Brooke Wilson, 29, public relations specialist, two-time egg donor, Atlanta, Georgia
Unlike many of my friends, I’ve never dreamed of giving birth or raising children. The idea of giving up my life to care for another person—forever—has just never appealed to me. I admire the sacrifices parents go through for their offspring, but never thought it was the path for me. I’m a motorcycle rider and enthusiast, and I enjoy traveling and adventure. I’m preparing now for a trip to Africa and to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.
I was always intrigued by the science of genetics and advances in reproductive biology. I was originally attracted to the idea of donating eggs because the procedure is amazing, and possible. The money isn’t bad, either. As a young professional working at my first post-college job, I wasn’t desperate, but the possibility of getting those high-interest credit cards off my back was enough to motivate me to attend an egg-donor information session.
I did not take the decision to allow someone else to have “my” child lightly. After much thought, I concluded that while a child born from my egg is genetically mine and will always be intrinsically linked to me, my view is that if a woman incubates, carries and delivers a baby, that child is hers. Period. I also talked to my mom about the idea, and she was extremely supportive. Like most of my friends, she saw it as an amazing gift.
I decided if I was going to do it, I didn’t want to be involved with the couple or know the baby. One of the steps in the process included talking to a counselor about my decision to let someone else use my eggs. I don’t think I’ll ever want to meet this child, but it was good to examine different possibilities. For example, while current laws recognize the confidentiality clause in the agreement I signed, at some point a court could possibly overrule and release my records. I had emotional moments, but overall I’m very secure in my decision.
I didn’t become an egg donor to be part of a child’s life, but to help a couple have children. I guess it’s good to know I’m fertile should I change my mind about having kids of my own.
How does it feel to know that children of mine are out there now? Weird, when I think about it. Occasionally I’ll see a toddler with curly brown hair pouting stubbornly to her frustrated mother in the grocery store and wonder. But those kids born from my eggs are someone else’s problem—and blessing—now.