James has a dream. He dreams of a Britain in which buses carry six-foot advertisements asking men: “Have you considered being a professional w—-r?”
It is a desperate measure, but then, we are in desperate times. In 2010, the last year for which figures are available, just 480 British men signed up to become sperm donors. While each of those men can legally donate to a maximum of 10 families, demand still outstrips supply, with waiting lists for donors in almost every part of the country.
Clinics are now increasingly ordering in sperm from abroad, in particular from Denmark – leading to a Telegraph report earlier this week on the “Invasion of the Viking babies”. Now 20 per cent of donations come from overseas, compared with 12 per cent as recently as 2005.
As James, himself a donor, points out, it is one of the easiest jobs in the world and comes with the “awesome feeling” of knowing he has helped couples who might not otherwise be able to have their own children. So why are so few British men signing up to take part, even with the incentive of up to £35 for each “deposit”?
Some blame the lifting of anonymity in April 2005, which means that children conceived from sperm donated after this date have the right to contact their biological father once they reach the age of 18.
In reality, however, the number of men registering as donors has gone up since then – though those working in fertility treatment say the profile of the men visiting sperm banks has changed, moving away from students and towards people in their late 20s or 30s, who have thought through the implications of being contacted later by a biological son or daughter.
Others point to horror stories in the press about donor fathers who have been hit with bills for child support despite never knowing their children. But these, again, shouldn’t affect the number of men signing up at approved clinics – as fathers are only liable to pay maintenance if they have donated sperm through an unofficial, personal arrangement. The Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority assures any potential donors that, in using one of their licensed clinics, they will have no legal obligation to any child conceived through the process and will never be asked to support them financially.
In fact, the number of men registering at sperm banks is higher now than ever, up from 239 in 2004 and 438 in 2009. The problem is that demand is higher than ever too. The number of women in same-sex couples seeking donor sperm, for example, rose by 23 per cent over 2010 alone.
Computer engineer James offers some ideas as to why British men are less likely to register than their Danish counterparts – despite similar amounts of money and legal protection being offered in both countries. “I’d say we as a nation are very much trapped with some Victorian ideas,” the 39-year-old says. “To be crude, there’s the whole element of, ‘You’ve been to the clinic and touched yourself. That’s dirty.’ There’s a stigma behind it.
“People admit to being a blood donor but they wouldn’t say the same thing about their sperm. Europe and Scandinavia seem to have a different approach to it.”
James, who lives in Gloucester, also admits the obstacles one has to overcome before donating sperm may put some men off. More than just offering the plastic cup and selection of porn of the popular imagination, licensed clinics have to provide checks for genetically inherited diseases and sexually transmitted infections – and many provide counselling sessions to check the men have thought through the implications of what they are doing. Potential donors have to offer up not only their own medical history for inspection but also that of their family, going back to their grandparents. Just 5 per cent of men who apply will be eligible to donate.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated, but it can be,” says James, who was active as a donor five years ago and is now the biological father of five children he has never met and will never have any right to contact unless they come to him first. “I didn’t ask for any money for it, my attitude was that I was doing this to help out rather than for a reward.
“When couples get to the point where they would be considering IVF, they would have jumped through so many hoops, that would have been devastating for them. How can your heart not go out to them, how can you not want to help them out?”
He first became interested in the process after hearing a radio program featuring interviews with children conceived from donor sperm. The questions they had about their genetic background – why they looked or sounded the way they did – reminded James of his own experiences as an adopted child, who went on to find his biological parents as an adult. “The lifting of anonymity doesn’t bother me at all,” he says. “If someone comes along looking for me in 18 or 20 years time, it’s no skin off my nose. I’d be happy to have a chat.”
The secret in encouraging more men to come forward, says James – who is single and has no children in the traditional sense – lies in advertising campaigns like those behind blood or organ donations.
Jamie, a 22-year-old student from Coventry, agrees that it is the stigma around donating sperm which is preventing more British men from getting involved. “There’s a bit of a religious hangover in this country, the idea that it’s something you don’t talk about. If you’re a couple who’ve had a child from a sperm donation it’s not seen as weird, but if you’re a guy [donating sperm], people question your motives.”
He first got involved after an older friend opened up to him about his difficulties in conceiving a child naturally with his wife. When Jamie registered at the Birmingham Sperm Bank he did not even know he would be paid for his services – his only aim was to help out couples in similar situations.
“I was seeing a girl while I was donating and I told her about it,” the engineering student says. “She thought it was a really selfless thing.” And if she was put out by the fact that donors are forbidden from engaging in sexual activity for three days before each deposit, she didn’t say.
“I’ve told my friends, but not my family yet. My brothers would probably just laugh, but my parents might find it a bit more difficult. My mum might try to find where the babies were or something. I’ll tell them at some point. But it’s not like I have any children really – the father’s the guy who brings the child up, not the one who gives the sperm.”
Steven, a 33-year-old who is currently donating to Manchester Fertility, got involved for less altruistic reasons but agrees with James and Jamie that clinics need to do more to inform the public if they want to see an increase in the number of British men registering. “I was just for a bit of extra cash, to be honest,” the stable groom says.
“All my friends were saying, ‘What are you doing? You’re going to have 25 million kids coming looking for you’, but that’s not the case. They can’t just turn up on your doorstep. People need to know about what it’s really like. I get a full health check-up that would cost thousands of pounds if I was doing it privately, I’m helping people out and I walk away with £25 cash-in-hand every week.”
The clinic keeps back £10 of the £35 fee at the end of each session, to encourage Steven to complete the full six-months donation program, with the balance to be paid once this is done. Three months after the program he will be subjected to a second round of health checks for any conditions which might have appeared since his earlier tests, and if these are passed his “stock” will be released to people seeking IVF.
Steven already has a three-year-old daughter, conceived naturally, and is not concerned by the idea of her having half brothers and sisters she does not know in the future. “I’ll probably tell her when she’s a teenager. I don’t think she’ll mind. I’m not with her mum any more, but I’ve told her mum and she was completely fine with it.”
Laura Witjens, the chair of the National Gamete Donation Trust, is working with the Department of Health to set up an independent sperm bank of the kind that already exists in countries like Denmark. She hopes once a national body exists with the primary purpose of encouraging men to donate sperm, many more individuals will start coming forward.
“There’s an image problem at the moment,” says Witjens, who has herself been an egg donor. “People don’t say, ‘How great, you’re a sperm donor.’ They ask you about the porn. There should be less focus on the process and more on the outcome.
“I think it’s something men should be proud of – that they can help people and that their sperm is of good quality. I want a culture where men can come back from their lunch break and, rather than lying that they’ve been for a sandwich, they can say, ‘I’ve just changed a couple of lives’.”