Diary of a Private Sperm Donor
I first realized I wanted to be a sperm donor around March 2014. At the time, I wasn’t sure where the idea came from, although I would later work this out. I had just split up from my girlfriend of 18 months, which may have had something to do with it. On top of this, I was just starting a career break, and was looking for new directions in my life. This was certainly one.
I sat down one evening at my PC to do some research. Which these days means typing something into Google and skimming the results. Armed with a few notes, I called my local fertility clinic the next day, only to be told “you’re too old”. I was 46 at the time, and the cut-off point for donors was 40. After a fleeting sense of disappointment, I ticked it off my To Do list and forgot all about it.
Fast forward 9 months to January 2015. I was sitting at my PC reading some article that I now have no recollection of. As I read, the term “private sperm donor” jumped off the page. What’s one of those? I made a note to look it up and kept reading.
A few days later I have a couple of hours to kill, and, as before, type “sperm donor” into the world’s favourite search engine, only this time prefixed by the word “private”. This time there is more to read and make sense of. A couple of hours later, I’ve set up a profile on a website called PrideAngel. Half an hour after that, I receive my first message. Welcome to the strange world of private sperm donation — and a very steep learning curve.
*
The first odd thing to hit me was the way the website worked. Imagine a dating site hacked about a bit to cater for sperm and egg donors and women who need one or the other to conceive. Having a profile and being able to send and receive messages seems obvious, but “favourites” and “winks”? Maybe they really did use dating site software.
It would take a while before I finally got a sense of what private donation was all about and how it fits in — or doesn’t — with HFEA regulated clinics. Put simply, the regulated system has failed. Changes to legislation — you can no longer donate anonymously — and a 40-year age limit, are putting donors off. I read about 1 clinic in England that had just two registered donors. A strict vetting process, limited free inseminations, high costs thereafter and the shortage of donors make it unattractive for women also. Then there is the limited viability of frozen sperm to consider.
All of this has led to a rise in popularity of private sperm donation and the websites that have sprung up around it. This has all sorts of disadvantages:
- The sites attract creeps and sex pests
- Some women also use them for the wrong reasons (i.e. children for benefits)
- There is no mandatory STI screening
- There is no mandatory testing for genetic illnesses
- Donors and recipients risk legal and financial problems
- No vetting of donors means potential safety risks for women
The legal and financial risks — primarily liability for support payments and rights to access — are mitigated if the recipient is in a civil partnership or is married. In all other cases both sides are taking a significant risk. Perhaps the worst aspect is the subhuman men who use these sites to try to coerce women into sex — this was a common complaint.
There are a couple of plus points: It’s free — or at least cheap — to join these sites. And both sides get to choose who they deal with. A woman using a sperm bank can pick who she likes — the Nobel-prize winning Olympic athlete, presumably. But the man has none. With private donation, both sides get to choose, which I think is fairer. I turned down more than one couple because it simply didn’t feel right.
So who do you choose and who do you turn down? In the first instance, I never approached anyone. That just felt wrong. If a woman approached me, I had 4 criteria they needed to meet:
- They were healthy
- They were happy
- They were financially able to raise a child
- They stayed in contact up until the birth
I could argue that these are all reasonable and logical, insisted upon to give the child a good chance of being raised healthy and happy themselves. But there is a selfish one buried in the first: By “healthy”, I mean healthy AND attractive. But women are looking for attractive donors also, so it’s fair: Who wants an ugly child?
*
My first message is from R. R is half of a gay couple who live reasonably local to me. Their pictures show a young, good looking couple who are recently married. My inner chimp is instantly engaged — he wants to mix his genes with hers. We correspond for a while then she goes silent. Eventually, I receive a message saying they have decided to use someone with a proven track record and up-to-date set of STI tests. At the time, I was still very new to donation and had yet to be tested.
I feel a real sense of disappointment. Where did THAT come from? It is at this point I begin to think seriously about my reasons for being a donor. It doesn’t take long to work out, and there are two: Firstly, it is a lovely thing to do for someone who needs your help. Secondly — and this is the interesting motivation, at least for me — I realize I have a biological drive to reproduce. At 46 going on 47, with no offspring of my own, my DNA is shouting loudly at me to do something about it. For anyone that has read The Chimp Paradox, this was my inner chimp at work. The “lovely thing to do” was my human. When asked for my reasons for donating I give both the human and the chimp angles. Initially, I was worried that the drive to reproduce was something selfish, but every woman I explain this to thinks it perfectly normal. A woman’s biological desire to have children is a lot stronger than a man’s, so it doesn’t seem odd or selfish. In any case, I now know I can’t donate without at least some investment on my part. I also realize there is a risk of getting hurt: If I feel let down by a couple who back out when we haven’t even met, how will I feel if something similar happens further down the line? As it turns out, I have no idea — but I would find out.
