IVF Life Stories with Hayley King – Professionals reflect on their own pathway to parenthood

I was born in the early 1980s to my mum and dad after IVF treatment, at a time when IVF was very new. I grew up knowing I was what people called a “test tube baby”. My parents showed me newspaper clippings when I was about 12, and I was aware that I was conceived through IVF, but I was only told that part of the story.

In my early thirties, during a family argument, I found out that an anonymous sperm donor had been used. That was when I learned my dad was not my genetic father. It was completely life-changing. I often describe it as a before-and-after moment in my life. Everything felt different once I knew.

Because I was conceived in the UK before the HFEA existed, there was no information available about the donor. I did not know where to go for advice, did not know anyone else who was donor-conceived, and did not really understand donor conception at the time. I felt very lost.

I knew I had been conceived at Bourn Hall, and that my mum’s fertility doctor was Robert Edwards. At the time, I even wondered briefly if he could have been the donor, because of stories you hear, but that was not the case.

I contacted Bourn Hall and spoke to someone who did not really know what to advise. I was directed to the HFEA, but they could not help because I was conceived before their establishment.

DNA testing existed then, but it was expensive, less accessible, and the databases were much smaller. I was in shock and had a lot going on in my life, so I put the information aside. My dad was still my dad, and that did not change.

Several years later, my wife and I decided to start a family. We are a same-sex couple, so we knew we would need a sperm donor. That brought everything back up: questions about donors, disclosure, and genetics.

At that point, DNA testing had become more affordable and accessible, and I had joined online support groups for donor-conceived people and parents. There was more discussion about identifying anonymous donors through DNA, and I felt a growing curiosity myself.

It was not really discussed with us. At that time, reciprocal IVF was not suggested by our clinic. My wife had a low AMH for her age and was approaching 40. She wanted to carry the pregnancy, which we had discussed, and it felt like the simplest option.

Knowing I was donor-conceived myself, I did not feel a strong need for our children to share my genetics. I knew love was not dependent on genetics. We went straight to IVF and were very fortunate to conceive twins on our first cycle.

Not particularly. It was only after our children were born that I felt more curious about my own donor. Becoming a parent was a huge life change, and we were very clear that we wanted to be open with our children about donor conception from the beginning.

I did not want our children to feel they could not ask questions or that they might upset us by being curious. That openness also made me reflect on my own experience and the secrecy that surrounded it.

Emotionally, it was difficult because I did not know what I would find. I did not know if I would discover a large sibling group or anything at all. The only information my parents had been given was that the donor was a medical student with similar colouring to my dad.

Practically, DNA testing is complex. You submit a saliva sample, and the results match you with people based on shared DNA, expressed in centimorgans. The relationships suggested are estimates and not always accurate.

My wife and I spent weeks learning how to interpret results, build family trees, and analyse records. Eventually, through census records and distant relatives, we narrowed the donor down to 2 brothers, both doctors.

I was very fortunate. My donor, Jonathan, had always been open with his partners about having donated sperm. He is a gay man and does not have children of his own. He was not surprised to be contacted and was very welcoming.

Meeting him felt like meeting a familiar stranger. The physical resemblance was striking. We are still in touch several years later, although not regularly. He answered many of the questions I had, which was incredibly important to me.

Yes. That part has been more complicated. One potential half-sister did not know she was donor-conceived, and contacting her raised ethical concerns. Since then, two half-brothers have appeared through DNA testing, one of whom also did not know he was donor-conceived.

We are all close in age and have our own families. I was the first to connect with Jonathan, so I became a kind of gatekeeper, helping others meet him, which was emotionally intense and sometimes overwhelming.

Sibling connections can be meaningful, but they are complex. Some feel like cousins rather than siblings. I now strongly advocate for children at least knowing that siblings may exist, even if they do not connect early.

Ideally, yes, although I cannot see full global agreement happening. I do believe there should be sensible limits on how many families are created from one donor, in the best interests of families and donors, not the fertility industry.

With DNA testing available worldwide, anonymity is no longer realistic. Donors could be traced regardless of what they were told at the time, which can be difficult for them too. Tighter limits would protect everyone involved.

I can see the benefits, especially for young people who strongly want information. However, identity and relationships are different things. Knowing who someone is does not automatically mean having a relationship with them.

