Showing posts with label finding sperm donor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label finding sperm donor. Show all posts
Monday, 20 January 2014
Woman feels deprived of the identity of her sperm donor dad
The film Delivery Man, about a sperm donor who unwittingly fathers more than 500 children, has been panned by the critics. Its cloying sentimentality, clumsy symbolism and implausible plot certainly grate; but for me, as a donor-conceived adult, it is important that the feelings of people like me have been brought to light. In the film, the donor's offspring get their happy ending: a warm and loving relationship with their biological father (and plenty of hugs, shared sunsets and burger-flipping opportunities too). In the UK, the reality is that donor-conceived people born before 2005 have no right to know the identity of their donor.
All I know about my father is that, one day in August 1971, he went into an office in Harley Street, masturbated into a bottle, was paid and left.
In all probability that is all I will ever know. Not for me the chance of asking for his details, as would be the case if I were adopted. The doctor who facilitated my conception is now dead, and in any case he claimed, when contacted years ago, that all his records had been destroyed.
My mother's husband was infertile. I called him "Dad" for 15 years, until I discovered by chance that my two siblings and I were donor-conceived. "Donor-conceived" is a clumsy term, because, in relation to me, the man in the clinic was not a donor. He gave something to my mother, but nothing – less than nothing – to me. He is, or was, my father, but by co-operating with my artificial conception, he deprived me forever of the possibility of knowing him. I do not know his name, what he looks like, what his personality is, what his voice sounds like. I do not know my paternal grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my cousins.
I did not know, until I lost it, how much my sense of identity was rooted in my knowledge of who my parents were. Incidentally, discovering I was donor-conceived was in many ways a relief, since by that point "Dad" had been imprisoned for indecent assault of a child; but even though I was liberated from a genetic link with him, I was also cast adrift from who I thought I was, and from all the stories that make up a family's sense of identity. My sense of exile was all the more acute because, ironically, I had spent several years researching my family tree. It turned out that I had nothing to do with those illiterate peasants in Leicestershire after all.
The peculiar thing about donor conception is that on the one hand it privileges genetics: the fertile partner gets to be a real, biological parent. On the other hand, it says that genetics do not matter for the other half of the gametes, and that as long as a child is "wanted", he will have everything he needs.
Unfortunately, that is not true. I do not have a relationship with my father, and not just because of my mother's husband's criminality; I do not have a father because my mother, with the help of the medical establishment (and the law) deliberately deprived me of one. My mother claimed that her infertile husband was my father, so my birth certificate perpetuates a lie. Until I was married, my non-father was my next of kin.
I do not have a father, or the sense of identity that goes with one. I do not have any knowledge of half of my roots, my father, my medical history … so every time a doctor asks me, "Any family history of …?" I have to tell them I do not, and cannot, know.
And this deprivation, though diluted for my children, persists for them too. When my youngest daughter was diagnosed with cancer at one year old, I wondered whether this was another unthought-of consequence of the casual trade in gametes 40 years ago. My mother was assured, I presume, that only healthy young men were used.
Certainly things were different in those days. My mother told no one of our origins, and planned never to tell her children either. She insisted on family likenesses to a degree that is embarrassing in hindsight. I suppose this shows that she knew that origins mattered, even though ours were based on a falsehood.
Nowadays it is deemed to be an acceptable lifestyle choice for a woman to choose to have a baby using donor sperm, whether or not the baby will have even a semblance of a father figure. Birth certificates can even legally ratify the fantasy that a baby can have two women – or two men – as her two parents. Apparently it is enough for someone to want a child: that wish demands to be fulfilled, with scant regard for what the child might be deprived of.
I, and others like me, beg to differ. There is no Hollywood happy ending in sight for us.
Article: 16th January 2013 www.theguardian.com
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Two sets of twins 2000 miles apart share same sperm donor
Twins Jonah and Hilit Jacobson love sushi and bite their nails. Over 2,000 miles away, twins Jesse and Jayme Clapoff also love sushi and chew their nails.
