On donor sperm

If you asked the average Joe or Jane on the street about "sperm donors," they would most likely think of the slang usage of the term for deadbeat dads who "hit it, quit it, and forget it." The vast majority of men out there have never given a moment's thought to "donor sperm" in the clinical sense, because they've never had to... unless they themselves have donated, in which case they'll think of it in positive terms. Until the last few decades with all of the advances in reproductive medicine, "donor sperm" was not even a clinical term, so it's only the few most recent generations of men that have ever had to consider the issue at all. Those advances have allowed infertile couples now to have children that were previously impossible for couples in their position even just a few years ago. But those positive developments have brought along with them new, hard questions that have to be answered. Like this one.

Fortunately my wife and I are not at the point right now that we have to make a decision on this. My semen analysis stats, while not good, are good enough at least that I'm hopeful we'll never have to seriously consider the option of donor sperm at all. We're doing all we can to improve those chances even further, and from what I've read, we've got a legitimately good shot. But the question of donor sperm HAS already come up - my mother-in-law has asked my wife about it. Apparently others have, as well. And every time the topic comes up, it seems to stick in my brain far longer than I expect it should. So, if for nothing other than my own peace of mind, I'm writing this now to try and lay my own thoughts to rest.

I have to be honest: I don't like the idea. I don't believe that ANY man does, even though some are quicker to accept it than others, if they accept it at all. But the question that burns in my mind, knowing that I don't like it - why? Beyond the obvious, primal, procreational urge of wanting to pass on one's own genes, what is it about this particular issue that causes my brain to freeze up and run in circles every time it's been brought up? And if I don't like it, and no man likes it, then how do some of those men still reach the point of acceptance?

The first brick in the mental block wall is the idea of your wife being impregnated with another man's seed. I know that it's not at all the same thing as her having a secret tryst with the milkman - there's no emotional betrayal or breaking of vows involved - but the physical result is the same. It doesn't feel like cheating. But it DOES feel like admitting ultimate failure as a husband and a man. "I'm sorry, my beloved wife - I have failed you in my duties as a husband. Please go find another man who can give you the children that I cannot, the children that you so deeply desire and so richly deserve." Yeah. It's like that. And then you spend the next nine months walking her through a pregnancy that you know you couldn't create.

Second, and maybe this is trivial, but I have serious concerns about the character of the kind of men who would donate sperm. I know that they put these men through an extensive screening process, so Joe Hobo on the street can't just show up at the sperm bank, make a deposit, take his check and leave. I know that many men, like myself, are capable of altruistic motives - "I want to do ______ so that I can help others who need it." And I don't doubt that many or most of these men make these donations with that motive as at least one of the reasons on their mind. But let's be honest - screening process aside, it's really easy for men to "donate" sperm. I would trust donor eggs from women much more, because a woman has to go through physical hell to do it; yeah, they still get paid for it, but the physical obstacles to the process are going to weed out the large majority of the women who are only in it for the money. You have to really WANT to donate your eggs if you're a woman who is willing to put herself through that, and that desire is probably most often driven by a desire to help others out. For men? Eh... not so much. I imagine that most of them are driven by the payday and/or the ego boost ("I've got women PAYING to get my sperm!") at least as much as any more selfless motive.

I also don't have a real great history in my life with "sperm donor" and non-biological dads - and "sperm donor" here IS used in the negative slang sense. My own biological dad was essentially a sperm donor - NOT in the clinical sense - as he and my mom divorced while she was pregnant with me, his son. I'm now 32 and I've never met him, never talked to him, never received any form of support from him at all. My mom remarried three more times after that, but none of those step-fathers worked out too well: the first was still married to another woman, the second was an abusive slacker, and the third seemed great at first but ultimately tried to rape and kill my sister. My grandmom never had anything good to say about my cousin's step-dad after her biological dad - my uncle - died. I knew a great adoptive dad living down the street from where I grew up, and one of our closest friends now was likewise adopted and has a beautiful relationship with his adoptive parents. But I never met a good step-dad until after college, and with donor sperm, a step-dad is essentially what I would be... just one who was there for the child's entire life, instead of coming along at some time later.

I don't even think that those are the biggest obstacles about this in my mind, though. It gets more emotional than that. Like, how would we ever tell the kid where he or she came from? You wouldn't tell them when they're too young to understand, of course, but never telling them at all is NOT an option, either. Eventually they would be on their own, talking to their own doctor about whatever, and that doctor is going to ask about family medical history. In such a situation, they would NEED to know that any health issues from me or my side of the family would be irrelevant to them, because they would not be biologically related to me. Letting them think they were related to me and then pass on incorrect health information could lead the doctor to an inaccurate diagnosis or unnecessary (potentially harmful) treatments, and I couldn't live with myself allowing that to happen. So you HAVE to tell the kid sooner or later. But even if you do wait until they're old enough to understand, I can envision the tear-stained conversation now: "Mommy is your real mommy, but daddy isn't your real daddy." "What?? What you mean that daddy isn't my daddy? Who is my real daddy?? Why isn't he here?? Why can't daddy be my real daddy?? You lied to me!! You always lied to me!!" Even somehow getting past that, I can imagine the teenage rebellion now, too: "I DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU!!! YOU'RE NOT EVEN MY REAL FATHER!!! YOU'RE NOBODY'S FATHER!!!" The idea of ever having either one of those conversations slays me through the heart.

