英語文摘：父親是個捐精者
Even as a child, Christine Whipp, now a 46-year-old grandmother, says she was aware that somehow life was not as it pretended to be.
Her carpenter father had been an insulin-dependent diabetic who died when she was six. Christine and her mother never got on.
Ten years ago, Christine's mother referred to the secret directly for the first time.
"She told me that I had been conceived through donor insemination (DI) at the Margaret Jackson clinic in Exeter," says Christine. "I was 40 when I found out that my father was a glass jar with a blob of sperm in it. My father doesn't have a face, or a name and he wasn't even a one-night stand. If my mum had had an affair at least there would have been sex and lust, something human rather than something so cold, scientific and clinical. My parents never even met. How weird is that? I still feel like a freak, a fake. I don't feel I know who I am any more."
Between 1940 and 1983, 483 children were conceived through anonymous DI at the private Exeter clinic, most by affluent middle-class mothers, not factory girls like Christine's mum. Christine has never knowingly met a single one of them, though it's almost certain that some-even scores - are her half - siblings. She has no way of tracking the donor or her half-siblings down. Christine has no access to records, and it is likely that none survive. She has no rights to know anything about the man who helped give her life. The situation hurts. 'I was only made to assuage my parents' reproductive vanity,' she says bitterly.
Almost 18,000 babies have been born through donated gametes (sperm and eggs) and embryos in the UK since the regulatory Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority was set up in 1991. Anonymous donations have allowed infertile heterosexual couples, gay couples and single women to create families that would otherwise never have existed. Between 1940 and 1990, tens of thousands more were conceived mainly using donated sperm, the low-tech end of gamete donation which has been around for over a century.
While the first baby conceived with a donated egg was not born until 1987, the first documented case of donor insemination took place in 1884, when the Philadelphia-based doctor William Pan coast inseminated a sedated woman with a medical student's sperm without her permission or knowledge. Sperm insemination remains, by far, the most common donor conception procedure.
No one can say exactly how many people alive in Britain today were conceived through donor conception-estimates put it at around 40,000.
The received wisdom was that secrecy was in everyone's interests. The biological mother and her husband usually wanted to pretend that, genetically, the child was completely theirs. The clinics encouraged women to go home after artificial insemination and make love with their infertile husbands. Then the couple could cling to the possibility-however remote-that the child was really theirs. Some clinics even mixed a sterile husband's sperm with the donor's to keep the parental fantasy alive.
The donor dads were shadowy figures, guaranteed anonymity by the clinics. That way there was no risk of the past -- and, conceivably, hundreds of offspring -- returning to haunt the donors, and clinics did not have the expense and hassle of records. Keep it secret, it's simpler, advised the doctors. But it is not proving that easy. Someone forgot that gurgling, happy babies grow up into adults with complex needs.
"DI robbed me of half my genetic history, and it robbed my children and grandchildren too."says Christine Whipp, she argued that she had the right to know her parentage.
Since 1991, details about donors -- name, place and date of birth, medical history, physical characteristics, religion, occupation and interests -- have had to be registered with the HFEA but offspring have no rights of access. They may only check with the HFEA that they are not related to someone they intend to marry or ask the HFEA -- presumably they have to be, firstly, suspicious -- if they were the product of donated gametes or embryos when they reach 18.
The HFEA says that it has yet to face a situation where it is asked to reveal the identity of a donor because a DI child has a genetic condition or a disease such as leukaemia where bone marrow from a biological father might be needed to save a child's life. "But the law is clear at the moment,' said a spokesman. "The identity of the donor cannot be revealed."
Joanna Rose, 28, DI-conceived, was recently granted leave by the High Court to begin an action under the Human Rights Act that would force authorities to give more 'non-identifying' information about donors to offspring born since 1991. Ms Rose, complains that she and her half-sibling Adam, 34, a conservation biologist, have suffered an identity crisis from knowing nothing about their biological father.
The fertility industry is already issuing dark warnings that an end to anonymity will create a shortage of sperm, eggs and embryos, a terrifying prospect for the women having trouble conceiving, and the men who have difficulty fathering a child.