All four teens look incredibly similar with the same brown hair, full mouth and great athletic ability. A coincidence? Not at all. All four are the offspring of the same sperm donor and if it wasn’t for a new website that unites ‘donor siblings’ they would never have met.
Jonah and Hilit, now 16, were born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia, US, by Eric and Terri Jacobson. When the couple started trying for a baby they discovered they had fertility problems. Tests showed Eric had a condition where he didn’t produce sperm. “When you want to have a baby and you can’t, it’s hard,” says Terri, 47. “You try it all and it costs money.”
The couple’s options included adoption – in the US it would cost $25,000 (just over £16,000) – or donor insemination. They chose the latter. And from a brochure at a fertility clinic they ordered sperm from donor 1096. “We saw he was Jewish, 6ft tall, healthy, bright, smart, sporty and worked in industrial design. He came from California,” recalls Terri. “When Eric and I found out we were pregnant, we were both ecstatic, thrilled beyond belief. “I was ecstatic to learn I was having twins and to find they were a healthy boy and girl. It took five years to have them so the thought of raising two was a blessing.” Unbeknown to them, several other would-be-parents liked the sound of donor 1096, too.
In California, 2,300 miles away, devoted career woman Janis Clapoff was heading for 40 and her biological clock was thumping. “I really wanted to have children,” she says. “But there was nobody in my life at the time.” So she decided to use a donor and liked the sound of a tall, sporty, clever, handsome donor. Donor 1096. And in a year, along came twins, Jayme and Jesse, both now 16.
This could’ve been where the story ended. Two sets of twins, living thousands of miles apart. But curiosity and a new website meant the twins would eventually meet. Mum Terri had always wondered whether they had other siblings. She has always been open about the circumstances surrounding their conception. “Eric and I used the word donor from the time the twins could talk, so it was a natural introduction for the children,” she explains. But while Terri wanted to know more about the twins’ biological father – and any siblings – Eric was less keen. “My husband didn’t want to know the wider connection,” she says. In 2000, when her twins were five, Terri joined the Donor Sibling Registry, a way for sperm donor family members to connect in a way they hadn’t done before.
In order to find their half-siblings — if they have any – members use the ID number of the sperm donor. After typing in donor 1096 in to the webpage, Terri found her twins’ first sibling when they were eight. A girl called Maddi, whose mum Mara – a single mum – lived in New York. However, Maddi looked just like her mum and didn’t share physical traits with the twins, or donor 1096. But Maddi was athletic like her half-sister Hilit. “There was fondness between them,” Terri says.
During this time, Terri toyed with having another baby and bought more sperm from donor 1096, but she failed to get pregnant. However, after spending a tiring day with her 18-month-old niece, she realised having her twins was enough. Meanwhile, Janis Clapoff also decided to find out about her twins’ dad, donor 1096, and any siblings.
She too registered with the Donor Sibling Registry and the families found each other. Then, four years ago, Janis made the trip to Georgia with her twins to meet Terri’s. “The first time they were all in the same room I couldn’t believe it,” says Terri. “They had the same body type, they even have the same Mick Jagger-style lips.” Hilit adds: “The first time meeting Jayme and Jesse was exciting but nerve-wracking. Since my twin Jonah and I had met Maddi two years before, we were prepared. We hugged hello and went to dinner.
“We all talked about our life at home, friends, family and interests. It’s cool when half-siblings meet because you do feel a connection, not like just meeting strangers.” Jayme adds: “When we went to dinner, we all ordered the same drink, virgin Pina Coladas. That was cool.” Jesse agrees: “The connection was deep. We knew that we were siblings.”
