The women ADDICTED to donating their eggs

Gruelling fertility treatments with painful side effects for their bodies and their own families ... the donors who say they crave the rush of giving strangers a baby

PLUNGING the syringe into her stomach, Kelly Parsons felt a familiar sensation. Dizziness swept over her, a wave of nausea gripped and her stomach began to bruise. Kelly, now 36, was injecting a powerful fertility drug that would stimulate her ovaries to produce more eggs than usual. But Kelly had no desire to conceive a child. She planned to donate her healthy eggs to another woman desperate to have a baby. The side-effects she experienced are just the tip of the iceberg for those who embark on fertility treatment.

From hot flushes and mood swings to more serious symptoms including ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, which causes rapid weight gain, abdominal pain and can be life-threatening, the process is not for the fainthearted. So why on earth would Kelly put herself through this gruelling experience three times — and all for other women?

Worryingly, Kelly, a dental receptionist, admits she became addicted to the ‘rush’. The praise from clinic staff when all three of her donations proved successful, resulting in five healthy babies, left her giddy with joy. More than that, she says, donating made her feel validated as a woman.

‘The clinic said they’d never known anyone so fertile.’

Kelly, whose husband Dean, 42, works as a train driver, is by no means alone in feeling an intoxicating thrill after donating eggs.

Women cannot be paid for donating eggs in the UK, and can legally be given only £750 per cycle for expenses. Those who donate largely do so for altruistic reasons — to help other women.

Private clinics charge couples an average of £10,000 a time for the donor eggs they produce. The procedure is expensive and the clinics’ costs are high. But some will question the ethical implications of donors receiving little more than praise in return for such a valuable sacrifice.

aNOTHEr form of egg donation, known as ‘ egg sharing’, does offer a financial incentive. Clinics are legally allowed to offer women huge discounts on their own fertility treatment if they agree to give at least half of the eggs they produce to another woman.

These donors have healthy eggs, but are unable to conceive because they or their partner suffer another fertility issue. The concern is some women who cannot afford IVF may feel this is their only chance to have a baby.

The Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority forbids any woman from creating more than ten separate families from her eggs.

Kelly has only stopped donating because she is over 36, the legal maximum age: ‘I’m someone who needs to feel needed,’ she says.

But what of the toll on her body? And the pressure donating put on her marriage and children — Charlotte, 13, and Emily, five? Not to mention the future of all those donated children, who are, after all, biologically Kelly’s?

‘Every time I took the drugs, I asked myself why I was doing this to my family. Why was I risking my health?’ But with these troubling lows came highs.

‘The first time I donated in 2012, I produced 26 eggs. Five fertilised successfully, and two embryos were implanted. The couple went on to have twin girls.’

Kelly says the private clinic she donated to lavished her with praise, complimenting her on being ‘super fertile’.

In an attempt to replicate the thrill of her ‘success’, she went on to donate twice more, producing more than 60 eggs in total.

‘During each cycle, I was moody and put on weight,’ reflects Kelly, ‘but whenever I felt low, I’d read the file of the childless woman the clinic had matched me to. It was like I knew her. I appreciated how needed I was. I’d perk up.’

According to the Department of Health, 2,000 children are born each year via egg, sperm and embryo donation. Its advice is unequivocal: ‘You should consider your decision carefully and discuss it with your family.’

Yet Kelly had to twist her husband’s arm: ‘I had to talk him into it, reasoning I supported him in running marathons and skydiving. Now it was my turn.’

Kelly was inspired when, in 2011, she watched a television programme about egg donation. Curious, she contacted a private clinic on a whim.

‘For almost a month, they bombarded me with calls. I ignored them because I assumed I’d be unsuitable. Finally I answered one by mistake. I believe it was the co-owner of the clinic. She emphasised what a life-changing difference it can make. After a 45minute-long chat, I was sold.’

Sold is perhaps the right word, given the intensity of the hardsell Kelly, then 33, received. But getting women to donate eggs is big business. Experts estimate the UK medical fertility industry is worth in excess of £600 million.

