For weeks, it was my evening ritual: sit on the sofa, switch on Love Island, grab a good inch of belly fat and plunge in the syringe. As I watched the Ronseal-tanned guys and gals lounge around the swimming pool, the hormones I’d injected sent a message to my egg follicles: grow!
After two weeks of these jabs, and several scans of my ovaries, my eggs were harvested and frozen at -196 degrees.
I was 34 years old when I froze my eggs. Though I’d had a few serious relationships and dated like an honorary ambassador for Tinder, I was still single.
So
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