In fact, the similarities were clear for all to see. As well as looking so alike, the two sets of twins are both athletic, outgoing, kind-hearted and passionate. Two years after the Clapoff twins visited the Jacobsons in Georgia, the Jacobsons returned the favour and made the trip to Hawaii, where the Clapoffs were living. “I still can’t remember any awkward or weird moments between us,” Jonah says. “Jesse and I love the ocean and discovered that we both wanted to attend the same uni, which is on the beach.”
It’s the internet that has changed the world for donor conceived children. In the US, there are already about 7,300 sibling connections on the Donor Sibling Registry and that number is expected to rise. And it’s estimated that between 30,000 and 60,000 donor conceived children are born each and every year.
To read more go to http://bit.ly/pFNEJq
All four teens look incredibly similar with the same brown hair, full mouth and great athletic ability. A coincidence? Not at all. All four are the offspring of the same sperm donor and if it wasn’t for a new website that unites ‘donor siblings’ they would never have met.
Jonah and Hilit, now 16, were born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia, US, by Eric and Terri Jacobson. When the couple started trying for a baby they discovered they had fertility problems. Tests showed Eric had a condition where he didn’t produce sperm. “When you want to have a baby and you can’t, it’s hard,” says Terri, 47. “You try it all and it costs money.”
The couple’s options included adoption – in the US it would cost $25,000 (just over £16,000) – or donor insemination. They chose the latter. And from a brochure at a fertility clinic they ordered sperm from donor 1096. “We saw he was Jewish, 6ft tall, healthy, bright, smart, sporty and worked in industrial design. He came from California,” recalls Terri. “When Eric and I found out we were pregnant, we were both ecstatic, thrilled beyond belief. “I was ecstatic to learn I was having twins and to find they were a healthy boy and girl. It took five years to have them so the thought of raising two was a blessing.” Unbeknown to them, several other would-be-parents liked the sound of donor 1096, too.
In California, 2,300 miles away, devoted career woman Janis Clapoff was heading for 40 and her biological clock was thumping. “I really wanted to have children,” she says. “But there was nobody in my life at the time.” So she decided to use a donor and liked the sound of a tall, sporty, clever, handsome donor. Donor 1096. And in a year, along came twins, Jayme and Jesse, both now 16.
This could’ve been where the story ended. Two sets of twins, living thousands of miles apart. But curiosity and a new website meant the twins would eventually meet. Mum Terri had always wondered whether they had other siblings. She has always been open about the circumstances surrounding their conception. “Eric and I used the word donor from the time the twins could talk, so it was a natural introduction for the children,” she explains. But while Terri wanted to know more about the twins’ biological father – and any siblings – Eric was less keen. “My husband didn’t want to know the wider connection,” she says. In 2000, when her twins were five, Terri joined the Donor Sibling Registry, a way for sperm donor family members to connect in a way they hadn’t done before.
In order to find their half-siblings — if they have any – members use the ID number of the sperm donor. After typing in donor 1096 in to the webpage, Terri found her twins’ first sibling when they were eight. A girl called Maddi, whose mum Mara – a single mum – lived in New York. However, Maddi looked just like her mum and didn’t share physical traits with the twins, or donor 1096. But Maddi was athletic like her half-sister Hilit. “There was fondness between them,” Terri says.
During this time, Terri toyed with having another baby and bought more sperm from donor 1096, but she failed to get pregnant. However, after spending a tiring day with her 18-month-old niece, she realised having her twins was enough. Meanwhile, Janis Clapoff also decided to find out about her twins’ dad, donor 1096, and any siblings.
She too registered with the Donor Sibling Registry and the families found each other. Then, four years ago, Janis made the trip to Georgia with her twins to meet Terri’s. “The first time they were all in the same room I couldn’t believe it,” says Terri. “They had the same body type, they even have the same Mick Jagger-style lips.” Hilit adds: “The first time meeting Jayme and Jesse was exciting but nerve-wracking. Since my twin Jonah and I had met Maddi two years before, we were prepared. We hugged hello and went to dinner.
