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The first time I spoke to “Anna”—not her real name—she was in the process of donating her eggs. A couple wanted to have a baby, but the mother-to-be’s eggs were not viable, so they needed Anna’s. This was Anna’s fourth time donating, and she was familiar with the routine: take hormones to stimulate the development of eggs, get some ultrasounds and then have the eggs removed. She was upbeat. When I asked what she considered the best part of the experience, she listed several: The gratitude of the families. The marvel of creating life with modern technology. Feeling powerful as a woman. “We women should help each other out,” she said.

At that moment, however, there were a lot of little things annoying her. She was miffed at the nurses, who hadn’t been as attentive as usual—they even forgot to special-order her medications. (Anna lives in British Columbia, but the clinic was in Toronto; cross-province prescriptions can be tricky.) She was also negotiating about money with the agency that arranged the donation. Anna never takes a fee, but she wanted...