This was published 3 months ago
Opinion
I’ve fathered five children in NSW. If I lived in Victoria, I’d probably have none
Gary Nunn
ContributorI’ll never forget the day my first son was born. My coffee tasted yummier that day. The sky looked bluer; the sun felt warmer. Suddenly, the autumn of my life fell into happier focus.
Before that day, my future was just this stark ongoing monotony of me, me, me. Suddenly, there was him, him, him.
In Victoria, donor sperm can be used by as many as 10 separate people.Credit: Istock
I messaged friends and family the happy news and got on with my day, albeit with a soppy smile.
I’ve never met my son, although I sincerely hope I do one day. I’ve never met any of my three sons, or my daughter. A fifth child, also biologically mine, is due any day now.
This is because in 2020, I acted on the single most meaningful decision of my adult life: to donate sperm to a fertility clinic in NSW and give would-be families the opportunity to have the children they longed for. If I lived in Victoria, though, it’s hard to imagine I’d do the same.
Earlier this month, the Allan government launched a campaign encouraging Victorians to donate to the country’s first public sperm and egg bank, where patients are waiting up to two years for viable sperm and egg donations.
The families who have used my donation know a lot about me – from my highest educational achievement to how often I exercise. They have a picture of me aged eight. Yet, all I know about them is that they live in NSW, their gender, and when they were born.
I’m a de-identified donor, meaning that once they turn 18, my biological children will have the legal right to know who I am, and to request contact with me. If it feels right for them and their families, I can’t wait for that day and would happily play an ongoing role in their lives. I’ve even handwritten a letter, which sits in their file, saying how dearly I’d love to meet them.
In NSW and Western Australia, the number of families my donation can help is capped at five. In Victoria and South Australia, it’s 10. In Queensland, there is no cap at all. To me, any more than five is too many, and 10 would have me thinking twice about Victoria’s latest donation drive.
In NSW, for example, one family used my donation and gave birth to my first genetic son. They then used it a second time and had another boy. They’re brothers and both my biological sons. In Victoria, 10 families could use a donation two or three times each, meaning there could feasibly be 30 children born from one donation.
Advertising for the Victorian Government’s new sperm and egg donor campaign ‘Be a life-maker’.
Before I decided to donate, I absorbed everything I could from donor-conceived people directly, and learnt that they want to feel psychologically safe, valued and treasured within their own families, and to know who their biological siblings are. Common sense, right?
Not mandating extremely tight limits on how many families can use a donor can rob donor-conceived children of the filial intimacy and belonging that comes from a close-knit family unit, rather than a sprawling one.
There’s also the risk of consanguineous relationships. Up to 30 children, all in the same state, all in a similar age range, who have no way of knowing they’re siblings. When they reach dating age, the risk of accidental incest is alarming.
Victoria has led the country on many areas of donor conception. In 1998, it became the first state to abolish anonymous sperm donation. In 2017, it became the world’s first jurisdiction to overturn existing anonymity laws so that donor-conceived children could contact their biological parents, even if donors had previously been promised anonymity. But on family limits, even despite Donor Conceived Australia, the national peak body, recommending a five-family limit, the state lags.
While you can request a lower number of families access your donation in Victoria, many donors will trust the default figure of 10. And as much reporting has shown, the fertility industry has been an under-regulated Wild West for decades, with a recent history of highly unethical practices. If a clinic can use one donor 10 times, they will. It means fewer donor recruitment drives, reduced waiting list times and more profit.
Ultimately, it’s about how the donor conceived people and their families feel. My donation was, primarily, exactly that – a donation: without caveats or expectations. I want my biological children to feel a profound sense of belonging, both in the families who so warmly wanted them, and who – as is my deepest hope – lovingly raised them, and among their half siblings in other families.
More children may still be born from my donation. If that happens, I will welcome them with open arms too. But I can rest easy knowing that the number of families who can access my donation is nearing an end and that my biological children will belong to a small, but dearly loved, community.
We owe it to children to create a world and extended family cozily cocooned by love, not to create a human factory farm.
Gary Nunn is a freelance writer and author based in Sydney.
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