Ab Ovo
Lauren Kleutsch
Word Count 718
A female fetus has 6 million ova. The dwindling starts even before birth, at which point she will have around 2 million eggs. At puberty, the number has dropped to 300,000. By age 39, she’s lucky to have 25,000.
In my case, the reserves were half that. As an embryo, my body only formed one ovary and half a uterus. I was blissfully unaware of this rare anomaly, called a unicornuate uterus, until I gave birth via c-section to my first son. The doctor held up her phone to show me pictures she’d taken. It took me several moments to register that I was seeing a photo of my uterus, sitting atop my torso. The doctor was exhilarated: a full-term pregnancy with this condition is remarkable.
An egg can signify so many things: approbation (“He’s a good egg”) or disparagement (“He’s a bad egg.”) Eggs can goad (egging someone on) and taunt (“Last one there is a rotten egg!”). If you have egg on your face, it’s embarrassing. Eggs suggest existential questions: Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
At 39, I was looking at ~12,500 eggs. You’d think my ovary could scrounge up a single measly egg for a second kid. But don’t count your chickens before they hatch, and all that.
Elders love to deliver financial advice with egg idioms: “Don’t kill the goose that lays the golden egg.” “Make sure you set aside a nest egg.” “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”
We pursued IVF. I couldn’t bring myself to plunge the syringe of ovulation-stimulating hormones into my stomach. Eventually, I asked my husband to help me. His enthusiastic reassurance that he’d done the same procedure for “lots of cows!” as a dairy farmer did little to improve my attitude.
The Russian refrain, “The same water that softens the potato hardens the egg,” recognizes how people respond differently to the same experience. The Lithuanian proverb, “Offer the lazy an egg and they'll want you to peel it for them,” employs the egg as a critique of indolence, while the perplexing WWII phrase, “What do you want, egg in your beer?” reproaches entitlement.
The ultrasound technician monitored the follicles, cautioning that some may still be immature, while others were likely to be atretic (“overcooked”) by the time I had the retrieval.
An egg can be prepared in so many ways. For the refined palette, an egg might be poached. Less fussy is a fried egg. The internet offers myriad methods for ensuring easy-to-peel hard-boiled eggs. (Good luck). Scrambled eggs are your best bet for a crowd. Sprinkle herbs, cheese, diced meat atop them and fold it in half; call it an omelet. A strata layers in cubes of bread, cheese, meat, spinach, etc. Add cream and a dense crust for a quiche. A less provincial chef would mention Tamagoyaki, a sweet Japanese rolled omelet; Gyeran Jjim, a Korean savory custard; Middle Eastern Shakshuka, fragrant poached eggs atop a tomato-pepper reduction; or Kuku Sabzi, a Persian frittata studded with emerald herbs. Eggs bind cakes and cookies; transform pudding into custard; emulsify hollandaise, bearnaise, and mayonnaise; add structure to Baked Alaska, pavlovas, and meringue.
The doctor guided a thin needle into my ovary, through the vaginal wall, to suction the eggs out of each follicle. She retrieved 7 eggs, of which 5 fertilized; only 2 progressed to blastocyst. One of them was genetically normal.
The nurse showed me a black-and-white photograph of the embryo before inserting it. It looked blobby, like a fried egg, actually.
3 million to 1 million to 150,000 to 12,500 to 7 to 5 to 2 to 1.
Eggs connote fragility. An Arabic proverb laments, “If a rock falls on an egg, too bad for the egg; If an egg falls on a rock, too bad for the egg.” Senegalese parents reproach insubordinate children with “An egg shouldn’t wrestle with a rock.” The Turkish proverb,“Today's egg is better than tomorrow's hen,” reminds us how little we can count on.
Arthur is nearly two now. He gives open-mouthed kisses to anyone who asks, uses “Mama!” as a synonym for “help” even when I’m not around, and sleeps with My First 100 Trucks under his head, instead of a pillow.
An egg can become so many things.
Lauren is a writer and ESL teacher living outside Boston with her husband, their two children and their dog, Banjo. Her work has been published in Cognoscenti, The Offing, and The Keepthings. She is currently writing a novel set in a K-8 school.