By April or May I am corresponding with a number of couples and also one or two single women. Content with my reasons for embarking on this adventure, I sit down one night and join another half-dozen or so websites dedicated to private sperm and egg donation. A month later I take myself off all but 2: PrideAngel and CoParents. The others are next to useless. I start to make more contacts on CoParents than PrideAngel, the first site I joined.
I am also learning a lot about the complexities of private donation. One of the more interesting aspects is that of contact with your biological offspring. Women looking for a donor can want very different levels of contact: At one end of the scale, there is no contact at all, not even with the donor: Can you send your sperm in the post please? Then there is contact with the donor, but no contact with the child — which is the most common approach. Sometimes a couple are willing to send a photo and an update once a year — but this is one way only, the child doesn’t hear from the donor. Less usual is some contact: You play an active, albeit occasional, part in the child’s life, but with no other parental responsibilities. This could potentially be confusing for the child, and an emotional risk for everyone involved. And I can’t yet speak from experience about how this or any level of contact works in practice. But the one couple who I am talking to who want this have thought long and hard about it, so I have agreed to try. If I am successful in helping them conceive, it will be a whole other journey.
Finally, there is co-parenting. I had no idea this was even a thing before I started using private donation sites. I think of it as moving straight to a divorce: You play a full part in the child’s life — including financial support, potentially — but you have no relationship with the mother other than the child’s welfare. This is a massive leap in commitment from other arrangements, and far riskier: The divorce could be friendly, but if not it could be a nightmare for the donor, and I have heard of one such case that went very sour. For years, as I watched marriage and other long-term relationships dissolve in both my life and others, I had idly speculated that something would come along and replace marriage, or at least live alongside it. Some sort of fixed — term contract for raising children. And here it was, although with no basis yet in any legal system I know of. Progress?
*
The first couple I meet are D & N from Stoke. D, who has two children from a previous relationship, is very attractive, with stunning blue eyes. N is a little more your stereotypical lesbian, sporting cropped hair and men’s clothes. We meet in a crowded coffee bar, which isn’t ideal. D is nervous, N seems more interested in her mobile phone. We get on well. A couple of weeks later, they both come to see me at my home, where I introduce them to the litter of kittens I am fostering — they promptly get one of their own — and take them out for lunch. We all agree we are happy to proceed and I donate twice at their house. D, the potential carrier, does not fall pregnant. Very soon afterwards, she tells me that N has walked out on her. So when I had asked them “are you happy?”, she — N — had lied. Shortly after that, D loses her job. I feel sorry for her — I like her a lot and she doesn’t deserve this — and we stay in touch and meet for coffee. We are still friends and are planning to meet again soon. So now I have a gay female friend to add to my one gay male friend. I also have a godson whose mum I met through internet dating. Funny old world, full of sometimes nice surprises.
*
The mechanics of artificial insemination are hilarious, and I always try to defuse the moment with humour. In general, it works like this: I arrive at the couple’s home. There are some nerves, so I make small talk and then ask for the pot and a room where I can have a little privacy. As long as you have a reasonable sex drive and haven’t had sex or masturbated for a few days, it’s easy enough to do. One couple did offer me use of their Wi-Fi in case I needed some inspiration, which I found very funny! The wide-mouthed pots are a damn sight easier to hit than the test-tube style ones. You present your pot with a flourish, crack a joke about no laughing or coughing, and leave them to get busy with a syringe and a rubber tube. You have to laugh.
The second couple I meet are N & M, a polish couple from Worcester. Like D, M has children from a past relationship, but it is her partner N who wants to carry. M’s ex does not approve of their relationship and tries to turn the children against N, but it does not work. She has tried to conceive by artificial insemination previously and warns me it may be a long process: Would I pretend to be her partner and go through assisted AI with her if the pot and syringe approach doesn’t work? Of course I will — once I agree to help I’m committed, and they are a sweet couple. I have donated 3 times as I write, with no pregnancy. N is very upset at the first failure. We will try once more by DIY and then go down the assisted conception route. I really hope I can help them.
