The Google search that led me to my new career choice was simple: “Egg donation agencies in New York City.” I’m not the only one to type it. Plus, the school’s administration reminded us outright that we were to avoid employment during our studies. I knew I couldn’t risk the distraction and stress of a job while studying at Columbia full-time. The first time I heard of donation was through a friend during my undergraduate studies. I first called the egg donation clinic back in March 2021 – moments before I attended Columbia Journalism School’s introduction day.
I roll up my sleeve and hold out my other arm. Another nurse walks in, showing off more vials in her hand. I lean my head back against the cold chair. I’m escorted to a gynecological chair in a nearby examination room and given a pineapple flavored lollipop. Semi-conscious, and embarrassed I stumble over an apology. When I awake, the nurses have swept me into the air.
I try to remember if I ate breakfast – I didn’t.Ī nurse scoots over and pulls my arm over the cuff of the chair.Īfter she has filled eight or so vials with my blood, I slump over and pass out. She takes me to a chair in a hallway: a dozen or so vials clinking around on an attached tray. Sometime after my arrival, a nurse calls my name. I share fleeting glances with giggling couples and wonder if any of them are sizing me up as a possible donor. Looking around the waiting room, with its lavender and gray accents splashing the walls, I quickly realize I’m the only woman sitting alone. In the clinic’s main office, Amy Winehouse’s deep voice plays softly on a nearby speaker. But here was an industry offering me more per hour than I’d ever earned at a regular job. Donation is a term that is supposed to reflect that it’s a woman’s time, not the value of her eggs, that’s being paid for. Outside of my family, I’ll more often say I’m “selling my eggs”. Over the last four months I’ve been lying to my somewhat conservative family about where I’ve been escaping to on these early mornings: surreptitiously showing up for examinations and psychological assessments in order to donate my eggs. My wrinkled, green satin skirt sticks to my legs as I rush into the egg donation clinic’s main office for another screening, a urine test. I t’s 90-something degrees on a June morning in New York City. I landed on a burgeoning industry offering struggling people vast amounts of cash, relatively fast: egg donation. For the remaining rent and living costs, I looked for something else to plug the gap. The school, whose education is widely considered the golden standard in journalism, would provide me with unparalleled access, in an industry I currently felt immobile in.įortunately, the vast majority of the cost would be covered by scholarships. I was absolutely stunned to be admitted, but even more shocked by the $116,000 price tag, for tuition and living expenses. Seven months ago, I received my acceptance to Columbia University’s School of Journalism. As I regain consciousness I wonder: is this worth it? That “it” is the $10,000 question. They shake me back and forth, urging the blood back to my head. I’m surrounded by four nurses holding me upside down.
Vast winter in my heart was released professional#
Reception Professional ratings Review scoresĪllMusic noted the shift in tone since VAST was no longer on a major label, giving the album a 3 out of 5 and calling it "essential for VAST fans", but noting that its largest problem was Crosby's vocal style.M y eyes flutter open.