"We have been deceived about fertility and eternal youth"

BarcelonaAssisted reproduction procedures have an emotional, physical, and economic impact. We spoke with women about their experience.

When Laura Pache and her partner realized they weren't getting pregnant, they underwent fertility tests at Hospital Clínic and were told she had low ovarian reserve. "The first shock was not understanding what was happening. I was very angry. The only messages I'd received were: 'Be careful, don't get pregnant.' We've been misled about fertility and eternal youth," she says. The doctor recommended they undergo fertilization. in vitro as soon as possible through private healthcare. Eight years have passed, and after five treatments, she and her partner have not achieved pregnancy. Paradoxically, Laura had been an egg donor at 24, and 10 years later, she found herself on the other side of the infertility chain. "You become an expert at injecting yourself anywhere, anytime. You have to balance all aspects and follow schedules. It's a process." heavy", she says. The impact has also been economic—they estimate they've spent around 20,000 euros, an investment that has made it impossible for them to enter the adoption process—and also psychological. She has often felt misunderstood after receiving comments like "it's great without children" or "it'll come," "it'll come," she has experienced. With the idea of being a mother beyond the family: "This love and this sharing can be done in many ways. For example, being with friends, in community, creating, caring. You can apply it to other relationships, even with animals."

"We know so little about our bodies and assisted reproduction processes. It's taboo, linked to infertility, and no one wants to be labeled with that label," thought Ariadna Seuba when she began treatment at the Eugin Clinic with her partner, Anna Rebés. It was "so alien and so common" in her environment that they decided to make a documentary entitled "The Infertility of Fertility." Mothers and which premiered this year at DocsBarcelona. "We had couples around us who had been trying for a long time and weren't succeeding, and friends who were freezing their eggs without knowing if they wanted to be mothers. We wanted to ask ourselves what's happening and why," says Ariadna. The cause of the phenomenon is clear: "We don't become mothers later on a whim; it's a consequence of the system we live in," and there's "a price to pay" that those who come after us would like to avoid. The fertility gap indicates that women in Spain have an average of 1.2 children, but want two. "Many start late because their studies take forever, job stability never comes, the relationship model for couples has changed, and the difficulty of accessing housing doesn't encourage having children... Many factors. And it has frustrating consequences: "It hits us in the face, infertility," she says. As a lesbian couple, they already knew they wouldn't get pregnant during a weekend in a romantic hotel, they joke, but after going through their assisted reproduction process, they demand more information, care policies, and greater awareness of the sacrifices that motherhood entails for women. And that's why they've made a film, to put on the table "a social debate that isn't being had": "It's fantastic that science is advancing, but motherhood is experienced on the street and at home," they say. Ariadna and Anna tried the ROPA method, but they don't want to give any spoilers, so if you want to know how their history will have to go see the documentary.

"Being a single mother doesn't mean being alone." Natàlia Castellano shakes up the prejudices surrounding single mothers, as well as the fears of those considering undergoing fertility treatment alone. "I knew that, if I didn't have a partner, I could be a mother thanks to medicine," says Natalia, who advocates for the concept of "being alone" to be formalized. single parenthoodFamily consensus on parenting is also simplified: "It's simpler because you decide what values you instill in your child and the education you want to give them." In fact, sometimes, "couples aren't co-responsible, and that's a concern we don't have." But it's not all roses and violets. "Although having a network is very important, day-to-day life is just you and your child," says Natalia, who admits the organizational and financial difficulties, and the work involved. She feels fortunate to have achieved this on her first visit through non-medicalized insemination, that is, without hormonal stimulation. Dr. Polyzos of Dexeus University Hospital made this decision when he saw that she had no fertility problems and was 37 years old, she explains. Despite doing it alone, she wanted to share the process with those close to her: "If things go wrong, you have someone to support you. It's nice to be able to share with your family and friends the decision you've made, the doctor's checkups, the day of the insemination, and the agonizing process of waiting for the pregnancy test results. And also everything that comes afterward."

"Assisted reproduction must be discussed. Information is needed beyond the propaganda of fertility clinics and the often skewed success rates." That's why Maria Antònia Massanet shares her traumatic experience, whose treatments she is convinced have worsened her endometriosis and chronic fatigue. "I was like a ticking time bomb, but I didn't know it. They didn't tell me it could get so bad," she explains. Although healthcare professionals deny a direct relationship with any disease, some warn that chronic illnesses can worsen with hormonal changes in periods such as the postpartum period. She feels that reproductive medicine has been opaque: "It's not like there's a conspiracy, but you feel like they don't inform you." Her impression is that "reproduction is prioritized over women's health." In her case, an endometriosis operation significantly reduced her follicles, and when she and her partner decided to seek help, they were given a poor prognosis at the Hospital de Sant Pau. "The wait time is very long. Everything feels tiresome. Every time I had a visitor, I would leave crying because it was bad news," she explains. After the first in vitroShe was recommended egg donation through private healthcare, a process in which she felt more cared for, but which hasn't been successful so far. "In public healthcare, I felt abandoned at the first opportunity," she admits. Egg donation has brought her certain contradictions and a genetic struggle: "I always thought my child would have curly hair," she says with a smile.

Maya is only 18 days old and discreetly calls out her mothers during the conversation. Maya has two mothers. She doesn't have a father, but Almudena Puig and Alexandra Homs have had to answer that question as those close to her made efforts to name him. "He's not a father, he's a donor," says the couple, who believe that the genetic relationship still carries a great deal of weight for society. But they also lack the words to describe themselves as surrogate and non-surrogate mothers. This lack of vocabulary reflects a young reality. In fact, it's only since 2016 that free access to assisted reproduction has been guaranteed for lesbian couples (and also for single women). They decided on insemination after consulting with the team at Hospital del Mar. They were surprised when it worked on the first try because they were warned of the 13.8% success rate—figures they believe should be segmented to see if lesbian couples have the same success rate as heterosexual couples who were unable to have children due to fertility problems. They explain it with joy: "We've been incredibly lucky. We've been treated with the utmost professionalism, and it's been quick and easy." The only obstacle is that they had planned a second pregnancy, but social security doesn't cover a second child. How will they explain it to Maya when she grows up? "We have a beautiful story to tell. We did it with great enthusiasm, we found people who helped us, and yes, there's an anonymous donor who is part of her genetics. We'll tell her that, just as my mother told me how I was born," Almudena says.