Lesbian Parents – What’s in a Name?

“So if she’s known as Mummy, what does your daughter call you”? Being two women with a one year old baby, this is a frequent question we are asked. Our answer, which although has had considerable thought thrown at it, is simple in its logic. With one of us Spanish and the other English, we go by the native terminology; Mummy and Mami, although given some of the identity boundaries we have faced, it could easily have been Mummy and Maddy / Dummy (a Mummy-Daddy hybrid).

L Word’s Bette and Tina made parent labels seem simple with their Mama B-Mama T set-up, however as we are beginning to learn, the dynamics of parental identity for lesbians extends far beyond a name. A long way from our initial expectations of overcoming obstacles such as public scrutiny and length of paternity leave, the hardest challenge has actually been about defining our roles both physically and psychologically. This may have been a walk in the park in some partnership dynamics where one has a much stronger maternal instinct than the other, but for us; two overly hormonal femmes with similar measures of maternity, it has at times been tough. That’s not to say we’ve fallen at the fence, but it has made us realise the importance of being open and honest with each other and that has meant a lot of talking.

Hannah and Marie at Evelyn's Christening

Aside being incredibly joyous, miraculous and momentous, the first few months of our daughter’s life were some of the hardest we’ve ever experienced as a couple. With a third person to add to the dynamics of any partnership, there is inevitably some distance put between you both as you make ‘room for a little one’, but my expectations were somewhat unrealistic in thinking that being a lesbian couple with an ‘all-feminine’ bond, we would be exempt or at least protected somewhat from the feeling of separateness couples experience when birth mother is preoccupied with baby. For me, my experience seemed barely different to that of men I know who had recently become Dads and for a while, I found myself joining in the blokes’ conversations at friend’s gatherings, muttering “poor me” a lot and discussing the notion of being shut out whilst Mum bonded with baby. This was made harder by the pressure I felt to be more of an understanding partner given my sex – a benchmark that in all fairness, I set myself but failed to reach on some occasions as I dealt with my own insecurities of being pushed out and adopting a supporting role of Vice Mum – my partner’s somewhat highly strung and volatile co-Mummy.

For a while I struggled with my parental identity, known to all as Mummy but with a maternal skill-set seemingly stripped of some of its vital tools for Evelyn. Whilst I knew this would change when I got my chance at being birth mother, it has lead me towards adopting a more paternal role. That’s not to say it’s been a chore. On the contrary I have actually quite enjoyed being the protector and provider and it’s clear that our daughter is drawn to my partner when she’s wants to be nurtured and to me when she wants playtime. For now, I’m fun-time Mummy and I’m cool with that. I guess the real test will be when I play birth mother to our next child and our roles are forced to adapt once more.

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Blog post by Hannah Revill
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Starting a Family – Our Journey

Mari, Hannah and baby Evelyn

Whether you’re thinking about starting a family or you’ve started one already and are keen to compare notes, hearing about other couple’s journeys can be a comfort in the minority situation that is lesbian parenting. Here’s how we did it.

My partner Mari and I got together at Brighton Pride seven years ago and we’re what you’d describe as a lipstick and chapstick with a mortgage and a cat. Both from large families, we are often surrounded by kids and we’ve always shared an interest in wanting to raise our own children. Mari is two years older than me so it was a natural and mutual decision for her to go first in sprog-popping. I would then follow suit, popping out the next one a few years after. Having considering every possible conception method known to man (IVF, known donor, unknown donor, spermdirect.com, one night stand…I could go on), we decided we’d be most comfortable with IUI at King’s College Hospital London with an anonymous donor. However after multiple visits, tests, a round of artificial insemination and a humorous car journey on the rush-hour congested south circular, with Mari’s legs on the dashboard, it sadly wasn’t meant to be. Thanks to Mari’s younger brother, who is rather educated about all things gay (yes, two in the family), we found out about the London Women’s Clinic, which turned out to be the miracle clinic that helped produce our beautiful daughter Evelyn.

