Like a Virgin (21 page)

The first authenticated case of artificial insemination was performed successfully about three hundred years later, around 1776. In this revolutionary year the renowned surgeon and human
dissector John Hunter was approached by a ‘linen draper in the Strand’ of central London who came to consult him because of a deformity of his penis. The draper suffered from
hypospadias, in which the opening of his urethra, from which a man would normally ejaculate semen, was in a position on his penis from which his sperm could not physically make
it into his wife – the same condition that likely afflicted King Henry II (and his bride Catherine de Medici). Hunter armed his patient with a syringe, and advised him to use it
to collect his semen after sex and inject its contents directly into his wife, while she would be most receptive. Presumably Hunter felt she would be more open to having a syringe inserted into her
vagina around that time, but he may also have suspected that this moment would give the semen (and its sperm) a better chance of making its way well into the uterus. It was a simple but effective
intervention. The wife became pregnant, and the baby was born healthy.

Such hit-or-miss attempts were always in demand, though they were not always scrupulous. We have records of a French doctor by the name of Girault, who in 1838 used a hollow tube to blow sperm
into the vaginas of infertile men’s wives. Another French doctor was forced by public disapproval to cease similar attempts to impregnate women artificially. After the American Civil War,
James Marion Sims – credited as the father of American gynaecology – reported his own attempts at artificial insemination, in which he injected sperm past the vagina, directly into the
womb.

Sims had a reputation for medical miracles: he was also known for curing crossed eyes, clubbed feet, and a debilitating condition called vesico-vaginal fistulae (VVF), which affects women. VVF
is a trauma commonly associated with a prolonged, obstructed labour, during which the baby’s head puts pressure on the tissue that normally forms a barrier between the mother’s vagina
and her bladder. If the baby gets stuck and remains in this position too long, this tissue can be destroyed, and a hole opens between the vagina and the bladder. This often leads to constant,
uncontrollable urinary incontinence – a debilitating situation, physically and emotionally. In Sims’s day, women with the condition were likely to become social
outcasts. In his efforts to find a surgical solution to this problem, between 1845 and 1849 he carried out a series of operations on black slave women. In that day, any woman with VVF
would probably have accepted the slimmest of chances to be rid of it, so the slaves he operated on may well have been consenting; however, anaesthesia had only recently been discovered, and some
accounts say he performed what must have been incredibly painful procedures on the slaves without the anaesthetic that he later used with his white patients. The alleged practice has left his
medical legacy in something of an ethical limbo.

Regardless, Sims published his definitive work on women’s reproduction and ‘uterine surgery’ in 1866. In it, he also logged the fifty-five artificial inseminations he had
conducted on six different patients using sperm from their husbands. Bypassing the vagina to put seminal fluid directly into the womb was excruciating for the patient; Sims himself states that his
earliest insemination experiments were ‘often more painful than any operation’. Half of his attempts he considered to be utter failures, and only once did he achieve a pregnancy.
Sims’s poor results probably had less to do with his technique than with the era’s limited knowledge about menstruation, and about where in a woman’s body conception actually
happened. It was truly a guessing game. Unfortunately, the only time Sims guessed right and managed a successful artificial insemination, the woman miscarried, having experienced a ‘fall and
a fright’ when she was four months into her pregnancy. The twenty-eight-year-old patient had undergone Sims’s procedure ten times. After that twist of fate, the doctor wrote, he gave up
the practice altogether.

Other doctors forged ahead, however. To test the limits of artificial insemination, they soon began to turn to donors, breaking from the tradition of exclusively using sperm from a
woman’s husband. The world’s first case of such donor insemination was performed in 1884 by Professor William Pancoast, who was based at Philadelphia’s Jefferson
Medical College. Pancoast used a hard rubber syringe to insert sperm donated by one of his medical students, whom he had judged to be the best-looking of the bunch. His patient, a woman who had
been anaesthetized prior to the insemination, was unaware that Pancoast had even performed the procedure, and then, when her infertile husband was made aware of Pancoast’s procedure, the
doctor instructed him never to tell her about the day’s events. Their son was never told the circumstances of his birth either. Only the medical archives have given the story to us.

At the time, the thought of using ‘alien’ semen shocked many people. In the nineteenth century, the idea of sperm banks had inflamed the imagination of doctors and the public alike;
as early as 1870, there was speculation that soon there would be places where you could buy the semen of a ‘thirty-year-old blond with black eyes’ or a nineteen-year-old virgin. These
were not considered to be happy developments. This attitude persisted for decades – at least until the 1940s in the US, and into the 1970s in Australia, and was only supplanted after the
first professional sperm banks were launched in these countries. Indeed, in Pancoast’s day, there were still so many dissenters opposed to impregnating a woman using sperm that was not her
husband’s that he kept his work secret until his death, and it was only revealed in 1909. In fact, the obituary for him, printed in the
New York Times
on 6 January 1897, made no
mention of his innovations in this field. Instead, he was remembered as the surgeon who performed the autopsy of Chang and Eng Bunker, the conjoined ‘Siamese twins’ who had been
exhibited in Victorian freak shows nearly seventy years earlier.

