Linda: “We have donated our embryos to people we don't know”

When I first became a mother to Billie, I thought: This is a miracle. And it was. Because Billie didn't just happen. Just like Olivia and Benja. All three of our children are the result of years of hope, sorrow, conversations, injections, hormones, and hospital visits. Our three children have literally been created with love and science.

The ICSI journey was extremely tough

Martin and I never thought it would be such an intensive journey. We were young when we started trying. I was 28 and Martin was 30. But month after month went by without any results. After a year, the investigations began. And then it turned out to be an issue with Martin's sperm quality. Of course, we could try to get pregnant 'naturally', but the chances were slim. “If your desire for children is strong,” said the fertility doctor, “then ICSI is the most promising option.” And that's what we wanted. Very much so.

I was trembling as I injected the first hormone shots into my stomach. Every morning felt like a mental hurdle. But the prospect of having a child kept me going. During the first retrieval, 11 eggs were harvested. Eight were fertilized. In the end, five embryos remained. One of them was transferred back fresh. The rest were frozen. And from that first transfer, I became pregnant with Billie. Our first daughter.

We thought we were complete

A year later, we wanted to try again. We still had embryos in the freezer. The first transfer failed. The second one was successful; that was Olivia's pregnancy. And then came Benja, he completed us. And then... suddenly we were parents of three children. Three miracles. But: there were still three embryos left. What were we to do? I remember telling Martin one evening. The kids had just fallen asleep. We were sitting on the couch. “What do we do with the embryos?” I asked. He looked at me. “I don't know,” he said.

Not a clump of cells

We immediately knew what we did not want. We didn't want to destroy them. They didn't feel like 'just a bunch of cells'. Not to us. Because our children were once just a bunch of cells too. And look at them now. I couldn't bear to consider those remaining embryos as mere 'leftover material'. We considered storing them, but did we really want that? For a while, we thought about keeping the embryos, just in case. But the longer we thought about it, the clearer it became: we were complete. Three children were our limit. It wasn't just an emotional issue, but also a medical one. The gynecologist had advised after my third delivery to stop there. My body was exhausted. Benja's birth had been difficult, ending in an emergency cesarean section and a lot of blood loss. Another pregnancy would carry risks. 'That leaves us with one option,' said Martin. 'Donation.'

Still a chance at a life

I hadn't heard much about it at first. I knew about egg donation, and sperm donation of course. But embryos? Our embryos? Wasn't that strange? Someone else might have a child that is genetically ours, but we would never know? I thought about it for a long time. But the more I thought about it, the less strange it felt. It actually felt... warm. Like how I felt during my pregnancies: full of love. Because these embryos didn't just come about. They were created with effort, love, and care. Why shouldn't they have a chance at life?

We were going to explore the options

We read everything we could find about embryo donation. There were all sorts of rules and procedures. They strictly checked for age, health, and whether we were certain that we no longer wanted children. “We are sure,” we said. And we meant it. We had discussions with a social worker. They asked: “How does it feel knowing that somewhere in the Netherlands, a child is growing up who is genetically yours?” I found that a tough question. But my answer remained the same: if those embryos can complete a family, that's a beautiful thing. We knew nothing about the recipient, but we could accept that. We simply wanted to give someone else the opportunity. Just like we once had that opportunity.

The day we signed the paper

I had to cry when I signed my name. It felt like saying goodbye in a way, but we were also truly giving them a chance at life. I looked at Martin, who was also silent. And I thought of our children. How much we wanted them. How much another couple might now also hope, pray, long for. And I hoped that they, thanks to our donation, might also hold a Billie, an Olivia, or a Benja. It didn't feel like we were 'giving something away'. It felt like we were allowed to pass something on.

Our children do not know it (yet)

For now, our children are still too young to understand this. But later, when they're older, I want to tell them. I want them to know that their dad and mom chose to do something good. Sometimes I think about it: are they already here? Very occasionally, in quiet moments, I imagine that somewhere in a house a pregnancy test is positive. Maybe there's already a toddler walking around with my curls. I'll never know. And that's okay. We are complete.

LINDA