Located on Harley Street, the LWC is a private clinic specialising in assisted reproduction technologies for straight and gay couples as well as singles. If like us, you winced at the H word, naturally assuming you’d be paying through the nose (sculpted or otherwise) for extortionate IVF treatment, hold your horses. After attending one of their aptly named inseminars (yes, you read that correctly), we were enlightened not only on their incredibly high success rate, but also on their egg-sharing programme, a scheme whereby women can donate half of their healthy eggs and in return, receive free IVF treatment. I’d be lying if I said we weren’t initially attracted to the oxymoronic idea of free IVF, given the money we’d already spent on failed treatment at King’s, but at the foot of this was a decision not to be taken lightly. After a few weeks of talks between us and our families and some counselling provided by the clinic, we decided that egg-sharing was the way forward as we’d be giving both ourselves and another women the possible opportunity to become Mums. Since we already felt indebted to the powers that be for the sperm to make it all happen for us, this felt like the right thing to do, giving something back and restoring a harmonious balance in the reproduction process.

Choosing a donor was much like filling in a dating application. You state the specifics of what you’re looking to then be matched with potential suiters. Seemed simple enough on paper, less so in conversation. Aside Mari’s trademark indecisiveness (she takes 15 minutes to choose a sandwich filling), we wanted to give ourselves the best chance of a good donor. Too specific and we could risk having no matches, not specific enough and we could end up with all sorts of weird and wonderful candidates. So there we sat in the consultation room, with a form on a clipboard, deciding among a number of things, height, weight, age, ethnic origin and interests. A few weeks later, we were matched with a canoe loving, Brazilian Research Scientist standing at 6 ft 3. Perfect.

Living in Kent, visits to LWC were not cheap, but with the new high-speed link and the cost-saving on treatment, journeys to and from the clinic were pretty pain free. Treatment started in late spring 2010 and after a number of blood and fertility tests, Mari was given the IVF drugs to stimulate egg production. Within 3-4 weeks Mari had produced 24 eggs ripe for the picking. 12 of these were donated to the other couple we’d been matched to and 12 were used for our own IVF, using the sperm from our selected donor. Within 24 hours, the embryologist telephoned to inform us that 10 eggs had fertilised successfully and that they needed to incubate for another 48 hours to find out if any would be viable for implantation. Early morning on day 3 we were informed we had 2 viable “grade 2 – 7 cell” embryos and were asked to go to the clinic to be implanted. My partner was thrilled but also confused and worried as to why only 2 embryos out of 10 were viable for implantation. We later found out that each fertilised egg needs to develop into 6-8 cells within 36 hours of fertilisation in order for it to be viable or strong enough to survive implantation, and what happened to us was fairly normal. Within hours we were at the clinic and Mari was “implanted” with one little embryo, and sent home to rest for a week. This for Mari entailed watching 3 box sets of Brother’s and Sister’s, 1 box set of L Word, gorging on copious amounts of chocolate and surrounding herself with a plethora of blue and orange coloured scarves (she read somewhere that these colours aid the conception process).

Whether it was the Brazilian super sperm, Mari’s miracle eggs, the indulgent rest period or the blue and orange scarves, the pregnancy test a week later proved positive, concluding a successful first round of IVF. We were thrilled! 9 months later Mari gave birth to a beautiful little girl who we named Evelyn Rose, giving her a double-barrelled surname using both our surnames, just like the Spanish tradition.

As for me, well I have a sneaky couple of amps of Brazilian super sperm tucked away in the freezer waiting to create a half-blood sibling for Evelyn (I realise this sounds like a partially magical Harry Potter character). Let’s just hope my eggs are just as welcoming.

http://www.londonwomensclinic.com/index.php/london/p/what_is_egg_sharing
http://www.kch.nhs.uk/service/a-z/acu

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Blog post by Hannah Revill

Do you have a story to tell? Would you like to contribute to this or one of the other Planet London blogs? Email Planet London (admin@planet-london.com).

Equality Act 2010 - what it means for lesbian women

Under the Equality Act 2010 PCT’s would be unable to treat same sex couples any differently to heterosexual couples. It would be unlawful therefore for your local PCT to say a particular treatment was only available for heterosexual couples and not same sex couples or for heterosexual women and not lesbians. The criteria they ask for from same sex couples would need to be the same and they would need to assess you in the same way. If their policy states that a heterosexual couple would be entitled to fertility treatment if the woman has been diagnosed with a fertility issue and are entitled to certain drugs then the same should be applied for same sex couples.

