Donor Offspring Stories

[sarahstarfish]

Hey

A few donor offspring stories.

http://www.clan.org.au/dcsg/resources/geraldine_hewitt.html

Identity quest takes surprise Canadian detour

By Caroline Overington
June 12 2002
(The Age Newspaper)
Picture: BRENDAN ESPOSITO


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Geraldine Hewitt knows the details by heart: her biological father is "blond, blue-eyed, five-foot-eight (174 centimetres), caucasian. He has fair skin, average build, O-positive blood. He donated sperm between 1982 and 1984, and his code was J-A-X, like in Ajax."

She does not know his name, although the Royal Hospital for Women in Randwick, Sydney, does. "Of course, they won't give it to me," she says. "I can sort of understand that. I suppose because he donated anonymously, they have to respect that. But I would really like to meet him, to observe him. And I don't believe he wouldn't want to meet me. If I was in his position, I would want to meet me, just to see how I turned out."

He would likely be proud, since Ms Hewitt is quite something. Although only 18, last year she conducted a study of children conceived by donor sperm. She did it as part of her HSC at East Hills Girls, not realising that it would become the largest study of its type in the world. Now she has been invited to present her findings at an important international conference on biotechnology in Toronto.

Ms Hewitt, who will travel to Canada later this week, surveyed 50 people (the oldest was 57; the youngest 11), to find out what it meant to be the child of donor sperm. She has known the details of her own conception since she was five.

"Mum and Dad just don't have hang-ups about it. Like, we tease my dad about it. I say: 'I'm glad I haven't got your nose'."

Ms Hewitt is the eldest of three children, all of whom were conceived using different donor sperm. "The sperm from my donor was destroyed after the AIDS scare," Ms Hewitt said. "So they had to use a different sperm for my brother. Then when they decided to have another baby, they could have used that sperm again but they decided that wasn't fair on me, so they said: 'No, let's go for the trifecta.'

"A couple of years after that, they heard about ICSI (this involves the injection of a single sperm into an egg, and would have enabled her father to have a biological child with his wife) but he said no, I've got three kids. Actually, what he said was, he's already got my mobile phone bill to worry about, without having more kids."

Despite her happy experience, Ms Hewitt said children born of donor sperm "overwhelmingly have identity issues".

"They wonder who their biological father is. A lot said: 'I look in the mirror and I don't know who I am.' And every single person said: 'Yes, I want medical information.' "

However, in most states, children are not permitted access to information until they are 18, and even then, it may be of the bland, non-identifying type that Ms Hewitt has.

"People are frightened that the kid is going to knock on the door and try and muscle in on the inheritance," she said.

"It's not like that. I want to meet my donor, but not because I want another dad. I have a dad. He's one of my best friends. But it's like not having a proper history."

Ms Hewitt believes that parents who make use of donor sperm should be open about it. "Tell, and tell early, that's what I will say to the conference," she said.

"There was one person in my study who was 37 when he was told. He couldn't believe it. He always thought he was the product of an affair, and that is so not cool.

"You don't want to live your life believing that. And most people in the study had an inkling, so imagine growing up in an environment with deception and secrecy."

The Royal Hospital for Women will try to match donors with children born as a result of the procedure, provided both parties agree.

However, many of their early files are incomplete. They have searched the electoral roll for Ms Hewitt's donor, without success.

This story was found at: http://www.theage.com.au
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[sarahstarfish]

http://members.optushome.com.au/dcsg/resources/per_offspring.html

Personal stories: by a donor conceived offspring

My story ~ Danielle

My story is a little different to many donor-offspring I know of, yet the feelings, emotions, and endless questions involved I’m sure are shared by all those involved in Donor-Conception. I became aware of my biological origins three years ago by mistake, turning all my securities, beliefs and identity upside-down.

My parents divorced when I was three years old and the contact I had with my father was few and far between. When I left home at 18, I decided to track my father down after 6 years of searching to no avail. After finally making contact with him and a couple of months of trying to re-build our relationship, he told my best friend (in my absence) that he was not my real father and not to tell me because I didn’t know.