20. The third couple I meet are J and S from Lancashire. They are unusual in that, unlike most other couples, they really are like the lesbians you see on the internet. Both are attractive and J, who would carry, is stunning: Tall and slim with huge green eyes. My chimp is instantly engaged. To begin with, J and S are very keen. We talk by Skype and meet in a service station on the M6 — again, not the best location. We agree that I will donate to J. After a while, they go silent. Sometime later I have a message from J: They have decided to use a man they know who is local to them, citing distance as the issue. I am disappointed and confused about their reasons, which seem trivial to me. My chimp sulks.
J and S are the 2nd couple I meet who mention the prospect of fathering a 2nd child following a successful first pregnancy, either with the same carrier or her partner. This makes perfect sense as the biology is already complex in a same-sex relationship with a child by donor. To use the same donor a 2nd time gives all involved a common biological bond. I have been asked by several couples if I would consider this in future and my answer is always Yes.
The third couple I help are C and R. They live just over an hour away in Northamptonshire and travel to me for a first meeting. C is an attractive blonde in her early thirties, her partner R an equally attractive brunette in her mid-twenties. We spend a couple of hours getting to know each other in a local bar and agree to proceed straight to donation. A couple of weeks later they cook me breakfast at their house and I am shown to the guest room. I leave shortly afterwards and go back to my life. Which at the time was an increasingly desperate search for work after more than 2 years off.
About a week later I am in France for a few days celebrating Bastille Day. Always a fun night, except this time the horror in Nice casts a shadow over everything. A few days in, I send a message to C — it’s about when her period is due: Any news? The answer is a negative test. Two days later, she sends me another message: The first test was a false negative, she is pregnant! I have a picture of an electronic pregnancy test on my phone displaying the good news. This brings a wave of unfamiliar feelings, but I am very happy. This is what I started the whole venture for and now I have a success to report.
These were the couples I helped. Dealing with them was generally straightforward. Single women would prove to be another matter entirely.
*
My first message from a single woman was from L, in March. L lived in Newcastle, was young, attractive and wanted a 3rd child to complete her family. A few messages in, she admitted that she would prefer to conceive naturally — a “beautiful thing” to create a life, as she put it. This was a shock to me — I had assumed that all conception was by AI, syringes and tubes — but sex?
L was done with relationships. She desperately wanted a child and had decided, over a period of many months, to take matters into her own hands. She didn’t need a relationship to have her baby, she just needed sperm and could do it on her own. I sympathised entirely with being done with relationships — I was 20 years older than her and all of mine had failed. In the past few years, I had been trying to live my life around what I alone wanted from it. I had rejected the messages from society and advertising that we all needed a perfect partner to be happy, and was making choices just for me. Why shouldn’t she do the same? We swap a few messages, but she is not quite ready to take the plunge and needs more time to think.
The 2nd single woman I meet is A. A lives local to me, is in her early 40s and again has two children. She wants a 3rd, after which she plans to move to Australia. We meet in a coffee bar and agree to meet at her house shortly afterwards to donate. Which again means natural insemination — sex. Something similar to a one-night stand ensues. We have a slightly awkward conversation beforehand about what is allowed and what is not. In the end, it is sex like it usually is: She comes, you come, you lie together for a short while, then get dressed and go home. A has had trouble conceiving before and so this may be another long engagement, but it is not: The next time we meet, me creeping through her yard and into her bedroom so as not to wake her sleeping daughters, she admits that she has a boyfriend and might blame any pregnancy on him. This leaves me wondering what I have got myself into, but does not put me off climbing into her bed a 3rd time. Shortly afterwards, we exchange messages:
“You’re not sleeping with anyone else are you?”
“I gave no such commitment, and what about the boyfriend?”
“I’m not sleeping with him and I have to put my health first.”
“Excuse me, but I have an up-to-date set of STI tests, you’ve shown me none.”
“Nonetheless, I insist you don’t have sex with anyone else.”
“It could take months to get you pregnant and I’m not prepared to accept that.”
We agree to leave it there and go our separate ways.
The 3rd — and last — single woman I meet is S. S is from London and again, in her early forties. We have drinks and lunch and get on well. I miss a planned phone call a few days later which upsets her. She is struggling to separate her desire for a child from her desire for a relationship, and admits that she might be tempted to manipulate me into one. After a few complicated exchanges, we both agree she wants a relationship more than a baby — which is the wrong way ‘round if you are looking for a sperm donor — and we take it no further. Unlike some, she was honest and I respect her for that.