Melissa was conceived through DI 37 years ago. Melissa's mother blurted out the truth in 1996 during a heart-to-heart chat. But it was five months before her father knew the secret was out. Her mum feared he might have a heart attack.
Father and daughter have rarely discussed it since. Melissa, an only child, loves her dad.
Melissa would like to discuss with her father the possibility of being more open with their friends. She spent two years abroad after learning the truth and discovered she felt "freer" when she could speak about being DI. "When I'm home I feel I'm an actor in a play again," she says. Melissa felt something was not quite right as she was growing up. There was nothing she could put her finger on, or articulate, just this lingering unease. She grew up oddly disappointed that she was not at all like her father."He's extremely capable, practical and focused," she says. "I am the opposite extreme and I always felt he deserved someone more like himself."
Since 1996, she has veered between the joy of the truth and despair at an "insoluble situation". She, too, talks of identity crisis. She wants to find her donor father but does not know how. She is most angry at the Government which, she argues, ought to do more to protect the rights of the DI children that adults are desperate to have. "My mother didn't think about the long-term implications," she says. "They just wanted a baby so much."
Melissa argues that in future clinics should only recruit donors willing to be identified. She also wants a voluntary register for past donors. Because the consultation paper only consider the possibility of identifying future donors, Melissa says tens of thousands of DI offspring are being offered no hope of ever finding their donor parents. Melissa asks why, when adoption law changes were made retrospective, that is being ruled out by the Government for DI.
The motivation of sperm donors varies. There are students who think, "￡15 a throw, twice a week, good beer money", older men with perhaps more altruistic motives and, of course, egotists who, before limits were put on the number of sperm donations, seemed keen on hundreds of "mini?me's" running around.
Until a couple of years ago there had been little research into the happiness and wellbeing of DI children. But a few studies since suggest many grow up feeling a secret is being kept from them, and at least half suspect their 'social' dad is not their genetic father before being told. Most think they have a right to find out who the donor is, and 60 per cent want to meet him. Despite evidence that secrecy is damaging, one study of DI families in Britain, Italy, the Netherlands and Spain found that only 9 per cent of parents had told the truth to their children by the age of 12.
William, 18, from north London, is a rarity. He cannot remember a time when he did not know that another man had helped his parents, Walter Merricks and Olivia Montuschi, create their family. "It is something I completely accept," says William.
His sister, Susannah, 15, conceived through another sperm donor, recently wrote touchingly of her interest in the man who 'gave me life and my parents great joy'. But William has no curiosity about his donor. He does not look at all like Walter, a lawyer, but he says he shares many of his personality traits. It's proof, William says, of the power of nurture.
William thinks it would be "outrageous" to identify past donors, who were previously promised anonymity. He argues that the rights of adoptees to information about their birth mothers is greater than those of DI offspring. In DI, I see the sperm and eggs as components in baby-making, like the wheels are components of a car. Giving up sperm is not like giving up a baby.
William's parents decided to be honest with their children from the start. Their motivation was not fear that their children might suffer an identity crisis as adults, but a gut feeling that a solid family could not be build on a lie.
Canadian filmmaker Barry Stevens, conceived through DI in London 49 years ago, argues that even if sperm donations drop when anonymity disappears, why should DI offspring sacrifice their rights so sperm banks can be full? Stevens, who recently made an award?winning film about trying to track down his biological father -- and perhaps 200 half-siblings -- is part of a lobby pushing the Canadian government to give DI offspring more details about donors.
Stevens now argues the state has a duty to children whose parents lie to them. "The first relationship between a citizen and larger society is the birth certificate. In the case of these children that document is a lie. I would like to see everyone have access to their birth information." How, he asks, can genetic heritage be so deeply embedded in our culture and then DI offspring be expected to accept that, for them, it does not matter?
"Everyone was so keen to tell us it didn't matter. And then suddenly I felt this enormous anger-that was for me to decide."