After a few days of contemplating whether to tell me or not, my friend finally told me the conversation she’d had with my father. My reaction took her by surprise – I laughed! I didn’t believe it as my father often lied and I thought he was just saying it to hurt me. Re-laying the whole incident to my mother in a casual conversation left me in a state of complete shock when she admitted that it was actually true. Knowing next to nothing about the topic of donor-conception added to my feeling of isolation and loneliness. With a thousand questions and no known source to retrieve answers from, I sought the hospital where I was conceived only to discover that there were no medical records as my donor was anonymous.

This was the beginning of a journey I am still on, and at times feel like I haven’t moved an inch. I am overcome by the complete lack of information on my donor and am still searching for answers. I am aware of one half-sibling, but there could be many.

In my opinion, assisted reproduction is an invaluable process enabling families to achieve their dreams of becoming parents, provided an attitude of openness and honesty is adopted. Children already experience enough emotion and uncertainty as a normal part of discovering their identities, strengths and weaknesses without the very security of their origins being questioned.

Danielle.

[sarahstarfish]

http://freespace.virgin.net/dcnet.website/ARTICLES/Susannah.htm

Susannah age 14 (Nov.2000) Two interviews regarding her feelings on being a donor offspring

"Tracing my donor is something I am definitely going to try to do. It's very hard growing up and not knowing the other side of your genetic background and also dangerous if there is a history of family diseases. It's not that I feel deceived or let down by the medical profession but I don't feel complete and at the least I want to know what colour eyes my donor has. As much as I get all the love and support I need at home, it really upsets me when people say things like 'I have my father's nose and my mother's mouth' as they don't realise how special it is just to say that. When you know which bits of you came from your mum and your dad then you can focus on who you are. Trying to figure that out is hard enough let alone being a DI child and only knowing half. Knowing could establish what is what and help me feel relaxed and secure.

My father is 100 per cent undoubtedly Walter Merricks - the person who has been there since the day I was born, the man who wants me as his daughter, the man who loves me with all his heart, the man who has always been there for me and always will be. In no way would I ever consider my donor as my father, he is my genetic father but 'father' by itself sounds wrong. He gave me life and my parents great joy, but nothing else. I would like to think I will find my donor and though I know it is unlikely, my motto for life is 'never say never', so I am not going to give up without a fight. I respect the fact that donors want their privacy, but being a DI child I would do almost anything, including going to court, to find the man who gave me life. "

"I can't remember my parents telling me I was a donor baby - it is something I just seem to have always known about. Not only does that make it feel normal to me, if anything it makes me feel a bit special. At school one day when I was about eight I remember us having a biology lesson and everyone saying things like, 'I look like my dad or I have my mum's nose.' Right from then, whenever the subject was raised I would always say I was born through DI and they would ask what it was. I loved telling them because it made me feel special. I am not at all ashamed about it. There have been very few occasions when people have said anything negative. Sometimes people ask me what it says on by birth certificate. That is something I do feel very sensitive about because my dad is Walter and that's what it says on my birth certificate - they always put down the social father's name. But people don't intend to be horrible by asking questions. Oddly, it was a teacher who had the most problems dealing with it. She was talking about genetics and how the mother and father make a baby. I said that not everyone knows their biological father and there was such a thing as donor insemination. She was a bit shocked and didn't know what to say. That was strange to me because most people are usually interested and if they don't understand they ask me about it. But this teacher couldn't take the concept on board and I found that upsetting. I once had a really big argument with a friend when I was 10. She was threatening to tell the whole school that I didn't have a real father. I think it was more because it was something that she felt uncomfortable about and she didn't really know what to make of it. In the end she didn't tell anyone and although I was upset by her behaviour, it wasn't really a problem because of the way I have been raised to believe in myself. She thought it would hurt me and that I would believe I didn't have a real father. But that is just not true. Walter is undoubtedly my father. He's the man who wanted me to be born and I am thankful for that. Your father is the person who raises you and who is there for you. Walter is 100 percent my father. I've never had any doubts about him loving me. To me he is simply my dad. He helps me with my homework, cooks me dinner when I'm not well and is always there for me. I know I can trust him and I love him.