I now realised the dangers — maybe temptations is a better word — of donating to single, heterosexual women. If you subscribe to the evolutionary theory of attraction — and I do — then you are physically attracted to those who you instinctively think you would produce healthy, good-looking offspring with. This is what happens when we choose a girlfriend / boyfriend / partner. With potential donors and recipients, it’s exactly the same, except it’s immediate and out in the open: If a single, heterosexual woman thinks a man is a suitable donor, then she will want to have sex with him, by definition. Thanks to different evolutionary procreation strategies, men may be a little less fussy, but the attraction still has to be there.
*
A month or so after our last contact, L is in touch again, and we meet in June in a coffee bar in my home town. She is cute, chatty and has a twinkle in her eye — there is an immediate connection. She confesses afterwards that she is “strongly sexually attracted to me” — and the feeling is mutual.
A few weeks later, when her contraceptive implant is out and she thinks she is fertile, I drive to Newcastle to L’s house. A few minutes later we are in bed together. The sex is good — very good. It is no way a cold transaction, but sex as it should be — a mixture of pure lust, body fluids and a feeling of closeness, a connection. During the next few days, she sends me lists of possible baby names and we swap pictures of each other as toddlers, wondering how he or she will pop out looking. I see the letters she sends to her mum and dad explaining what she is doing and why. Mum is supportive, dad less so. We are even friends on Facebook.
Shortly afterwards, peeing on sticks reveals she hadn’t ovulated and her timing was out. Then comes the bad news: Her ex-boyfriend has contacted her to tell her she has been exposed to Chlamydia.
A recent set of STI tests is something all the women I met insisted on — and rightly so. I had mine done before I started donating and kept a scan of the results on my phone so I could show it to potential recipients. Why it hadn’t crossed my mind to demand the same of L I can’t say. Either it slipped my mind or I chose to ignore it.
I spend half of the next day in a walk-in clinic waiting to be seen. I am given the standard single dose antibiotic and told to get retested in a couple of weeks to be certain. These things happen, I think. L takes the same drug, has a reaction to it and is put on an alternative. But we should both now be clear of the infection.
We arrange another liaison in a hotel half way between us. The sex is a little rushed but there is still a connection. I buy lunch afterwards and we head off in opposite directions on the M1.
By now we have crossed all sorts of boundaries and are in some very strange relationship. She tells me she wants to see me during the pregnancy, kiss her bump and be with her at the birth. She admits that she has butterflies in her stomach when she thinks of me, and has moved from thinking of the child — there is no doubt I will make her pregnant — as “ours” rather than just “hers”. I have no kids of my own and the picture I am being painted is very attractive to me — to experience being a father, as close to the real thing as makes no difference.
Another 2 weeks passes and I am sent pictures of an indeterminate pregnancy test, which eventually proves to be false, so we agree to try again. By this stage we are swapping messages daily and talk on Skype. We also agree — after some hesitancy on either side — that while we are trying to make her pregnant, sex for fun is allowed. We both enjoy it when it’s donation by natural insemination, so what’s the harm in enjoying it when she’s not fertile?
We meet again soon afterwards in a tiny, retro AirBnB caravan on the edge of the Peak District. Now there’s no effort at pretence: We hold hands, go for a meal, leave body fluids on the sheets. It’s the last time I will see her.
We plan to meet again when she is fertile, and agree we need to talk about what our relationship will be going forward. A few days before we are due to meet, she goes quiet then sends me a message: She wants to try dating again and there is someone she wants to meet. Would I mind waiting to see how it goes?
*
My reaction is short and sharp: I can’t believe what she is suggesting and no, I won’t wait “to see how it goes”. Goodbye and good luck. I am confused, hurt and feel rejected — something I have experienced before, but not from someone who wanted my baby and for me to be a part of it.
A week later, L contacts me again — “by accident” — which is very hard to do on WhatsApp. I use it as an excuse to tell her exactly what I think of her behaviour, how she has hurt me and I don’t hold back. She is sorry for hurting me but unrepentant about the choice she has made: Something has “smacked her in the face” as she puts it, and she needs to give relationships one more try. I ask her to delete my number and that is that.
I struggle to come to terms with what has happened and sink into a low mood. The only explanation I can come up with that makes any sense is that, although she is determined to go it alone and have a child by herself, deep down she knows she is too young and isn’t ready to give up on relationships. Maybe what we have been doing — flirting with a relationship — has actually brought these feelings to the surface. She knows that we can’t be in one: We are 200 miles and 20 years apart. It is the only explanation that I can live with.