A contemporary of Pancoast’s working in Austria, Professor Leopold Schenck, decided to go one better. In a Petri dish,
he mixed together the sperm and egg of rabbits
in an attempt at developing a rabbit embryo – something close to in vitro fertilization proper. But Schenck never succeeded in making bunnies, let alone babies. His clinic instead became
renowned for a different speciality: that he could influence the sex of a baby, as its parents desired. And for this, he was in great demand. So much so that in 1898, a visiting American doctor
barely gained entrance to Schenck’s Parisian surgery. On a trip to Paris, Dr Victor Neesen, who was visiting from Brooklyn, noted, ‘When I called at Dr Schenck’s house I found the
street blocked with carriages of all descriptions. A group of well-dressed people stood on the stoop of the house, waiting to be admitted. The anterooms were crowded to suffocation with visitors,
most of them women, richly attired and genteel looking, all waiting to consult the professor.’

Though there were those who objected on moral grounds, there was evidently quite a strong appetite for all sorts of reproductive manipulation. As long as it happened inside the body, and not in
a test tube.

Not surprisingly then, there was huge public interest in the first IVF baby. Before the birth of Louise Joy Brown was announced in the summer of 1978, the Oldham and District
General Hospital enlisted a guard dog as backup to its usual entourage of security guards, to ensure that mum and baby could avoid the paparazzi and get some much-needed rest. Still, journalists
besieged the hospital’s maternity unit. It was suspected that the tabloids may have even faked a bomb scare, in efforts to snap a photo of an exhausted Lesley Brown as she left the
building.

There had been a long wait for the child that many referred
to as ‘our’ baby. The animal research into the potential for IVF had been encouraging, but there
were fears that the process would not work in humans, or that terrible abnormalities would result. When Lesley and John Brown arrived in the office of Dr Patrick Steptoe at Oldham General Hospital
outside of Manchester, they had nearly given up hope. Steptoe and the Cambridge physiologist Robert Edwards had been investigating options for fertilizing eggs outside the womb since the mid-1960s,
but the eighty pregnancies they had managed had only lasted a few weeks before spontaneously aborting. After extracting an egg from Lesley and fertilizing it with John’s sperm, they watched
it divide into more cells – and they took a gamble. Rather than waiting four or five days, as they had in the past, they injected the fertilized egg into Lesley’s womb two days later.
The egg attached itself to the uterus wall without any difficulties.

Once news of the pregnancy leaked to the media, Lesley was forced into hiding. The press were chasing her all over Bristol, where she lived, and Edwards and Steptoe were concerned that she might
lose the baby from the stress. Eventually, Steptoe drove Lesley to his mother’s house in Lincoln. For the rest of the pregnancy, the press could not uncover where she was.

For weeks, things seemed to go well. Then, near to her due date, Lesley’s blood pressure spiked. The doctors chose to deliver the baby early, rather than risk complications from natural
labour. ‘There were many times in the last ten years when we wondered if we would ever see that baby,’ one of the team of doctors who had been working with Steptoe and Edwards on IVF
later told the BBC. On the night of Louise’s delivery, there was a buzz in the air. Some of the medical staff had even drawn lots to be present at the history-making birth.

Louise may have been the first ‘superbabe’, but she was not to be the only one – even as she was born, there were reports of
other mothers who were
already pregnant using the new technology. By 1979, two more ‘test tube’ babies were born in the UK. The next year, Australia greeted its first IVF birth, with the United States
matching this feat the year after that. Between 1978 and 1999, fifty thousand IVF babies were born in the UK, and more than four million worldwide. Each year, around eleven thousand IVF babies are
now born in the UK, and around forty thousand in the US.

It may seem strange, but the world’s first IVF baby was also a spur to much ideological controversy. As with some views about human cloning today, many then (as some still do now) felt
that creating life ‘in a test tube’ was unnatural; they believed that conception was supposed to happen through biological sex – and sex between married partners, to be quite
precise. Among those opposing IVF was the Catholic Church. ‘The fact that science now has the ability to alter this does not mean that, morally speaking, it has the right to do so,’ the
general secretary of the National Conference of Catholic Bishops told the
Washington Post
. But reaction was mixed, and the Church’s sentiment was not wholly embraced by the public. A
Gallup poll taken shortly after Louise’s birth attested that sixty percent of people favoured the new technology, because it would make children possible for those couples who would otherwise
be unable to have them – a clear majority, but not an overwhelming one.

Yet, for the five thousand or so childless couples who promptly signed up for the new technology, IVF couldn’t have come soon enough. Here was a dramatic addition to the arsenal against
infertility, one that could make them parents, even if biology was against them.

Today,
assisted reproductive technology
, or ART, involves far more than IVF, and includes any procedure in which eggs, sperm, or embryos are
manipulated in vitro. Around one in six couples will seek medical assistance because they are having difficulty conceiving a child, and only about one in ten who consult a doctor will go on to use
IVF. This is because, though it is probably the most widely discussed reproductive technology, IVF is not the only, or the first, choice when a problem with fertility is diagnosed.

For instance, many couples will turn to induced ovulation, where a woman is treated with hormones to stimulate her ovaries to release eggs. While the ovaries are being manipulated through
biochemistry, a couple may conceive merely by timing their sex; they know when the woman’s egg
should
be triggered for release by the hormone soup she’s taking. That’s much
better than guessing.