The first child born using a donor egg was delivered in Australia in 1983, and official records on donor-conceived children in the UK have been kept by the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority (HFEA) only since 1991. Since then, the egg donation space has remained facilitated predominantly by the private sector. Donor eggs are available through the NHS only in exceptional circumstances, and access to these often depends on the local authority.
In early 2024, Google led me to the London Egg Bank, the UK’s first and largest egg bank, which opened in 2013. It is linked to a private fertility clinic, the London Women’s Clinic, which could then sell my dozen eggs for a total of £11,000. I made an appointment for an initial consultation.
I was within the required 18-34 age range. I didn’t smoke, had a healthy BMI and had no obvious red flags in my personal or family medical history.
And so I found myself sitting on a leather sofa as Classic FM wafted through the reception area of the egg bank’s London Bridge clinic. “Your scan is fine and your anti-Müllerian hormone level is adequate at 21.5pmol/L,” a doctor told me, before adding that she had sadly just had to turn away a 26-year-old woman whose level was well below the 16pmol/L cut-off. (The test evaluates the quality of egg reserves.)
These are the same kinds of factors taken into account for standard egg freezing, as doctors try to guide patients on whether the thousands-of-pounds cost per cycle is a sensible investment. Clinics hoping to retrieve enough donor eggs per round are making a similar calculation, though this time as a business, since they cover the costs involved in the process.
Because money, of course, cannot be removed from the equation. That is despite the fact that it is illegal to pay for egg donation in the UK, where clinics must also follow a strict code of conduct in how they attract donors.
In January, the Advertising Standards Authority ruled that two paid Facebook advertisements from Manchester Fertility Services, trading as Egg Donors UK, had displayed the amount of compensation a donor stood to receive too prominently compared with other details. Donation in this country is intended to be primarily altruistic, with only expenses paid. That amount was £750 per completed cycle until it rose to £985 in 2024 in line with inflation. Sperm donors receive £45, reflecting the far less labour-intensive – and more easily repeatable – process.
I was not paid this compensation because I opted for the “freeze and share” programme, in which half the eggs from each cycle are donated and the other half frozen on my behalf. I never considered this payment because egg freezing is not something I would otherwise have pursued: I am in my early 30s, in a relationship, and have been told my fertility is in a good place. Besides, once I have built my own family, I intend to donate any remaining eggs too. Still, given that I was embarking on a significant process to donate, it seemed wise to insure, in some small way, against any future difficulties of my own.
Women donate eggs after hearing of others’ fertility struggles
There has been a growing Goldilocks and the Three Bears debate about whether donor compensation is too high, too low or just right. Some believe that the UK’s private fertility sector, projected to reach nearly £1.1bn by 2030, should reimburse women more. Others fear that the current sum, at just shy of £1,000, is high enough to entice women to donate primarily for financial reasons, particularly in today’s economic climate.
Such is the concern about vulnerable young women being targeted, particularly students or those from lower socioeconomic backgrounds, that the women and equalities committee launched a parliamentary inquiry in November to examine the issue. While it has not concluded, the cross-party committee, led by Labour MP Sarah Owen, is set to consider whether women are being effectively protected from “exploitative practices”.
The inquiry followed a debate in Westminster Hall last June, brought by Jim Shannon, the Democratic Unionist Party MP. He raised concerns about a “developing societal entitlement to women’s eggs” and the possibility of eggs becoming “a tradable commodity”. “I believe that a power imbalance is developing between young and old, between poor and rich, and, in many cases, between female and male,” he said. “There is a concerning development whereby young women’s bodies seem to be commodified resources to be assessed for the benefit of others.”
Still, according to the HFEA, the average age of egg donors consistently remained at 31 or 32 from 1991 to 2020. Interestingly, 31 per cent of egg donors in 2020 already had children of their own, while a 2022 report found that, from 2011 to 2020, egg and sperm donors in England lived in similar or more affluent socioeconomic areas than the general population. Academic research has also consistently found that UK women donate eggs primarily for altruistic reasons, usually after being exposed to the fertility struggles of family or friends.
A purely financial incentive is certainly more likely in the US, where there is no legal limit on earnings and anecdotes abound of women with particularly desirable traits commanding hundreds of thousands of dollars a round. It is not that the money does not sound alluring. Perhaps it’s my privilege speaking – even if I’m not rolling in money – but to me, it changes the nature of the act. An empowering decision becomes a transactional use of the female body.
As mentioned, egg – or sperm – donation is no longer anonymous in the UK, meaning donor-conceived children ultimately have the ability to know where they come from. It is something that research has found is important for their wellbeing, and something which sadly isn’t the norm globally, including in many US states. I believe deeply that family is not made by blood alone. I have been blessed by mine, but I know that biology does not guarantee love, safety or belonging. Still, there is an innate human desire to understand our own origin story. Genetics do not define us, but they can tether us.
Further still, in the US, there is, in my view, a greater encouragement towards superficiality. It is one thing to look overseas to find a matching ethnicity – as many of the 3 per cent of UK-based parents who look overseas for a donor egg do. It is quite another to choose a donor on the basis of attractiveness, as I have seen considered. When my profile is put in front of prospective parents, basic details about my appearance will be shared – that I am white British, that I am a natural brunette – but no photograph of me is included. Because, really, if you desperately want a child, should that matter?