[參考譯文]
46歲的克里斯蒂娜·惠普爾現在已經是祖母了。她說，自己在孩提時代就覺得生活中似乎有什么地方不對勁。她的父親有糖尿病，在她6歲那年就離開了人世。她和母親一直合不來。
10年前，克里斯蒂娜的母親第一次直接提到了這個秘密。
克里斯蒂娜說：“她告訴我，她是在埃克塞特的瑪格麗特·杰克遜診所通過人工授精懷上我的。我直到40歲才發現自己的父親原來是一個盛著精液的玻璃杯。我父親沒有面孔，沒有名字，甚至不是一夜情的結果。如果我是媽媽短暫風流的產物，那至少涉及性和欲望，是一種人性的東西，而不是這么客觀冰冷而具有科學性的東西。我的父母從未見過面。這有多離奇?我現在仍然覺得自己仿佛是個怪物，一個假貨。我弄不清自己到底是誰。”
從1940至1983年，埃克塞特的這家私人診所通過匿名捐精液的人工授精孕育了483個孩子。他們的父親大多是富裕的中產階級，像克里斯蒂娜母親這樣當工人的極少。這些在瑪格麗特·杰克遜診所通過人工授精出生的人中間，幾乎必定有克里斯蒂娜的同父異母兄弟姐妹，但克里斯蒂娜從未與他們見過面(也許見過但她不知道)。她沒辦法找到那個捐精者或她的兄弟姐妹。她也沒辦法查閱有關檔案——這些檔案很可能已經不復存在。關于那個給她生命的男子，她無權了解任何事情。這令她非常苦惱。“我來到這個世上只是為了滿足我父母的生育虛榮心，”她忿忿地說。
自從人工授精和胚胎學管理局(HFEA)于1991年成立后，英國大約有1.8萬嬰兒通過捐獻的配子(精子、卵子)和胚胎孕育出生的。匿名捐獻使不能生育的異性夫婦、同性戀伙伴和單身女性有了孩子。從1940年至1990年，又有數萬名嬰兒主要通過捐獻配子出生，其中大多數是通過捐獻者的精液人工授精的：這是較低級的配子捐獻技術。
直到1987年，才出現了第一例通過捐獻的卵子孕育的嬰兒。而通過捐獻者的精子進行人工授精最早發生于1884年。當時，費城的醫生威廉·潘科斯特在事先沒有征得當事人同意的情況下，用一個醫學院學生的精子給一位服了鎮靜劑的婦女人工授精。通過捐獻者的精子進行人工授精，是用捐獻者的配子幫助人們懷孕的最常見方式。
沒有說得清今天到底有多少英國人是通過這種方式出生的。據估計，人數在4萬左右。
人們普遍的看法是：保守秘密符合所有人的利益。接受人工授精的婦女和她的丈夫通常都假裝孩子完全是他們的。診所鼓勵婦女在人工授精后回家與丈夫做愛。然后，這對夫婦就可以想像這個孩子的確是他們的——盡管這種可能性微乎其微。有些診所甚至把不育丈夫的精液與捐獻者的精液混合，以便讓孩子的父母保持幻想。
通過捐精成為父親的人都面目不清。診所保證不透露他們的姓名。這樣就不會出現成百上千個后代回來搔擾捐獻者;此外，診所也不必承擔相應的費用和麻煩。醫生們建議說：保守秘密，這樣做比較省事。但是，事實證明并沒有那么簡單。有人忘了，那些格格笑的快樂嬰兒有一天會長大，變成有復雜需要的成年人。
“人工授精剝奪了我一半的基因歷史，也剝奪了我子女和孫子女一半的基因歷史，”克里斯蒂娜·惠普爾說。她認為自己有權了解自己的生身父母。
自1991年后，捐獻者的名字、住址、出生日期、醫療記錄、外貌特征、宗教信仰、職業和興趣等詳細情況都必須在HFEA登記，但是后代無權查閱這些資料。他們只能通過HFEA證實自己和結婚對象沒有血緣關系;如果他們懷疑自己是捐獻配子或胚胎的產物，他們在18歲后也可向HFEA查詢。
HFEA說，該機構還要面臨一種情況：如果人工授精孩子患有遺傳病或白血病這類疾病，他(她)可能需要生父的骨髓才能活命。HFEA一位發言人說：“但是，目前的法律非常明確。捐獻者的身份必須保密。”