I've always vowed, even before I got married, that if I ever did get married and had kids of my own, I would NEVER abandon them and do to them what my father did to me. Cruel irony, then, that if we're forced into using donor sperm, my resolve won't matter and they'll still end up wounded much the same. They'll be haunted by the same questions I was, and still am: "I wonder what my dad was like? I wonder how much of me comes from him? I wonder what we would have done together? I wonder what I missed out on?" Even though I would be there every step of the way, raising them with love, doing everything in my power to be the best damn dad that any kid ever had, my best efforts wouldn't matter and they would be left with a father wound regardless. That's not fair to any child.

All of that being said... if we ultimately can't get my sperm to work, our options for having a child come down to adoption or donor sperm. Adoption is noble, in that you're giving a chance to a kid who otherwise might have had none, and maybe because of the positive association I had early on with an adoptive father, that's a more positive path in my mind than being a step-dad. But my wife is not keen on the idea, and in truth, I'm not either; I'd much rather have a child of our own... or at least half our own. Going forward with a decision that neither of us are keen on seems to be an inherently bad idea, so that puts adoption last on the list. But the complicating issue for me is that, whether we adopt or go with donor sperm - the result for me is the same. I wouldn't be biologically related to the child in either case; there would be no "bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh." At least with a donor, the child would be related to one of us, and it would allow my wife the experience of pregnancy that she so desires. It would allow me to do many of the things that normal dads-to-be do, too, like caring for my pregnant wife and welcoming that beautiful new life into the world. In a sense, it would be fully both our child, in that it's a child that otherwise wouldn't exist if it weren't for the two of us together. It never "belonged" to anyone else. But, going back to that question of acceptance and how dads-via-donors reach that point, there's an issue of grieving. A BIG one.

Most dads say that the proudest moment of their lives was the moment they first held their child, that "little me," in their arms. But to accept donor sperm, I'd have to accept that there would never be a "little me." There would be a little baby, a "little me" for my wife, an "our child" for both of us, who would make us "parents" and would call me "Dad." But there would be no "little me" for me. I have no doubt in that situation that I would still love that baby to pieces, I would love my wife then as not only my wife but also as "mother of our child," and I would strive every day to be the best damn dad that anyone ever saw, just as I strive (and would continue striving) to be the best damn husband now. I have no doubt that, taking that child to Little League or to soccer or to ballet or to whatever they were into, I would be that proud father standing by, saying "that's my girl!" or "that's my boy!" But whether they were wonderful or terrible, I could never be proud that they were wonderful or terrible because of me. Every time someone said, "Oh, he has your eyes!" or "Oh, she has your smile!", I would smile and nod, but it would be an arrow to my heart inside as I thought, "No... they don't." I could never say, "She gets her art ability from you, but she gets the music from me," because she or he wouldn't get ANYthing from me. I wouldn't love the child or my wife any less if we had to go donor. But I would be forever wounded inside.

The $1,000,000 question, then: Would you do it? I can't answer that question right now, but fortunately we don't have to make that decision yet. I'm still very hopeful that we won't have to make that decision ever. But would I consider it? If it came down to it, yeah, I believe I would. I would have to say that I would want to exhaust every possible option to make it work with my own sperm first, because I don't think I could accept opening myself up for the inevitable wounds and living the rest of my life wondering, "What if we had tried just once more?" Donor sperm is not a shortcut and should never be used as such, and while the waiting sucks now, it's not gonna matter when we're watching our kid walk across the stage at graduation, or walk down the aisle at their own wedding, that we had to wait a few months longer now to reach that point. I realize that there does have to be a decision eventually if it's not working on your own; you can't keep trying on your own forever, or eventually time runs out. I've read about IVF and I really, REEEEEEEEEEEEEALLY don't want to put my wife through that; I don't know if I could accept that either. So would that decision point be before IVF, or after, or...? I don't know. I really don't know right now, and it's not only my decision anyway, so it would have to be something my wife and I decide together. I'd have to be convinced that we were both fully on board with any of these tough choices before I'd accept making them.

But I'm still hopeful. And grateful that we have good reason to be hopeful. The waiting and trying and failing and picking ourselves back up and dusting ourselves off and waiting and trying again all sucks - no doubt about that. But the end result is worth it. So we carry on. Together.