“We all talked about our life at home, friends, family and interests. It’s cool when half-siblings meet because you do feel a connection, not like just meeting strangers.” Jayme adds: “When we went to dinner, we all ordered the same drink, virgin Pina Coladas. That was cool.” Jesse agrees: “The connection was deep. We knew that we were siblings.”
In fact, the similarities were clear for all to see. As well as looking so alike, the two sets of twins are both athletic, outgoing, kind-hearted and passionate. Two years after the Clapoff twins visited the Jacobsons in Georgia, the Jacobsons returned the favour and made the trip to Hawaii, where the Clapoffs were living. “I still can’t remember any awkward or weird moments between us,” Jonah says. “Jesse and I love the ocean and discovered that we both wanted to attend the same uni, which is on the beach.”
It’s the internet that has changed the world for donor conceived children. In the US, there are already about 7,300 sibling connections on the Donor Sibling Registry and that number is expected to rise. And it’s estimated that between 30,000 and 60,000 donor conceived children are born each and every year.
To read more go to http://bit.ly/pFNEJq
Tuesday, 30 August 2011
Donor mum: The children I've never met
Documentary about about egg donors and sperm donors making contact with their genetic children. 'Donor Mum' can be seen tomorrow: BBC1 10.35pm Tuesday 30th August.
In 1991, Sylvia was one of Britain's first anonymous egg donors. After donating as a one-off at the London Fertility Centre in Harley Street, all she asked to know was whether her donation had been successful. But she soon found out more than she had bargained for.
Sylvia was struck to discover an article in the Daily Mail six weeks after she donated, telling the story of a woman called Joan who had successfully become pregnant using en egg donor. The clinic, the dates and the fact that they were twins, coincided exactly with Sylvia's story. She felt sure that Joan was her recipient.
Joan had a tragic story - her two boys were killed in a car crash when they were on holiday in Crete, and in her mid- 40's she desperately wanted to start another family. When she successfully used an egg donor, there were countless press reports that covered her moving story of tragedy transformed into happiness, and even a BBC documentary in 1994 that showed the twins as toddlers.
Sylvia felt tormented by seeing children who were genetically hers, but were in fact strangers who she wasn't supposed to know. She was tempted to make contact, but terrified of upsetting a family who had already suffered so much. But once the twins turned 18 she felt it was right to take the bold step of contacting them.
Alongside Sylvia's story is the story of her son Eliott. Sylvia wanted a child when she reached 33 but hadn't found Mr Right, so she decided to go it alone. Eliott was conceived with the help of an anonymous sperm donor, and was born six months before Sylvia donated her eggs. Now 19, Eliott is ready to search for his sperm donor father.
For Eliott, born in 1991 when all donors were anonymous, his only hope is to search through DNA testing with the help of an organisation called UK Donorlink.
For Sylvia, contact with her recipient is at her fingertips. The film follows her turmoil as she decides how and when to make contact with Joan and the twins - and the extraordinary consequence of her decision.
Donors is a warm and moving film about a new kind of family emerging from the interventions of science. This film is also a snapshot of a future following the removal of donor anonymity in 2005, where more and more people will discover who their donors are after they turn 18.
In 1991, Sylvia was one of Britain's first anonymous egg donors. After donating as a one-off at the London Fertility Centre in Harley Street, all she asked to know was whether her donation had been successful. But she soon found out more than she had bargained for.
Sylvia was struck to discover an article in the Daily Mail six weeks after she donated, telling the story of a woman called Joan who had successfully become pregnant using en egg donor. The clinic, the dates and the fact that they were twins, coincided exactly with Sylvia's story. She felt sure that Joan was her recipient.
Joan had a tragic story - her two boys were killed in a car crash when they were on holiday in Crete, and in her mid- 40's she desperately wanted to start another family. When she successfully used an egg donor, there were countless press reports that covered her moving story of tragedy transformed into happiness, and even a BBC documentary in 1994 that showed the twins as toddlers.
