At 75, I used my last frozen egg to become a mother — three days after my daughter was born, a 42-year-old woman knocked on my door.
I was thirty-three when I froze my eggs. Back then, I was completely convinced I’d become a mother someday, once the right circumstances finally lined up.
But someday never came.
No husband. No children. Just a career I threw myself into, decade after decade, until eventually I stopped believing motherhood was ever going to happen for me at all.
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Then, at seventy-five, I made a decision nearly everyone in my life called reckless.
I used my last remaining frozen egg, still viable after forty-two years in storage, and found a gestational surrogate through the same fertility clinic that had preserved it all those decades earlier.
