Made With Intention

The day before my egg retrieval, I found out that my fertility clinic had discarded my donor sperm without my permission.

Yes. You read that correctly.

The day after my trigger shot, and about 24 hours before my scheduled retrieval, I went to the clinic for one last blood test. The nurse pulled me aside to review the procedure and asked a question I was not expecting.

“What about the sperm?”

I looked at her with confusion and asked, “What about the sperm?”

I had delivered a vial of donor sperm to the clinic earlier that year for the fertilization of my previously frozen eggs. So I was a little surprised to hear them asking me about the whereabouts of a vial that had been under their care.

After speaking with the embryology lab, the nurse informed me that the vial had been discarded after the first thaw.

Without my permission. Without asking me what I wanted done with the remaining sperm. Without any discussion about whether I intended to use it again.

I was appalled.

And there was considerably more at stake than the cost of a vial.

I am pursuing solo motherhood and had purchased three vials from the same donor upfront (two were still stored at the cryobank). I wanted to preserve the possibility of having more than one child and to have enough sperm available for multiple attempts, knowing that IVF is unpredictable and that there is no guarantee of a successful pregnancy. I also wanted to avoid having to find another donor.

The donor was subsequently sold out. There was no simply going back and ordering more.

These were not just frozen cells sitting in a laboratory. They represented possibilities. The possibility of another attempt, another pregnancy, a sibling for my future child. They represented the family I was hoping to build.

The clinic had made an assumption about my reproductive plans without ever asking me. And in doing so, they had discarded something that was irreplaceable.

I was going into a retrieval the following morning with the intention of fertilizing my newly retrieved eggs then and there rather than freezing them. I had deliberately chosen this approach to avoid another round of freezing and thawing, knowing that there can be attrition at each step. I wanted to maximize the number of embryos I could potentially create.

And now, apparently, I had a sperm problem.

I asked the nurse to initiate an investigation into what had happened to the vial while I called the cryobank. I also reviewed my contract with the fertility clinic and sent a formal grievance email. My understanding was that once frozen gametes were delivered to the clinic, they were responsible for their storage and handling.

But what bothered me just as much was the absence of a process. No one had asked what I wanted done with the remaining vial after the first thaw. No one had confirmed whether I wanted it stored for future use. And no one had contacted me before making that decision on my behalf.

There was also supposed to be a process for confirming that all necessary supplies, including donor sperm, were available well in advance of a scheduled procedure. Instead, I was finding out about this on Sunday, the day before my Monday morning retrieval.

This was not a last-minute dinner reservation. It was an IVF cycle.

I was angry, and I was not going to let the issue disappear into the administrative abyss. I wanted answers, and I needed a solution before my retrieval.

In between the anger and logistical planning, I found myself looking for little reassurances. Repeating numbers on the clock, random synchronicities. I took them as signs that the sperm drama would somehow resolve itself. I had faith. Or perhaps I was just desperate for a little cosmic customer service.

Monday morning.

I woke up at 5:15 a.m. after a rather restless night and made my way to the clinic with my mom. We arrived at 6:30 a.m. I waited patiently for the clock to hit 7:00 so I could call the cryobank the moment they opened.

I got a very sweet customer service representative on the phone. She informed me that, unfortunately, the building/lab did not open until 9:00 a.m. The laboratory staff did not start their shifts until then.

What?

I explained that my procedure was scheduled for 8:00 a.m. and that this was a time-sensitive process. My retrieval was scheduled exactly 36 hours after my trigger shot, and I was trying to coordinate the sperm delivery so that my freshly retrieved eggs could be fertilized.

I asked if there was any way someone could open the building earlier. She spoke with her manager and came back with the answer: no one could access the lab before 9:00 a.m. Even once the staff arrived, they would need approximately 30 minutes to prepare the vial according to their laboratory protocols before releasing it. Uff, the stress was getting worse by the minute.

At least my mom was with me. We did not have to depend on a delivery service or hope that a package arrived on time. She could physically pick up the sperm and bring it across the street.

In the meantime, I did what any anxious patient would do: I looked up research articles. I wanted to understand how much flexibility there might be around retrieval timing and subsequent insemination. I found information suggesting that a modest delay could still fall within an acceptable clinical window, although the timing would need to be determined by my treating team.

The doctor scheduled to perform the retrieval reassured me that we did not need to delay the procedure and that we could proceed as planned.

So that was that.

At 8:00 a.m., I went in for my retrieval while my mom drove across the street to sit in the cryobank parking lot. Waiting.

As soon as she saw the lights come on, she went inside. The laboratory staff worked as quickly as they could, prepared the vial, and handed her a large package containing the frozen donor sperm, carefully packed in a liquid nitrogen tank to maintain the appropriate temperature.

My mother was now officially on sperm delivery duty. Quite an important assignment in her daughter’s journey to motherhood! The lab staff helped her load the heavy tank into her car, but once she arrived at the fertility clinic, she had to carry it in herself.

It felt miraculous. By the time she returned to the fertility clinic, I had recovered from sedation and was sitting in the waiting room, ready to leave.

As soon as she walked in with this large package carrying my precious sperm, we exchanged looks and laughed!

My mother had just hand-delivered donor sperm so her daughter could have a successful pregnancy. Not exactly the kind of mother-daughter errand you hear about every day.

The clinic staff apologized profusely, and my doctor called me later that evening to apologize as well.

I understand that mistakes happen. IVF involves an extraordinary number of steps, people, protocols, and moving pieces. But that is precisely why checking and double-checking matter. Especially when something as important as someone’s reproductive material is involved.

I was already navigating the physical, emotional, financial, and logistical demands of IVF. I did not need the added stress of wondering where the heck my very precious sperm had gone. I had entrusted the clinic with something that was irreplaceable to me. And they let me down.

I am glad the situation was ultimately resolved, and I appreciated the apologies. But accountability matters. I followed up, asked questions, filed a grievance, and made sure the issue was addressed.

And yes, as soon as I got home, I rested with a heating pad and some Tylenol. We laughed off the sperm drama, and you can bet I got the clinic to reimburse me for that precious vial.

My mom saved the day, like a heroine. Turns out, she was the cosmic intervention!

If there is one lesson I took away from this experience, it is this: IVF involves a long list of steps, and you cannot assume everything is taken care of. Ask. Confirm. Double-check. Then ask again.