I admire dad. He's like a living encyclopaedia, but he's also sensitive towards me and always seems to know what to say. He knows when to be strict and when to be nice. He's just really sweet and I'm glad he's my father. On day, though, I would like to trace my donor father because I hate not knowing half of my genetic side. Other people take it for granted that they can say they look like their mum or have their father's mouth, but I can't do that. I sometimes fantasise about what my donor father looks like. I have little pictures in my head of him being blonde like me because my mum's family is Italian and they are all dark, so me being blonde is kind of weird. I'd also like to know the other half of my nationality and I usually think he's Swedish or Dutch because of my colouring and height. The thing that really fascinates me is finding out about his personality. My mum can get mad really easily - it's her Italian blood - and even Dad can get a bit worked up about things, but I'm very laid-back. I believe it is a basic human right for a DI child to know about her donor. I respect that he may not want to be named but I think donors should at least put down details of what they look like, the colour of their eyes and their height - basic things like that. If I knew what colour eyes my donor father had that would help me let go of a breath I have been holding on to for ages and make me feel better.

It really is about knowing these tiny details. It is the little things that matter. I'd also like to know what my donor likes and dislikes, his hobbies, favourite TV shows, his views on life, what he believes in an d what his values are. I believe these things are the key to understanding myself.

I think it is hard enough as you are growing up to find out who you really are without not knowing the full genetic equation. In your teenages years you are learning the basics about what clothes you like to wear and what magazines you want to read. It is hard to discover these things because you are surrounded by so many influences and get a lot of peer pressure. I know it is normal to feel insecure as a teenager, but I feel it is extra hard for me. The idea of knowing the other side seems to make other people's lives a whole lot easier. That is what is important for me. My motto for life is 'never say never' and I am going to try to do everything I can to find my donor. I don't want to live my life and say I didn't try, even though I do think it's highly unlikely I will be successful."
_________________

[sarahstarfish]

http://freespace.virgin.net/dcnet.website/ARTICLES/Janice-Stevens.htm

A PERSONAL STORY OF BLOOD AND BELONGING
by Janice Stevens Botsford, Michigan, USA


My story begins a long time ago, but it is one that I share with others, perhaps many hundreds of others. Our origin was forever to be a secret. Many of us are in the dark about our beginning, but we don't know it; only a few of us know the truth, and I am one of them. Our parents were told never to tell. Most of us are walking around believing that we are the offspring of the two parents who brought us up. But there is a twist to our story. We are only biologically related to our mothers. The man listed as father on our birth certificates is the man who raised us, but is not our biological father. Our fathers' identity remains a mystery.The truth was too terrifying a burden to place on children who were born of such an unorthodox procedure. But then, a few of us found out, some of us were told, and we want to tell our stories.

I am donor offspring
I belong to a group of people who are donor offspring, conceived via artificial insemination from an anonymous sperm donor. In England in the late 1940s my parents, faced with infertility, sought help from the pioneering London gynaecologist Mary Barton. Then, she was one of only two physicians brave enough to experiment with donor insemination (DI), and aiding infertile couples to conceive and give birth to the children they so badly wanted. The carefully orchestrated procedure was not only successful in determining my own conception, but also was responsible for the birth of my brother four-and-a-half years later.

In contrast to some reports of families with donor offspring, ours was a relatively uneventful childhood. We were not aware that the truth was being withheld from us. My parents had been advised not to tell, and they kept their agreement. We never suspected that we were not like every other family we knew. Friends and relatives cooed over us as children, and even commented on how much we resembled our mother and our father.

Disclosure came when I was 22 and my brother 18, six months after the death of my father. Our mother carefully and lovingly told us the story of our beginning. Though originally loyal to our father's desire that we should never know of the choice of DI, she felt that we should know the truth after all. It was an immense surprise and shock. I remember examining my hands and face in the mirror seeking physical evidence of this new biological father's presence, and being fascinated by the prospect that half of me was unknown. I also felt sadness and frustration that I would never be able to talk about this new revelation about my identity with the man whom I had now discovered was my social father; but he was still my father. I wanted to tell him how I admired him and my mother for the courage that it took to chose DI, when the church and even the medical profession had looked on this procedure with vitriol.

Years passed and I followed the path life presented to me, moving to the USA, obtaining a graduate degree in social work, working, marrying and giving birth to a daughter. I had somehow incorporated the meaning of this new part of me, and had grown to accept my birth origin. I thought about it very little.

