Nadine Reid details her journey toward motherhood as a single woman, from finding the right sperm donor to finding a supportive fertility clinic.
Finding the right sperm donor is a little like online dating. As a 43-year-old single woman trying to get pregnant before her next birthday, I'm finding this part of the process a little strange.
Just like dating, there’s a lot of choice. There are sperm donor banks across the world that you can handpick from, based on height, weight, eye and hair colour, race, religion, skin tone, employment, educational background and so on.
Some companies will share pictures of the donors as a child. Some have the donors write a personal essay sharing why they chose to become a sperm donor.
That said, there’s no doubt in my mind that this is the process for me. There are many fertility options available: IVF treatments, embryo transfer, surrogacy. None of these feel right for me. My chosen procedure is IUI* – directly inserting sperm into my uterus at the most fertile stage of my cycle.
Of course, going down this path only opens up more questions. Most countries have national rules surrounding donors. In the UK one donor can help up to 10 families, and some donors have the option that the child can find out the identity of their donor father when they are 18.
I have spent a lot of time going through the many scenarios that could be challenges in my child's life. As a Jamaican, Birmingham-born Black woman living in Dublin and now Donegal, it is crucial I give my child the most stable sense of identity growing up here in Ireland.
Knowing where you come from
I was blessed with a mother that sent me to Jamaica for the summer holidays, I spent memorable, lifetime inspiring moments with my Grandparents and huge extended Jamaican family in Jamaica and England growing up. This definitely helped mould my solid sense of identity. I want my child to feel that this country is truly their home, as well as the places connected to their DNA.
Without a father around to teach my child their paternal history, I see it is my responsibility to do both. So if I choose a sperm donor from Hawaii, Japan or France I will need to research and understand the cultural history of his race to help my child grow up knowing the spaces his DNA has travelled through the generations.
Another concern is If I choose a sperm donor from an African country, if they are from Nigeria or Ghana I will need to check we are not cousins, as my great grandparents - although I don't know them - are from West Africa.
As for keeping it Irish, there are no sperm banks in Ireland and I'm okay with that. Ireland really is a village, so I would struggle with finding out my sperm donor is "Paddy Murphy" from down the road. That is a challenge I will happily avoid.
Location, location, location
Next was choosing a fertility clinic. I contacted clinics in Ireland, Northern Ireland and the UK, always looking for empathy and efficiency but too often finding closed doors and inefficiency.
There were also the BMI rules that I sadly stumbled into with great disappointment. I was rejected by many fertility clinics because of my weight as many clinics have limits on the BMI you have to be for IUI treatments.
Learning this made me so angry, and in my eagerness to be a mother I immediately called Blackrock hospital and inquired about weight loss surgery. It was while waiting one the phone to be put through to the specialist clinic that I took a deep breath and realised that I hate needles. I squeeze my eyes shut and pray when having a basic blood test. I wear earphones at the dentist and I can't tell you the amount of times I've squeezed the dental hygienist's hand out of fear.
Why would I choose to have major surgery, when my life wasn't in danger? Why should I have to drink my dinner through a straw to become a mom?
Nope. That was certainly not my path.
Finding joyful motherhood
I have quickly recognised from the reaction to my first Instagram story about having fibroids, there are thousands of women across the country and the globe living with women’s health problems, suffering in silence, feeling unheard and waiting for a sympathetic medical ear.
As women we often blame ourselves first, when in most occasions we have lacked supportive non-condescending education and yet still carry so much weight on our shoulders privately.
Although I believe in hard work, I am here for a joyful motherhood experience not to miserably crawl uphill on my hands and knees to achieve my dream. Within 10 minutes of reading a disappointing email, I formally retired from the idea of dramatically losing six stone to have the IUI treatment to hopefully become a mother. To this I say: hard pass. There is always another way, and I found it.
Here for joy
It warms my soul and puts a smile on my face to say, I am going over to Liverpool for my first consultation appointment this December. I found a place that will welcome me as I am. The staff have shown me the empathy and efficiency I've been looking for.
My appointment falls on a special day, the birthday of my dear friend Minnie Byrne who we sadly lost at age 95 in April. Liverpool is also the city where my Dad passed away when he was only 27 years old. It may be small coincidences but knowing they will both be closely looking out for me on that day, makes me feel safe and calm as I navigate this important moment alone.
Then, all being well, my next visit will be to complete the IUI treatment. I'm hoping that will be in January and I can start taking pregnancy tests on the 20th of January, my birthday.
As we officially enter the Christmas season, an often emotionally complex time of year. I am dreaming of the future Christmas times I will share with my own new family.
The decision to become a mother in a pandemic without a husband or boyfriend probably seems like ridiculously poor timing. In reality, however, the timing’s never been more perfect for me.
The events of the last two years – the pandemic, the Black Lives Matter movement, understanding the levels of privilege in this painfully unbalanced world – has encouraged me to see that I can not allow finances, my race, being single at 43 stop me from achieving.
I realise more than ever, it is my responsibility as a human to keep trying to make my dreams come true. To stop trying with my level of awareness would be an injustice to the story of my life. This is not how my story ends.
The views expressed here are those of the author and do not represent or reflect the views of RTÉ.
If you have been affected by issues raised in this story, please visit: www.rte.ie/helplines.
