Here’s something I didn’t expect to do the week after my 33rd birthday: squint at a fuzzy screen, looking at the follicles inside my ovaries. They looked like the black holes in NASA images, but my OB-GYN looked excited. I was a “great candidate” for egg freezing. Great, but I was also really scared about being under anaesthetic during the retrieval process, and even more so at the idea of pushing my body to even higher heights of productivity at a time when I needed some respite. The procedure was also eye-wateringly expensive. But what were my alternatives? I could lose my chance of becoming a mother… Could I put a price on family? On happiness? On hope?

I decided to move forward with the procedure. It would be painful, maybe even a bit punishing, but I would claim my right to rest.

In the past six months I have finalised a divorce, bought my first property (on which I also began renovations), and scored a promotion at work. I’ve ticked off arguably some of the biggest moments life can throw at you from my 2025 bingo card. But this one trumps all: I decided to join the vanguard of one of the biggest significant social changes for women since the advent of the Pill. I decided to spend a small fortune (Dhs23,000 as a starting point – more if you have to repeat the procedure) to freeze as many eggs as science can help me produce in a month or two and keep them in a cryogenic vat, indefinitely.

In truth, I have never given much thought to my biological clock, let alone have the wherewithal to begin stockpiling contingencies for an entire hypothetical family. But after undergoing the very sobering experience of ending a marriage – which notoriously dovetails into financial devastation – I didn’t want to (and perhaps never will) join the frantic race against the clock to find a new life-partner because my ovaries have a sell-by date. And at 33, I faced mounting pressure from the matriarchs in my family. “You ought to hurry up and get on that baby train,” an aunt loudly declared last summer, pointing at my belly. Egg freezing felt like a way to take back control of my life and silence the opinions around me.

Now it has become a prevailing topic of conversation among women in their 30s, who are trying to work out – and are reminded of by society nearly every waking minute – how our biological clocks tick. We’re forced to fall victim to a race against time, and are constantly questioned about how this might fit in with our reproductive plans. It’s like trying to imagine a future version of myself, a hologram of life not yet lived. It’s strange, being in a bind with your own biology. A bit like an episode of Black Mirror.

I’m also loathe to perpetuate the fear that, as women, if we end up without children we have somehow failed, but I was approaching the proverbial age (35) that experts suggest our reproductive health noticeably downshifts, so now seemed like a good as time as any, I told myself. One recommendation from my gynaecologist and a few Google searches later, I’d booked an appointment at Orchid Fertility Clinic. 

As the biggest fertility clinic in the region, its pedigree in the UAE is pretty unparalleled. I met with Dr. Serge Mattar, who pulled out a chart showing female fertility after age 35 – a curve swooping exponentially downward. “Women are born with about 1 to 2 million eggs, but by puberty that number declines to around 300,000–400,000,” he tells me. “By the age of 35, a woman typically has between 25,000 and 50,000 eggs remaining, and their quality declines sharply, with only about 50% of resulting embryos being chromosomally normal, compared to higher rates in younger women.”

Women opting to freeze their eggs (oocyte cryopreservation, in doctor-speak) have inherently different needs and expectations (and insurance reimbursements, which are typically non-existent) than the couples grappling with infertility in IVF waiting rooms. Though there are endless public discussions about pregnancy journeys, fertility – well, in this region, at least – is much less talked about, save from the usual ‘don’t leave it too late’ warning. Describing what actually happens when you freeze your eggs is one of the things not widely heard about. “The egg freezing process usually begins around day two or three of your menstrual cycle, with daily hormone injections that you self-administer using a small, thin needle for 10 to 12 days,” says Dr. Serge. “During this phase, you’ll come to the clinic for a couple of brief follow-up visits, where we monitor the growth of your eggs using ultrasound and, occasionally, a blood test. Throughout this stimulation period, you can continue with your normal routine, including work, travel, and exercise. Once your eggs are ready, you’ll undergo a 10-minute procedure under mild anaesthesia, during which a needle is used to gently retrieve the eggs. Most patients resume regular activities the very next day. The collected eggs are then assessed for maturity, and the mature ones are frozen for future use.”

Now, as I write this – and the wallet-size case, cleverly designed to fit the hypodermic needles and the tiny vials of hormones, sits on my desk ready for the daily self-administered injections – I wonder how many 20-something-year-old women know what they actually have to put their body through to freeze their eggs? Not only is the cost eye-watering, but there’s a whole heap of tests you need to do beforehand, plus the potential side-effects of pumping your body full of hormones for two weeks: nausea, bloating, abdominal pain, crying… If we’re going to raise awareness about fertility, we need to be clear about what these things involve. It isn’t scaremongering to be realistic.

“Before starting egg freezing, you’ll undergo a few essential tests to ensure your treatment is perfectly tailored and to set realistic expectations,” Dr. Serge informs me. “First, your doctor will order a blood test – which can be done any day of your cycle without fasting – to measure your TSH (thyroid-stimulating hormone) and prolactin levels, ensuring any imbalances are addressed before treatment. This same test also checks your AMH (anti-Mullerian hormone) level, a key indicator of your ovarian reserve, which helps personalise your stimulation protocol and predicts the number of eggs that may be retrieved. In addition, an ultrasound is performed to rule out any gynaecologic abnormalities and to count the antral follicles, offering further insights into your ovarian reserve.”

Despite the cost of the procedure, experts have weighed in on whether this is ushering in a new era of gender equality and career advancement for women, or whether we have just handed a high-tech medical solution to the patriarchy. A now-famous 2014 Bloomberg Businessweek cover story promised a new option for professional women: “Freeze Your Eggs, Free Your Career.” There are companies such as Apple and Facebook which have now implemented policies offering to cover up to $20,000 (Dhs73,458) of the cost of egg freezing for their female employees. On the surface, it’s a move towards empowering us by levelling the reproductive playing field between women and men. But it’s also creating an undercurrent of conversation as to whether this is some Machiavellian way to get women to put off their child-bearing years for as long as possible. Could it be corporate manipulation at its finest?

For me, the truth is thus: breakthroughs in egg-freezing technology are now offering women a realistic chance to extend their fertility. The path of egg freezing is scary, invasive, and even a little bit painful – but it’s also exciting. For someone whose family-planning goals hadn’t progressed beyond building little houses in the quaint town of Pleasentview in The Sims 2, I now feel sustained by an overwhelming and constant reminder that I have freed myself – and my ovaries – from the tyranny of an expiration date.