Kelly, who lives in Morden, South-West London, believes the sales pitch had such a huge effect on her because of her own tragic history. Before having daughter Emily in 2011, she had suffered three miscarriages in a year. The devastation remained with her. ‘I was so grateful to be a mum. I realised perhaps I could help.’

And so the process began. She underwent numerous examinations, including blood tests, scans and genetic testing.

She also attended four counselling sessions. ‘I kept saying I didn’t need them. The counsellor could see I was determined to go ahead, so we just chatted about everyday life.

‘When I was accepted, I was shocked, but happy. I sent photos of myself as a child [so prospective parents could see what their future child might look like], along with a list of my characteristics. Within a week they had matched a couple to me.

‘When I read her story, I just thought her life was so similar to mine. She was a nurse and loved arts and crafts, just like me. It might sound silly, but I felt we’d be friends if we met. I appreciated how much I was needed.’

So, in August 2012, Kelly and the recipient of her eggs began treatment. Kelly injected herself with hormone-based drugs that effectively put her monthly cycle on hold, forcing her body into temporary menopause.

This allowed her to delay her reproductive cycle until it was in sync with that of the other woman — a step that maximises the chance of embryos implanting in the recipient’s womb.

Once the two women’s cycles were matched, Kelly was given another drug to inject that flooded her reproductive system with different synthetic hormones, forcing it to produce as many eggs as possible within a 14-day window. The day before egg collection — which took place under sedation — Kelly injected herself with another drug to mature the eggs so that they could be harvested.

‘It wasn’t pleasant,’ remembers Kelly. But she was ‘ecstatic’ to discover she’d produced 26 eggs.

‘I was exhausted and sore. It took months for the drugs to leave my system. I’d burst into tears at the slightest provocation and wasn’t easy to live with.

‘I was thrilled to discover the couple were pregnant with twin girls. However, I told myself, and promised my husband, that I would never do it again.’

But less than 12 months on, Kelly found herself missing that feeling of being wanted. ‘I’d done something really good and I craved it again,’ she says.

So in 2013, she donated again, despite her husband’s reluctance — and the clinic managed to harvest 20 eggs. ‘The couple became pregnant with twin boys. Clinic staff couldn’t believe what a success I was. I felt incredibly fulfilled. I even tried to convince family and friends to do it. But no one was prepared to go that far.

‘I always do things in three in life, so I phoned the clinic and told them to consider me again. Even they were surprised, asking whether I’d thought it through. I

Pictures: JOHN NGUYEN/ JNVISUALS / RHIAN AP GRUFFYDD / WARREN SMITH told my husband “What’s the harm in one more?” When I discovered another donor had let one particular lady down, my mind was made up.’ This time, she produced 15 eggs in early 2014. ‘I genuinely didn’t think it would work again, but the mum had a boy. The clinical staff were in awe of me. I was elated.’ Today, Kelly claims she doesn’t feel a bond with any of the five children — after all, she has never actually met them or their parents — but she is proud of helping the women. Her as-yet-unused eggs remain frozen and, legally, belong to the mothers who received Kelly’s donations. They can remain frozen for 15 years, to allow the women to extend their families. Kelly’s donated eggs, then, could produce even more children. Therapist Marisa Peer understands why women like Kelly want to donate again and again. ‘Many women will recognise the feeling of being special while pregnant, and donating eggs is another way of achieving those feelings. The clinics are part of a lucrative industry — they know how to make women feel good.’ While Marisa believes women who donate repeatedly do so for altruistic reasons, she does worry that they may have given little thought to the future. Since 2005, women who donate eggs are obliged to provide contact details which can be passed on to children when requested. The couple who receive the eggs never see this identifying information — and any children born through egg donation must wait until they are 18 to access it. Marisa says: ‘How will you cope in 20 years’ time if your biological children turn up at your door? What do you say to them if they haven’t had a happy upbringing?’ This is something Carrie Turner, 24, has given little thought to. After undergoing two cycles in the past 12 months, she has donated 66 eggs. c ArrIe, who works for theatres as a lighting technician, was driven to donate after meeting women socially who were struggling to have children.

