I was 32 when I decided to freeze my eggs. I was single, doing well at work and had spent three years in San Francisco, where egg freezing was common. When I returned to Europe in 2019, I was determined to make it happen. Hearing Jennifer Aniston’s story about struggling to conceive this week – how she “would’ve given anything” if she had been advised to freeze her eggs earlier – I feel all the more privileged to have been able to freeze mine.

My egg freezing experience was by no means a horror story, but it wasn’t a walk in the park either. I struggled to administer the first hormone injection myself and ended up enlisting the help of a friend. The hormones made me bloated and I gained weight, but the pain (for me at least) didn’t feel much worse than a bad period. It speaks volumes that the worst part of the process, by far, was the lack of information or guidance offered by my clinic. 

I entered into the process positive but naïve, with a vague sense of what egg freezing would involve. I didn’t expect it to be an uphill battle to fill in the gaps and need to seek clarity on things like cost and medication side-effects from my doctor. I was particularly shocked when, minutes before my first egg retrieval procedure, an anaesthetist asked me whether I wanted to pay by cash or invoice, as I lay half-dressed on the hospital bed. I realised at that moment that, as a society, we are still ill-equipped to deal with fertility appropriately – sometimes even in fertility clinics themselves. 

Aniston’s recent interview with Allure, in which she discusses the pain of undergoing multiple unsuccessful rounds of IVF, is a stark reminder that fertility remains something of a taboo. Cultural, financial and social changes mean people are having babies later and fertility is in decline. Yet this isn’t an issue we are taught about in school, at sexual health clinics or by our GPs. The onus is always on us to educate ourselves, and if we don’t – or we think we’ve left it too late, as Aniston feels – there’s little anyone else can do.

It’s no secret that in the UK, fertility treatment is a postcode lottery. Eligibility in some parts of the country depends on your relationship status and BMI, and provision also varies depending on whether you’re in a same-sex or heterosexual relationship or have no partner at all. ‘Social’ egg freezing (when you choose to preserve your fertility for a non-clinical reason) is not offered by the NHS, meaning in the majority of cases, people must fund the treatment themselves.

In a recent survey of 1,300 fertility patients, Fertility Network UK found that two-thirds of patients had to pay for their own fertility treatment, and one in 10 couples spent more than £30,000 on investigations and procedures. Three-quarters of respondents felt their GP did not provide sufficient information about fertility problems, and less than a fifth were satisfied with the information that had been provided. This isn’t good enough.

For every person the system helps to start the family of their dreams, there’ll be another who is being priced out, excluded or bypassed because they weren’t fully aware of their options. It’s clear that we need to amplify awareness and conversations around fertility issues in all areas of life to ensure the many Anistons of this world understand their options and can make informed, proactive decisions.

Being transparent about treatment efficacy rates and the realities of fertility decline would be a good place to start. As CEO of a fertility company, a shocking number of the women I speak to don’t realise how quickly ovarian reserves and egg quality decline by the time we’re 40. To give you an idea: if you get 20 eggs frozen before you’re 35, your chances of having at least one baby is 90%, compared to just 51% if you store the same number of eggs at age 40.

Another significant barrier is cost. I went through two egg retrieval cycles, through which I was able to freeze 20 of my eggs. I paid about £7,500 in total, and I’m still paying an annual fee for egg storage. I’m incredibly lucky that this was something I was able to afford. As the cost of living soars, increasing numbers of people are heading abroad for treatment or accruing debt to cover the costs of fertility care. We need better financial support for people undergoing fertility treatment and to create new, affordable ways to drive down costs and make pursuing help feel like a financially viable, empowering choice.

Employers also have a critical role to play in widening access to fertility. Co-op recently announced paid fertility leave for its employees to widespread acclaim, joining the ranks of companies that help employees pay for fertility care by offering “fertility as a benefit”. Greater openness about the emotional, financial and physical facts of fertility treatment in the workplace could also help change attitudes to fertility in society as a whole.

And, clearly, cultural change is needed. At the most challenging time of her life – when she was going through the emotional trauma of infertility – Aniston had to contend with endless speculation and criticism about her childlessness. I’m yet to have children, and I don’t yet know whether I will struggle to do so, so I can only imagine how extraordinarily painful this must have been. It’s unacceptable that a woman’s fertility, or desire to have children, is something that we can create shame around, gossip about or put up for debate.

Aniston has been unequivocal in that she has no regrets about trying IVF when she did. I’m grateful for her bravery and her honesty. Because we still have a long way to go to make educating women about standard practices in fertility and make treatment more accessible for all who need it. It saddens me that the Friends star could have had a different outcome had she known about egg freezing sooner. 

But in speaking about her experience, perhaps another woman will have the information she needs to advocate for herself and tread the path that’s right for her, with fewer stumbling blocks in her way. 

Images: Getty; courtesy of author