*
I had slowly told a few very close friends and immediate family about becoming a donor. In the main, the reactions were positive. The details I kept to myself, with one exception: My housemate K. K was a Gap-Lifer, permanently on the move, who I had met on a date 2 years prior. I was now her ski instructor and landlord! She was Australian and on the loud and brash side. Importantly, she told it how she saw it and was my only true confidante about the whole adventure.
K had some reservations about the whole venture, but was generally supportive and a good sounding board whenever things got sticky — which was often. She was wary of L from the start. When I finally confessed we had crossed the line of donor and recipient, she wasn’t surprised. She tried to warn me off any further involvement and bet me that L would try to contact me again within 6 months. She was out by 5 months and 3 weeks and I still owe her £10.
*
A week later I have a message from L: She had met the man in question and was “distinctly underwhelmed”. She isn’t sure if contacting me is the right thing to do but is reaching out. I say I will talk to her, but no promises. I have a lot I could say but not on some messaging app, it has to be over the ‘phone at least. She agrees but I am about to go into hospital for a minor operation, so talking has to wait for a while.
*
I arrive at the hospital for my op an hour early, and find a quiet pub nearby. I sit in a corner with a coke, idly browsing my phone. A picture pops up on WhatsApp from C: The 12-week scan of her baby — baby M as they call him or her. Fathers will be familiar with the feeling: I sit with tears of happiness rolling down my cheeks. Everything is present and correct, and C and R are over the moon. This is what I became a donor for, and it feels amazing.
*
L and I start to swap messages again and are friendly. She even sends me a get well card after my surgery. I try to talk to her twice over the following weekend, but she makes excuses and then goes silent. I don’t hear from her again. Now I am not just confused and hurt but angry. Then there is the troubling realization that I have been used, duped and tossed aside by a woman little more than half my age. There really is no fool like an old fool. Stuck at home, the prospect of finding work still distant and too much time to gaze at my mental navel, my low mood returns and sticks. I have had my brushes with depression in the past, at one point requiring some very expensive therapy to get through. But the discipline and mental tricks I learned only help a little this time ‘round. Reluctantly, I go to my GP to ask for some chemical assistance, and am prescribed anti-depressants. As I write this, it is too early to tell if they will help.
A week later, I find out that L is now “in a relationship”. Whether this is the previous “date”, someone else she has been seeing or a new interest I have no idea and no longer care. At least I have an explanation for her silence — she is too scared to speak to me and has no further use for me. You can make your own mind up about her motivations and behaviour. For me, it’s straightforward: The realization that she is not yet ready to abandon relationships has turned into a desperate grab for the nearest pair of trousers. She is also selfish and doesn’t care about who she hurts to get what she wants. She hurt me twice, there will be no 3rd chance. I wish I had never met her.
*
It took me a while to realize that there was more to my sense of hurt and betrayal over L than having the chance to experience being a father taken away from me. I fell for her, at least a little. This is easy enough to explain I guess: She was young, attractive and funny; she liked me and she wanted my baby. The primeval part of my brain released a flood of hormones and neurotransmitters that overruled any logic or sensibility, with a single goal: To produce a baby. When your genes shout at you, you have little choice but to listen: It causes all sorts of problems in modern society — you just have to look around you.
It sounds romantic, meeting your partner through first having a baby with them. There was an article in the news earlier this year about a couple who met after using a sperm bank and ended up getting married. But that is a one-in-a-million chance.
*
Which brings my story more or less up to date. I have removed my profile from both PrideAngel and CoParents — I don’t have the time or emotional energy to talk to anyone new right now. But I will continue to honour the commitments I have already made.
There is still no contact from L, but there is little point: I would have nothing pleasant to say to her. The 20 week scan for baby M is due in less than 6 weeks, which I am both nervous and excited about. I am helping 2 couples to conceive and talking to 2 others with a view to meeting shortly.
So what conclusions do I draw from my nine months of being a private sperm donor? It’s been quite a ride — forgive the pun. One thing clear to me is I now know I want children of my own more than I realized. For any man thinking of becoming a private donor, some advice: If you want to do this, then you need to be a good genetic example: Healthy and at least reasonably attractive. You need to be committed. You need to accept that there are risks and that a huge amount of mutual trust is involved. And you have very limited control of events following conception. Do it for the right reasons and the rewards are there: To help a woman make a new life is an amazing experience. But be prepared for the emotional turmoil and disappointments that being a donor can bring. And be very, very careful with single women — and with your own moral compass.
Of course, this story is less than half told. There is a birth to come, and hopefully more pregnancies to report. And it won’t end there: Even if I have no contact with the children I help to create, sometime in the future I may open my door to find a complete stranger who looks a little like me staring back.
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