Who am I?
Things gradually changed when my daughter was to reach the age of majority. My job as a parent was shifting, and, as many do when approaching middle age, I began to re-examine who I was, what was important to me and where I was in my life. One half of my genetic origin was still a mystery, and my daughter was about to start her life as an adult, still not being able to identify one quarter of her own biological background. Questions began to surface. What genes do we carry that may be associated with disease? Am I a woman who carries the BRCA1 gene? Women from Ashkenazi Jewish families are more likely than other women to carry this gene that causes an increase in the risk of breast cancer. I was raised as Anglican, but was my donor father Jewish? It became important to me as a person, and as a parent to my daughter to discover more.

My quest
My quest began a little over a year ago, and what a surprising, intense experience it has been. The Internet has been an invaluable tool. It has allowed me to communicate with others involved, who live across the globe. I have been amazed at how incredibly open people have been in sharing such personal, detailed stories of their own. Some stories have been poignant and sad; others more joyful. Why do I want to know who my father was? I have come to realise that every person has a need to know. To know one's family history, to know where one fits, to know to which group one belongs, not only to feel valued as an individual, but also to feel part of a group.

These encounters have forced me to ask fundamental questions of myself. How comfortable am I admitting to others that I am the offspring of an unknown sperm donor? Do I feel a stigma? Did I choose my helping profession because at an unconscious level I wanted to resolve my own personal issues around being a donor offspring? Or, as someone who is relatively healthy and stable as a person, did I want to reach out to help less able people, struggling with their own issues of identity?

Who is my donor father?
Who is my donor father, if he is still alive? He is a man about whom I am immensely curious. Is he a person who has been happy with his life? Has he pursued a professional career as I have? Is he creatively talented, and did he gravitate towards the arts in his life as I have? What made him laugh and gave him pleasure? Would he be proud of the offspring he created? Is he a parent to children he raised, who are half-siblings of mine? Would he like to meet me, and would he be pleased to know that he contributed to making me the person that I am? More links The fact that a British journalist was preparing a television documentary on the history of artificial insemination in England (Witness: Secret Fathers) led me to hear of another offspring conceived at Mary Barton's clinic, besides my brother and me. I happened to be in England on holiday when the programme was aired, and was both nervous and fascinated to meet him. Though strangers to each other, we talked openly about the unidentified sperm that contributed to our existence, and the feelings we had on first being told that a turkey baster had helped give us life. The meeting was profound and I wanted him to meet my brother. Strangely enough, a month to the day after this first encounter, the three of us were together. We had begun to brainstorm the idea that a website might be set up where DNA profiles of donor offspring could be posted. People might find half-siblings, and perhaps through this, their donor fathers. We three sent in our blood samples for DNA testing to begin the process. We share a father The results of the DNA testing were a revelation. I was overjoyed to find out that I am indeed a full sibling of my brother, even though he was conceived four-and-a-half years after me. But imagine my utter amazement and incredulity to discover that both of us are half-siblings of the only other man that we knew to have been conceived at Mary Barton's clinic! We all three share the same donor father! The odds of making this discovery must be infinitesimal. They also suggest that the clinic donor pool was pretty small. It is a disquieting fact that back 1940s some champion donors contributed to the births of over 100 children. So, how many other half-siblings do we have? We will never know. Do I want to meet and get to know my half-siblings? Yes. Perhaps when we meet we should all wear little blue jackets like Paddington Bear so that we can identify each other. (Ironically enough, one of the most respected and prolific donors sent his samples to Mary Barton's clinic via Paddington Station!) Most of us are ignorant of the fact that we are not the sons and daughters of the father listed on our birth certificates. But for the few of us who do know, perhaps some of us may find each other, and some of us may even find out more about our donor fathers. I feel enriched I have evolved to a place where it is important to me to continue my quest. I feel enriched by what I have discovered so far. The story is on going. I do not know my donor father's identity, and may never know it. But I am enjoying getting to know our new half-sibling, and I want to keep in contact with others involved. I keep adding to my stork file as each new piece of the puzzle falls into place. I know that some parts of it may never be finished. But I'm willing to be open to wherever the quest takes me. In the meantime I feel secure in myself, and am profoundly glad of the fact that my parents gave me life and that I am here.

Janice Stevens Botsford, Michigan, USA January, 2000

[sarahstarfish]

http://bmj.bmjjournals.com/cgi/content/full/324/7340/797/DC1

How it feels to be a child of donor insemination

We have all seen the adverts: "sperm donors needed," "easy money to be made," "earn £15 for 15 minutes of your time." For 58 years the technique of donor insemination (DI) has been used in the United Kingdom. Yet the voice of DI children has never been heard. I would like to tell my story—how it feels to be one of those children.