Sylvia felt tormented by seeing children who were genetically hers, but were in fact strangers who she wasn't supposed to know. She was tempted to make contact, but terrified of upsetting a family who had already suffered so much. But once the twins turned 18 she felt it was right to take the bold step of contacting them.
Alongside Sylvia's story is the story of her son Eliott. Sylvia wanted a child when she reached 33 but hadn't found Mr Right, so she decided to go it alone. Eliott was conceived with the help of an anonymous sperm donor, and was born six months before Sylvia donated her eggs. Now 19, Eliott is ready to search for his sperm donor father.
For Eliott, born in 1991 when all donors were anonymous, his only hope is to search through DNA testing with the help of an organisation called UK Donorlink.
For Sylvia, contact with her recipient is at her fingertips. The film follows her turmoil as she decides how and when to make contact with Joan and the twins - and the extraordinary consequence of her decision.
Donors is a warm and moving film about a new kind of family emerging from the interventions of science. This film is also a snapshot of a future following the removal of donor anonymity in 2005, where more and more people will discover who their donors are after they turn 18.
Sunday, 22 May 2011
Donor Unknown: Adventures in the Sperm Trade
Donor Unknown... a film about identity, genetic inheritance and the family of the future
JoEllen Marsh's life began 22 years ago in a pornography-lined, "collection" cubicle at the Los Angeles headquarters of California Cryobank, a private semen cryopreservation organisation. From there, the sample produced by her biological father, donor 150, was sent to Pennsylvania, where nine months later JoEllen was born to her biological mother, Lucinda Marsh.
Twenty years later, a remarkably accepting JoEllen is calmly recounting the story of how her innate desire to connect with her extended donor family has evolved into the subject of an absorbing documentary. Donor Unknown: Adventures in the Sperm Trade, is a compelling film that raises intriguing questions about nature versus nurture, modern medicine's evolving ethics and the shifting composition of contemporary families.
"Even when I was very young," says JoEllen, "I realised that my family wasn't like other families." Informed by her lesbian mothers from an early age that "a kind man they didn't know" had helped her to be born, the concept of a traditional father – or rather the lack of one – simply never arose.
"My upbringing seemed completely normal to me, as it was all I knew," says JoEllen, who grew up with a younger sister, Mollie, 16, born to the same mother but conceived from a different sperm donor.
But JoEllen had a lot of questions that couldn't be answered. "The way I moved was not like the rest of my family. And if you don't know who your father is, you wonder about the strangest things – what are his ears like? What is his forehead like? Why do I have these interests when no one else in my family does?"
To read more go to
JoEllen Marsh's life began 22 years ago in a pornography-lined, "collection" cubicle at the Los Angeles headquarters of California Cryobank, a private semen cryopreservation organisation. From there, the sample produced by her biological father, donor 150, was sent to Pennsylvania, where nine months later JoEllen was born to her biological mother, Lucinda Marsh.
Twenty years later, a remarkably accepting JoEllen is calmly recounting the story of how her innate desire to connect with her extended donor family has evolved into the subject of an absorbing documentary. Donor Unknown: Adventures in the Sperm Trade, is a compelling film that raises intriguing questions about nature versus nurture, modern medicine's evolving ethics and the shifting composition of contemporary families.
"Even when I was very young," says JoEllen, "I realised that my family wasn't like other families." Informed by her lesbian mothers from an early age that "a kind man they didn't know" had helped her to be born, the concept of a traditional father – or rather the lack of one – simply never arose.
"My upbringing seemed completely normal to me, as it was all I knew," says JoEllen, who grew up with a younger sister, Mollie, 16, born to the same mother but conceived from a different sperm donor.
But JoEllen had a lot of questions that couldn't be answered. "The way I moved was not like the rest of my family. And if you don't know who your father is, you wonder about the strangest things – what are his ears like? What is his forehead like? Why do I have these interests when no one else in my family does?"
To read more go to
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