Stonewall are working with PCT’s across the country to help them address the health needs of lesbian and bisexual women. You may also find the following contact of use:

Equality and Human Rights Commission
http://www.equalityhumanrights.com

Infertility Network UK
http://www.infertilitynetworkuk.com

What's your PCT's policy on NHS fertility treatment?

Grant Shapps (yes the guy who is now Local Government Minister) did some research when he was an MP in opposition. Using Freedom of Information, he found out what each PCT's policy is on their criteria for NHS fertility treatment - view the article here http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/datablog/2009/aug/06/fertility-problems-nhs and this also includes a link to a detailed spreadsheet.

The Miraculous Conception

Well it’s come to that time for us where we are starting to think seriously about having children – we’re not ready to start quite yet, but we are starting to think about the ifs and hows, and are wanting to ensure that we are ready and fully prepared.

Now, for any female-female couple this takes a lot of planning, discussion and decision making given there is a missing ingredient, and many sources of obtaining and using this vital ingredient. There is so much information available online, and so many avenues you could choose to take. How do we choose what is right for us?

However, we were also approaching our GP for advice because of previous gynae conditions that might make it difficult to conceive, in advance of trying to help us make the right decision when the time comes based on what options we might have. One of us is facing a scenario where it might not be possible to conceive or even carry a baby (and not without medical support for sure) but that’s okay – because there is a back up womb, right? But what if this womb isn’t going to work either? We don’t know, because we’ve never tried, and aren’t going to have any unplanned discoveries.  So all we wanted to know from the GP was if womb number 1 isn’t going to work, will womb number 2? Given womb 2 is experiencing problematic periods and currently trialling various medications and tests... are we overreacting in checking or trying to be mature, and sensible?

Apparently, it’s just not that easy. First of all, you have to have tried and failed reproducing before you can get a test to tell you whether you are able to. Not that easy for lesbians is it? Not without spending a shed load of cash on your method of choice in the first place. So, this policy is somewhat implicitly discriminating, yes? Furthermore, the GP states (verbatim) “you would not be eligible (for NHS fertility treatment) as you are not a heterosexual couple”. What she apparently meant by this was the point made previously, you have to have tried and failed before you can even get a test.

So where does this leave us? I asked (womb 2), instead of getting up and leaving as she clearly would have preferred. Apparently we can have a blood test to check some hormone levels and she reluctantly mentioned the possibility of an ultrasound – letting me know that was the most that the surgery would offer, however she didn’t give me any hope or any indication that they would give me these tests. Despite my pushing I left the surgery without a future appointment, without any action plan, and with absolutely no indication that they were even going to consider helping us out.

But what if we do have fertility issues? Can we get NHS support? Or are we  not eligible because we are a female-female couple?

Where do we go to get information? What are our rights? We thought there was a law in place that protected us from discrimination in the delivery of goods and services. Stonewall have written about how we might assert our rights in response to the Equality Act 2010 but there is nothing specific about accessing fertility services here. The NHS’s own health page is a one page superficial description of a couple of the options available, but again no information on how to access the options.

Two years ago, a lesbian couple successfully sued the NHS for refusing to treat them as an infertile couple (Source: BBC News) – but they had to spend money on fertility treatment first – as the doctor told us. So where do we stand and where can we go from here? What about those lesbian couples who don’t have thousands stored in the bank to give to The London Women’s Clinic for private fertility treatment?

So that is the background to this blog. We positively encourage you to contact us with your experiences. We’ll post them, and we also want you to comment on these posts. Share your shock and anger, your dismay, even the fact that you’re not at all surprised – or share your experiences with us if they have been positive. We want to hear from you.

We will continue to look into this, talk to friends, charities, companies, and most importantly, we’ll keep trying to “conceive naturally” (ahem!) in the mean time, and go back to the doctors for advice following what we are fairly confident will be an unsuccessful attempt at an immaculate conception!