For 16 years I have known. My mum told me, my dad was embarrassed, and no one other than my parents knew. The topic was taboo and I was not to tell friends or family. To this day I still have not been able to discuss it at all with my dad, nor with my sister (also conceived by donor insemination). The only question I have asked my mum was whether my parents had to pay for me (they did not, but gave a donation to the hospital). For years I have been prevented from exploring my feelings. I feel guilty writing this, even anonymously. It is as if I am betraying my family. I am scared that people will think that I am ungrateful. But I need to write this, for myself and for the other children of donor insemination. I hope that through my experiences others will realise that they are not alone and those who are in a position to help us gain an insight into our isolation. When I have asked professionals for advice I have been disappointed in their responses. My situation can neither be reversed nor rectified. I am a difficult person to advise. I am looking for solutions and answers that cannot be given.

I have two loving parents. When I realise what it took to conceive me I feel even more wanted, more wanted than friends who were honeymoon babies or conceived unintentionally during teenage romances. Yet as an 11 year old caught up in the turmoil and insecurity of growing up, I was told (in accordance with the current recommendation) of the sacrifice that my dad had made for me. How was I supposed to feel? I tried initially to accept it; in a magical way it was exciting—I could dream that my genetic father was a famous star, a prince, or an amazing sportsperson. After an argument with my dad I could dream of this wonderful man, my other dad, who would come and rescue me, taking me to another life. It was a dream world, a fantasy.

As the turbulent teenage years passed the fantasy lost its appeal. I began to think increasingly about where I came from and became angry that I had been deprived of what I believe are my basic rights. In a biology lesson we learnt about genetics and inheritance. The exercises that we were to try on our parents to demonstrate dominance suggested that one of my parents was not genetically related. Luckily, I knew the truth already. Had I not, my parents and teachers would have had some tricky questions to answer. As my appearance, personality, strengths, and weaknesses unfolded, it often became apparent that I was different from my sister and my dad. I excelled at sport and science. Friends and family, all innocent of the truth, would joke to my parents that they had picked up the wrong baby at the hospital or would comment on some familial resemblance. I coped by giggling silently at the irony but I felt for my dad, as more salt was rubbed into his wounds.

With the onset of GCSEs I thought more about my genetic father, a welcome distraction from the tedium of revision. I would stare in the mirror analysing features that I had not inherited from my mother. I would scour faces in the street, in the supermarket, and at school, desperately searching for similarities in others—older men could be my father, people my age my half siblings. I lived in a surreal world wondering if one of the men passing or teaching me was my genetic father. All I wanted was some information, not necessarily to meet him and never for him to feel any obligation towards me.

I am curious about him—he provided half my genes and I have a natural desire to know about my biological origins. I am fascinated to find out more. Why did he donate? What does he look like? What are his interests, his job? Who knows, he might want to know more about me.

Adopted children have the right to search for their genetic parents, but DI children do not. I understand why. Who wants to think that their sample, so generously provided, often during carefree student days, would be turned into a child who could contact them later? Without anonymity it has been shown abroad that the donors who come forward are older, with the resultant decrease in sperm quality and quantity (Human Reproduction 1995;10:1871-4). If the numbers of donors dropped, more and more couples would face the future without children, adopt, or look abroad or via commercial enterprises for sperm. In other countries a more open approach has worked—could this ever be an option in the UK?

I have shed tears and spent hours thinking about this. In an ideal world, I would know more and deep down this is all I want. I realise that I have to accept the situation as it is now, but however much I try I am often reminded. My obstetric and gynaecology attachment was difficult. Seeing couples so desperate for children made me uncomfortable as the decisions, investigations, treatments, and heartbreak my parents had to make and endure were paraded in front of me. Throwaway comments often sting when I least expect them to. A lecturer told an anecdote of a half brother and sister marrying to find out later that they were related and joked about all the children conceived by donor insemination not knowing whom they are marrying. I am allowed to find out if any future husband is related to me, but I cannot screen every boyfriend. At the optician or general practitioner, I am asked about my family history, yet I know only half of it. As a medic, by definition I am a hypochondriac and in my more paranoid moments I ruminate over those rare familial conditions I might have inherited. Am I safe taking the pill? Should I have my cholesterol measured? Should I be screened for colonic polyps? Yes, I know that donors are screened and, theoretically, I should be healthier than those conceived naturally, but the uncertainty remains. I am deprived of the insight and forewarning that others have.

