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The advent of the birth-control pill around 1960 liberated sex from reproduction and, in doing so, helped spark a sexual revolution. And it was no less a revolution when science learned to do the opposite: liberate childbearing from intercourse through the use of assisted reproductive technology.
This second upheaval has had especially profound consequences for queer couples like me and my wife, Sarah, who can now birth children without heterosexual sex. This outcome feels like a miracle, but the process also involves some sacrifices — for instance, forfeiting the luxury of making babies in the privacy of our own home and embracing the absurdities that can come with becoming pregnant, industrial-style.
First, we needed sperm. While my wife and I tried to work up the courage to ask our close college friend to donate, he made it easy for us — knowing we wanted to be parents, he emailed us offering up his “genetic material.” We joyfully accepted.
Then the real ordeal began.
After some failed D.I.Y. attempts at home using a drugstore syringe, we decided to bring in the professionals. Now our conception journey involved doctors, nurses, lawyers, psychologists and a surprising amount of red tape. There was a six-month quarantine period after our good-sport donor gave additional samples through a sperm bank, in order to protect me from any sexually transmitted infections he might harbor. (Never mind that I would have gotten these already from our D.I.Y. at-home attempts. We weren’t allowed to waive the quarantine.) Nearly every time I showed up at the clinic for a procedure, I had to take (and pay for) a new pregnancy test — “just in case!” the nurses would say. In case of … immaculate conception?
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Ka Young Lee
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James' World 2 
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