28歲的喬安娜·羅斯也是通過人工授精出生的。最近，高等法院準許她根據《人權法》開始一項訴訟，這項訴訟可能將迫使有關機構向1991年后出生的人工授精孩子公布更多有關捐獻者的信息。羅斯說，她和她同母異父的兄弟亞當因為對生身父親一無所知而陷入身份危機。
但是，生育業已經發生警告：結束匿名將使精子、卵子和胚胎供應不足。這對于不育夫婦和患不育癥的男子是可怕的前景。
37年前，梅利莎的母親通過人工授精懷上了她。1996年，她母親在一次坦誠相見的談話中對她說出了真相。但直到5個月后，她的父親才知道這個秘密已經不再是秘密。
從那以后，父女二人幾乎沒有談論過此事。梅莉莎是獨女，她愛父親。在她逐漸成長的過程中，有些事情似乎不對勁。她說不清楚，只是一種揮之不去的不安感。她失望地發現，自己一點也不像父親。“他能力極強、講究實際而且非常專注，”她說，“我卻是相反的極端，我總覺得他應該有一個更像他的孩子。”
1996年以后，她一直不知道應該為真相大白而高興還是為一種“無法解決的情況”而絕望。她也談到身份危機。她希望找到生父，但不知道從何找起。她對政府非常憤怒。她認為，政府應當為保護人工受精孩子付出更多的努力。“我母親沒有想到長遠的問題，”她說，“他們只是特別想要個孩子。”
梅利莎認為，醫院以后應當只接受愿意講明身份的捐獻者。她還希望過去的捐獻者自愿登記。因為有關的討論文件只考慮到查明未來配子捐獻者的身份。她認為，既然對收養法所做的修改可以溯及以往，人工受精方面的法律也應該如此。
捐精者的動機各不相同。有些學生覺得：“每次15磅，一周兩次，用來買酒喝挺不錯。”年紀較大的人也許會有更為利他的想法。當然，(在捐精次數受到限制以前)也有一些利己主義者似乎熱衷于創造出成百上千個“小我”。
幾年前還沒有對人工授精孩子生活是否幸福的調查。但是，后來的幾項研究表明，許多人工授精孩子在成長過程中覺得父母有秘密不告訴他們，至少有一半人懷疑自己的父親不是生父。多數人工授精孩子都覺得有權知道捐精者到底是誰，60%的人希望和他見面。盡管有證據表明隱瞞事實可能產生不利影響，對英國、意大利、荷蘭和西班牙的人工授精家庭進行的調查示，只有9%的家長在孩子12歲以前把真相告訴他們。
來自倫敦北部的威廉是個例外。18歲的他從小知道另一個人幫助父母(沃爾特·梅里克斯和奧利維婭·蒙圖斯基)創造了他們的孩子。威廉說：“我完全接受這一點。”
他的妹妹，15歲的蘇珊是通過另一位捐精者孕育的。她最近寫了一篇非常感人的文章，表示她對那個“給了我生命和父母巨大歡樂”的男子很感興趣。但是威廉對那個捐精者毫無興趣。威廉看起來一點不像沃爾特，但和他有很多共同點。威廉說，這就是養育的力量。
威廉認為，要查明過去捐精者的身份是“不道德的”，因為醫院已經許諾為他們保密。他認為被領養的孩子比人工授精孩子更有權了解生身父母，因為精子和卵子只是制造嬰兒的事件，放棄精子與放棄一個孩子并不一樣。
威廉的父母一開始就決定和孩子說實話。他們的動機不是擔心孩子長大后出現身份危機，而是一種基本的感覺：穩固的家庭不能建立在謊言上。
49年前，加拿大電影人巴里·史蒂文斯通過人工授精在倫敦出生。他認為，即使因為取消匿名制使捐贈者減少，也不應該為了讓精子庫更充足而犧牲人工授精后代的合法權利。他最近拍攝的一部獲獎影片反映了他設法尋找生身父親和大約200名同父異母兄弟姐妹的經歷。這部影片是游說加拿大政府讓人工授精孩子了解關于捐精者更多情況的動力之一。