Those with whom I have shared my secret have reacted differently. Some listen with sympathy. Others respond with the belief that I have no right to know more, that I should be so grateful that I was born at all, that I should unquestionably accept the gift that I have been given.

Over the years, the issues have been debated repeatedly. What are lacking are the views of the children created. We are difficult to study. We are anonymous and cannot speak up out of courtesy towards our dads. The few studies that have looked at us have only used parental interpretations of our emotional state (Fertility Sterility 1992;57:583-90 and Human Reproduction 1993;8:788-90). No one has questioned us, nor provided support for us. We cannot even talk about it with other children of donor insemination. We are denied the rights of normal citizens. We have no voice. The decisions made in the 1970s when I was conceived cannot be reversed. I have to live with the lack of knowledge and accept that there is nothing that I can do to alter this. However, things can be changed for the next generation of DI children and we must have a voice in these decisions.

What has been found in families of DI is that a lack of openness and knowledge has damaged relationships between family members (Human Reproduction 1996;11:2324). The lack of openness in our family is evident and I wish I had been given guidance earlier on how we as a family could have addressed this. I hope this is not irreversible, as I want to overcome the biggest hurdle—to talk about it with my dad. He is the one who has seen and shaped the way that I grew up, supported me through university, the one who let another man father his child and then accepted me as his own. I have wasted years trying to protect myself and my dad from this topic; I wish I knew whether talking to him would provide the answers that I want—to help me to reach an acceptance and to lose the restlessness and anger that I have.

So, the future? The need for donor insemination has decreased with improved techniques such as intracytoplasmic sperm injection (ICSI), in which a father’s own sperm can be used. Yet with one in six couples facing fertility problems the use of donor insemination will continue. What will the children of future donors have to face and cope with? I am emotionally split, stuck where doctors often find themselves—fighting between emotions and our medical and scientific training. We cannot have answers, but we can have help and support. These issues have to be faced before too many more DI children are conceived and have to grow up in the lonely world that I have.

Continued next post...

[sarahstarfish]

http://bmj.bmjjournals.com/cgi/content/full/324/7340/797/DC1

How it feels to be a child of donor insemination

Continued from previous post..

Should DI children be told at all? How would I have grown up not knowing the truth? Would I have found out anyway and hated my parents for not telling me? I cannot answer that. But I think I am glad that I know. I feel secure knowing how much I was wanted, but also I feel guilty. I feel an added obligation to my family, as if I have to give them 110% to repay them for what they have done for me. When I am with my dad’s family I feel as if I am betraying them, that I am not really part of their family, an outsider imposing. I often wonder if they have guessed. People argue that numerous children, for various reasons, grow up blissfully unaware that their dad is not their genetic father. The decision to tell the child is up to the parents—I am not arguing with that. What I find difficult to accept is that once we are told, we cannot do anything more about it. There are no adoption agencies we can contact, no DNA tests we can have, we cannot ask our mums about what our genetic father was like. We have nothing. The Report of the Committee of the Inquiry into Human Fertilisation and Embryology (the Warnock report) in 1984 advocated that donor anonymity should be preserved but a child should have the right to know basic facts about the donor’s ethnic origin and genetic health. The technology is improving. How far will this go for the next generation of DI children?

The nearest I can get to a resolution, acceptable to all, is for donors to provide a personal note about themselves, so that their children can have something to hang on to. Would this further the agony, giving the child a small taste and cruelly telling them there was no more? Personally, I would prefer to taste a tiny bit rather than none at all. Ideally, an option could be added for donors to state that they agree to their children contacting them later. Again, this could only prolong the suffering and uncertainty, setting us up for more heartache. It is a gamble but it has the potential to work for some. I wish I had had the opportunity to take the risk.

To the donors out there, I would like to say thank you. I owe my life to one of you. I wish I could know more about you. I wish you could be proud of my achievements and me. You gave me the opportunity of life and I have tried to live it to the full in return