Corona Daily 206: The Diblings

Bryce Cleary was a medical student when one day a woman from the hospital’s fertility clinic came looking for sperm donors. Bryce volunteered. He was told his sperm would be shipped to the other end of the USA, and a maximum of five couples would receive it. In 1989, he donated and then almost for three decades forgot all about it. His wife gave him an Ancestry.com kit for Christmas.

Three months later, Bryce was staring at the message from a young woman who was identified as his daughter by the website. And then the second, and the third. Allee, 26, wrote to him that she had gone to the fertility clinic, where the staff member had secretly given her a piece of paper: Profile for Sperm Donor 8928. Hair color: brown. Eye color: gray/blue. Occupation: professional, science related. Religion: Baptist.

Bryce Cleary was the donor 8928. Using that clue, he found, or rather his biological children found him. He was told a maximum of five, but so far there are 19. The Washington Post gives a fascinating account of his story titled Nineteen Children and Counting.

Eli Baden-Lasar’s photo-story in the NYT magazine is equally incredible. Raised by two mothers, he always knew he was conceived with the help of a sperm donor. He is an amateur photographer. He began looking for his half-siblings, get to know them, and make a photo session. He found 32. To his embarrassment, one of them was his school friend.

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The history of sperm donation started in 1884, with an older rich man and his young wife seeking treatment for conception. The doctor decided the old husband was infertile. He anesthetized the wife, and inseminated her with the sperm of the best-looking student from his class. (In 1909, the student revealed it in an article).

In the 1970s, the first Cryobanks opened in the USA. The anonymous donors were usually college students, and no paper trail was left. In the 1980s, single women and lesbians began looking around for donors. They were still anonymous, but the California Cryobank would print catalogues of their physical descriptions, without names. After AIDS, the business grew, frozen sperm was found to be safer.

In 2000, Ryan Kramer, a 10-year-old child prodigy, along with his mother, created the “Donor Sibling Registry”, for children like him to enter the donor number to find the father and half-siblings. (Sometimes called Diblings). Now, every year, the website matches at least 1000 people, most of them siblings.

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23andMe, founded in 2006, specializes in genetic testing. (A normal human cell has 23 pairs of chromosomes). You send them a saliva sample, and the company generates reports charting your ancestry and genetic predispositions. Even if you are not born of a sperm donor, you may find people related to you.

In June 2020, 23andMe published a study that showed people with type O blood may be at a lower risk of catching covid-19. (Being O+, I welcome the study). They analyzed 750,000 participants.

The Donor Sibling Registry simply relied on the donor numbers to link the half-siblings. 23andMe and Ancestry.Com go a step further and offer DNA testing for better results.

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DNA testing and advanced facial recognition software would eventually make anonymous donations impossible. There is also an adoption movement that demands each child has a right to know their biological roots. California Cryobank now makes it mandatory to reveal names to offspring once they turn 18.

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The rising costs and tedious procedures are making some women opt for the cheaper option. Euphemistically called Natural Insemination, the woman meets the man through website advertising. If he is found to be worthy, they have a physical relationship until she gets pregnant. Kyle Grody, the founder of the FB group Sperm Donation USA follows this system. As mentioned two days ago, he has sired 40 children in this natural fashion.

With the climbing sperm costs in the pandemic, this ancient method of donation may become popular.

Ravi