Unrelated photo of an ice cream maker. (Photo by Island Vittles)

I stored reproductive material at Fairfax Cryobank several years ago. I was many years post-transition and had been feeling the baby urge really strongly. My cis lesbian partner and I decided we wanted to make babies together, but it wasn’t the right time yet, so I decided to try banking. I wasn’t sure if it was possible for me after being on hormone therapy for so long, but sure enough, after stopping HRT for several months (the subject of a future post), I was manufacturing baby components and ready to put them on ice. Here are some things you might want to know if you’re considering banking for yourself.

[Note: Some people can’t or don’t want to make a baby from their own genetic material, and some people can and do want to. It’s everyone’s right to choose what’s best for them. This post, because it is about cryobanking, will take for granted that making babies that way is or may become important to you, like it was to me. It’s in no way intended to disparage the many other wonderful and fulfilling ways of creating a family.]

How much does cryobanking cost?

Different cryobanks do things differently, and charge different amounts. At Fairfax Cryobank, you’d pay $125 for an initial consultation and $40 per month for storage, plus a $300 fee every time they freeze a specimen for you. How many times you get hit with that $300 fee depends on how much you want to store. How much you need to store depends both on the quality of what you’re freezing and the method you and your partner plan to use to make a baby.

One specimen from you can be enough for several attempts to start a pregnancy with IVF (in-vitro fertilization, where eggs are fertilized outside the body and then put into the uterus), but IVF is very expensive, at around $12,000 per cycle. IUI (intra-uterine insemination, where the sample is injected into the uterus through a thin tube) and ICI (intra-cervical insemination, AKA the turkey baster) are less costly options but require a larger amount of banked material each time you try. If you’re planning to do ICI, you may need to pay extra for the specimens to be washed in a certain way. Because getting pregnant depends on many factors, including your partner’s body, no amount can guarantee a pregnancy, and you’ll have to decide for yourself how much to store after talking with the doctor and seeing the results of your first freeze analysis.

I ended up spending around $2,000 initially, plus the cost of storage for several years. We chose to pay for storage annually, and got a bill from them each year. Their policies say they don’t destroy specimens without written permission, so they won’t pull the plug if you’re late with a payment.

Are the doctors and staff respectful, or weird and uncomfortable-making?

A weird and uncomfortable-making giant snow baby. (Photo by jessamyn)

My experience was that the doctors and staff aren’t bad, but don’t have the best bedside manner either. I wasn’t the first trans woman they’d seen, and they treated me respectfully and used the right pronouns. But I was pretty uncomfortable, because as a trans woman I find talking about body stuff to be really difficult in the first place, and hi, now a doctor is talking to me about how to masturbate, and using words for my body that I don’t like hearing and never ever use myself. They didn’t do anything awful, but they didn’t change their routine or go out of their way to make it easy.

If you’re listening, Fairfax Cryobank, here’s what I wanted to hear just once:

“It’s great that you are taking charge of your own fertility by storing reproductive material for the future. A lot of people are uncomfortable talking about the kind of things we need to talk about, and I can imagine it might be even more uncomfortable for you. I want to do anything I can to help you feel comfortable with this process, so please let me know if you have any concerns and if there are certain words you’d prefer me to use or to avoid.”

Unfortunately, they didn’t say that. They did, however, use their own special kind of banal and impersonal medical-speak about everything, which in addition to keeping things professional has the added benefit of avoiding a lot of uncomfortably gendered terminology.

Imagine Ben Stein’s character in Ferris Beuller’s Day Off telling you flatly across a desk in small, dimly-lit office that “in the collection room cabinet there is some literature which some people find helpful in producing a sample.”

Ten seconds later, as he’s describing packets of sterile lubricant, you realize he was talking about porn magazines.

You may be amused by this. You may also find the whole process really upsetting and invalidating as a trans woman when you’re reading brochures written for men, signing forms designed for men with male pronouns everywhere, and going through a process that most people think of as a men-only thing.

Remember that taking charge of your fertility has nothing to do with being a man. You are doing this because you’re going to be an awesome mom someday, and preserving your fertility could be the way you make that happen. If the forms are wrong, correct them.

What’s the process like?

Unrelated photo. (Photo by chotda)

In my initial consultation, I met with an older male doctor who explained the process, asked some questions and answered mine, and gave me a ton of paperwork to fill out. He also gave me a list of blood tests I’d have to have done by my primary care doctor or by another lab. The tests were for HIV and Hepatitis B and C. If you test positive, you may have to pay more for special handling or have to use a different, specialized cryobank. Once the cryobank has the results of your blood tests, you can come in as many times as you want to store your stuff, as long as you take a few days between each visit for your supply to recover.

