My story is very similar to ncayley's. I also have a genetic condition with a 50% chance of passing it on, but that is actually not the reason why I ended up needing donor eggs. My condition can be picked up by genetic screening, which we intended to do, only to find out after 5 failed IVF cycles that I am completely and utterly infertile (unexplained, and unrelated to my condition).
I responded very well to the meds, had nearly no side effects, got lots of mature eggs and our prospects looked great at first but our fertilisation rate was depressingly low and we got no blastocysts. NONE. And you can only test blasts, so no genetic screening, and certainly nothing that you could transfer (not that I would have done so without testing). After the fourth cycle we were advised to try donor eggs, which I knew made perfect sense but I really couldn't, I just needed to know that it was me, so we did a last cycle with donor sperm (there was a chance that we had male factor infertility). The result was just the same as in previous cycles, low fertilisation rate, no blasts, in short, utter failure, so clearly the problem was my eggs.
That did it for me. Knowing that it was definitely me allowed me to stop and give it a go with donor eggs and lo and behold, we got embryos and one took at the first try (I have shit eggs but my uterus appears to be very comfy and welcoming). This was the single item of good luck in the whole process, no exaggeration, but most importantly, from the moment I knew that I was pregnant, I didn't think that this little ball of cells was not genetically related to me, I just thought: I'm pregnant. And when I gave birth to my baby, I just thought: this is my baby and she’s kind of cute. No more, no less.
Once the embryo is deposited inside your womb, it starts burrowing into your lining and building itself a little nest, creating a placenta that will feed off of your blood. You feed the embryo, you get the nausea (I felt great, but many women have an awful time), the stretch marks, the heartburn, the episiotomy and the baby at the end of it. Because believe me, it's your baby, and by the time you reach this point, you've more than earned the privilege.
I will freely admit that I felt an overwhelming desire, nay, need, to breastfeed my baby. It was very important to me to give her that, a piece of me if you will, but then again I would probably have done it just the same (but for different reasons) if she had carried my genes. And we both love it. Just wait until you feel a greedy mouth around your nipple; it’s weird beyond words but also very nice, if you know what I mean. Even now that she does it for the heck of it (at 2yo) it’s such a cosy feeling. Of course if you don’t breastfeed it will be cuddles or silly games, whatever, I’m just describing my experience.
If I have any regrets, it's that there is no test to determine infertility (there are some, but many cases remain unexplained, as you well know). I would have preferred being able to “mourn” my non-existent fertility from the start, maybe even shed a tear or two, then move on and save so much time, effort and of course money. There’s no such thing at present so the journey was necessary, I just wish some day there will be a way to tell without going through so many cycles, because for me the real stumbling block was the agony of not knowing. Is it me? Is it him? Is there any other procedure that we could try? Ahh, so frustrating.