What concerns me is whether families would have enough support to manage those relationships if information is accessed earlier. We still do not yet know how the UK’s open-ID system will fully play out, as the first group has only recently turned 18.

No, I genuinely did not feel like I missed out on anything. I had a wonderful childhood and an incredibly close relationship with my dad. He is still the person I turn to in a crisis. I have a huge amount of respect for him, particularly knowing now that he raised me at a time when society placed a great deal of importance on genetic relationships and when male infertility carried significant stigma.

I am grateful beyond words that he raised me. I cannot imagine having had a better parent. That has never changed.

What did change is that certain things started to make sense once I knew the truth. For example, I have a genetic eye condition. Growing up, I was told a distant relative had it, which was not true. When I later learned my donor also had this condition, that piece of my identity suddenly made sense.

There were also physical traits. My dad has red hair, my mum is dark, and I was very fair with white-blonde hair as a child. I remember asking where it came from and sensing defensiveness from my mum, without understanding why. Looking back, I realise those questions touched on something she was trying to protect.

So I did not feel something was missing emotionally, but understanding my donor later helped certain aspects of my identity fall into place.

I work in this area now and am involved with an organisation called Path to Parent Hub, which supports parents from the point of considering donor conception through to parenting.

It began quite organically through social media. I created a simple Instagram account and started having conversations with people I had met in donor conception groups. Parents began asking questions, and I think because I was both donor conceived and a parent of donor-conceived children, people felt safe asking me for insight.

I later met Becky Kearns, who is a mum through egg donation and the founder of Path to Parent Hub. We aligned strongly in our values and vision. Clinics do a great job of creating families, but what we were seeing was that many parents lacked community and practical information once treatment ended.

Parents wanted help with questions such as how to talk to their children, how to think about DNA testing, and how to navigate donor conception over time. We brought in researchers and experts to address these gaps. Much of this work is rooted in the things I struggled with myself, what my parents struggled with, and what I now navigate as a parent.

It is fully international. It began in the UK, but it has grown organically, and we now support families worldwide.

We have partnered with UK sperm banks and clinics, which now cover the cost of membership for their patients because they see how valuable the support and community are during treatment and beyond. Our goal is simply to widen access to support that is so often missing.

Yes, we are open to discussions internationally. That said, Becky and I feel strongly about shared values. We collaborate with organisations that align with our approach to donor conception, openness, and child-centred practice. If those values align, we are always open to conversations.

Absolutely. We support parents regardless of how they came to donor conception. Becky herself had treatment in Prague using an anonymous donor, and she speaks openly about that experience.

We are not here to tell people what they should or should not do. What we are passionate about is ensuring people are fully informed. When my wife and I went through treatment, we were not given all the information we now know exists, such as global donor limits.

If someone has the option to use an open-ID donor, I generally encourage them to consider it, because you cannot predict how a child may feel in the future. At the same time, I recognise that many people do not have that option due to legal, financial, or geographic constraints.

Anonymous donation does not necessarily mean anonymity forever, especially with DNA testing. Equally, many donor-conceived people have no desire to seek more information. What matters is preparing families and children honestly for their reality.

My dad’s support has meant everything. I know he may have had insecurities, but his openness allowed me the freedom to explore my curiosity without fear of damaging our relationship.

That experience informs how I parent my own children. If they want information about their donor when they are older, I may feel apprehensive, but I understand that curiosity deeply. I will do my best to support them without centring my own feelings.

Not that I am aware of. He is an ex-military man and does not tend to talk about his feelings. When I decided to do DNA testing, I chose to tell my parents because I wanted to break the cycle of secrecy and shame.

We kept an open dialogue, but in terms of external support, there was nothing available for him then.

I completely agree with starting very early. Even before children can understand, parents benefit from practising the language. Storybooks are a great tool, and I have a free resource on my website with recommended books and scripts.

Research suggests disclosure before the age of seven is in the child’s best interest, but earlier is better. The conversations evolve as children grow. What you say to a toddler is very different from what you discuss with a seven- or eight-year-old.

It is an ongoing process, and parental confidence grows over time.

Yes. My website signposts free resources for donor-conceived people, parents, and professionals. We also recommend organisations such as the Donor Conception Network and Paths to ParentHub, both of which support families internationally.

Cultural, legal, and religious differences matter, so local support can be helpful alongside online communities. Meeting in person can be incredibly powerful.