‘While I’m not ready for children, if I can help someone else, I will,’ she says. ‘Within seconds of walking into the clinic, I was made to feel a very important part of what they were trying to achieve.’

Two weeks later, her treatment began. ‘ Not all my friends were excited. Some were quite dubious.’

Carrie, who lives in London, claims her treatment — the same standard egg collection protocol as Kelly — was a breeze. ‘I didn’t have a problem with injecting myself. As I approached collection day, though, I was nervous. I didn’t know how many eggs I had produced. You want to please and produce as many as possible.’

Carrie produced 26 eggs. ‘I knew my eggs would help at least a dozen parents. I felt such sheer joy and, yes, that was addictive.’

Carrie put herself forward for another round of donation six months later, in October 2016. As she was about to go into theatre, she received news she’ll remember for ever. ‘I was told a couple had had a 12-week scan with my eggs. They were going to become a family. I burst into tears.’ Carrie, who is single, produced 40 eggs the second time. She remembers nurses hugging and congratulating her on the highest number for any donor in their clinic.

‘I cried when I realised how many potential parents I could help. It was such a high. I’ll definitely keep going until I’ve helped ten families, the legal maximum.’

Yet not everyone becomes addicted to helping others — for some, donations are a way of securing cutprice treatment for themselves.

Vicki robson had healthy eggs, but was struggling to conceive because of an irregular cycle caused by polycystic ovary syndrome. She agreed to donate eggs twice solely to receive cheaper fertility treatment, after which she became pregnant.

But Vicki admits she would have persisted with donations if she had not conceived. Vicki, now 29, met her husband Neville, 43, in 2006 and they married three years later. They spent two years trying unsuccessfully for a baby. B eCAuSe Vicki has two stepchildren from Neville’s first marriage, the NHS refused to fund her IVF. ‘ The treatment was £7,000. It seemed an awful lot of money.’

Vicki, then 25, was an ideal age for egg donation. So the clinic suggested a deal: if she donated half of her eggs to another childless couple, they would treat her for between £2,000 and £3,000.

Such bartering over an unborn life may seem distasteful to say the least, but Vicki was desperate. ‘It was solely a financial decision,’ she admits.

Her first round produced 15 eggs. As agreed, Vicki kept six, while the other woman received seven.

Thankfully, in September 2012, Vicki, who lives in Macclesfield, Cheshire, gave birth to a daughter, Georgia, now aged four.

As for whether it worked for the woman sharing her eggs, Vicki doesn’t want to know. ‘For me, to know would have been too much of an emotional investment. I recognise I wasn’t doing it for selfless reasons, but just to have my own family.’

When they decided to expand their family, Vicki, who works as a PA, opted to go down the same route again in autumn 2014.

unfortunately, one of Vicki’s ovaries failed to work and she produced only six eggs.

‘There weren’t enough to share. I was in tears. I felt so guilty. The clinic told me to put myself first, reassuring me the lady was at the top of the list for the next donor.’

Luckily for Vicki, she was still allowed to have fertility treatment at the reduced rate. Her son, Jack, is now 20 months old. While Vicki doesn’t want to imagine any child unexpectedly turning up on her doorstep, it’s something Carrie and Kelly say they would look forward to.

Kelly says the twin girls she helped conceive play on her mind the most.

‘Whenever we go to the city where they live, I do look out for them, however irrational that sounds. I know how old they are. I know there’s a fair chance they look like me. I wouldn’t approach them, but I have this maternal urge to see them. Just to know they’re doing OK.’

Carrie: ‘I want to help ten families’ Kelly: ‘I couldn’t wait to do it again’ Vicki: ‘I got cheaper IVF for myself’