Visits after the initial consultation are simpler. You sign in and show them your ID, and they give you a specimen jar and show you to an empty collection room. When you come out, you put the jar in a heated cabinet and leave.

Different cryobanks have different protocols, but at Fairfax Cryobank, every time you give them a specimen, they analyze it twice in addition to freezing it. First they make sure it’s in good working condition, and estimate how many functioning reproductive cells there are. Then they divide it among several vials, depending how much there is. Then they freeze it, keeping a tiny sample separate so they can thaw it and make sure it still works when it’s unfrozen. A few days later they send a letter in the mail with all the numbers from the analysis, along with the total amount they have in storage for you.

The collection room

You are in a small square room which is taller than it is wide. The only exit is North to the Hallway. Two identical rooms are immediately to the East and West. On the wall opposite the door there is framed poster print from the 1980s depicting a topless woman reclining on a bed. The figure is stylized in a way that passed for tasteful in the 1980s and seems intended to be more inspirational than pornographic. Directly below the print is a love seat that you wouldn’t buy cheap at a yard sale but might not throw out if you owned it. To your right is a trash can. To your left is a hip-high countertop with a sink. Under the sink there is a drawer containing a few packets of sterile lubricant. Above the sink there is a cabinet containing a stack of periodical literature which includes Penthouse, Hustler’s Taboo, Club, and High Society. The literature seems to be clean and of recent publication. The cabinet also contains a stack of blue underpads, in case you decide to open all the packets of sterile lube at once and get really crazy. On the counter beside the sink there is a roll of paper towels, and a mug with a pen so you can write your name and the date and time on the label of the specimen cup you’re holding. The pen is topped with a giant cartoon sperm. There is also a suggestion box, titled with ink that has spread in little spots where the box has been splashed with liquid. The sink/counter/cabinet fixture abuts the front of the love seat, leaving you a square of thin carpet the approximate swing radius of the door on which to stand.

Protip: Run the water for background noise.

Are there other options besides the closet?

If you live too far away to travel to a cryobank office, Fairfax Cryobank will send you a kit that lets you use overnight shipping to send them reproductive material for storage. If you can’t bring yourself to do it in the collection room, and you don’t mind paying extra, this might be an easier way to do it. But just so trans women who choose this option don’t miss out on all the awkwardness, they’ve thoughtfully named this option “Priority Male.” Get it? They made a pun.

What about the other people in the waiting room?

Unrelated photo.

Whenever I went in to “produce a sample,” I went early in the morning, before work, and most of the times I didn’t wait and didn’t see anyone but the staff. When there were other people in the waiting room, they weren’t shooting the shit about the game last night or joking about how many specimen cups they can fill. They were looking at their phones or at a copy of Newsweek, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I never got any weird looks or had anyone question why a woman was there.

Conclusion

No matter how competent and sensitive the staff are, dealing with reproductive health stuff is not fun for anyone. It’s a lot harder when you’re trans, especially if you are deeply uncomfortable with your body already. Things that are really private and personal suddenly become the topic of conversation, and it can make you think about your body in ways you don’t like.

Luckily, surviving uncomfortable situations in order to take control of our lives is something that trans people are great at. When we come out to family and friends, we are scared, but we do it anyway, because we know it’s the only way we can be who we are and have the lives we want and deserve.

When I was first transitioning, everything seemed so uncertain and scary that I couldn’t imagine someday having a family. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to have a decent job, or if anyone would love me. By the time I thought about cryobanking, I had just started hormone therapy and couldn’t bear to think of going backward. I told myself that it was the price all trans people had to pay, that giving up my fertility was a part of my transition and that it was only fair.

I feel very lucky that several years later, with the support of an amazing partner, I had the confidence to stop hormone therapy for long enough to bank reproductive material and preserve my fertility. Today we’re expecting a baby and planning our family. Even though we were able to use fresh cells instead of frozen when we actually conceived, we weren’t sure that would be possible, and I’m very glad I made the decision to bank.

Trans women’s reproductive concerns aren’t often considered—but we have the same right to our fertility that other women do. We shouldn’t have to give it up in order to be who we want to be.

As you can see, there’s not a lot of information here. Or anywhere else.

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