lineapp Share. Share On twitter Share On twitter Share.

Share On email Share On email. Share On sms Share On sms. Share On whatsapp Share On whatsapp. Share On more Share On more Share On more Share On more More. Share On tumblr Share On tumblr. Share On stumbleupon Share On stumbleupon.

Share On linkedin Share On linkedin. Share On reddit Share On reddit. Share On googleplus Share On googleplus. Share On link Share On link. Share On facebook Share On facebook Share Share On pinterest Share On pinterest Share On pinterest Share On pinterest Pin Share On email Share On email Share On link Share On link Share This Link.

Illustration by Colleen Tighe for BuzzFeed Share On facebook Share On facebook Share Share On pinterest Share On pinterest Share On pinterest Share On pinterest Pin.

I felt like a sad, needy ex. Sign up to receive BuzzFeed Reader's monthly literary magazine!