I've been doing more thinking about sperm donors recently. Given their central, albeit anonymous importance in my life in recent years I am a bit surprised I haven't got round to this before. Anyway, grateful as I am to them in a vague, all inclusive sort of way, I'm thankful I don't have to view them in any personal capacity. This is how I found out what I know now. Everyone has a different story to tell, but I wonder if some experiences have common threads?

I had always thought that I would want to seek out information of great importance to me as soon as I could, but in fact it was two years after my second son was born before I asked for the details of our donors. Perhaps it took that long to feel comfortable or unthreatened by what I could learn. So one day the treatment sister handed me a large envelope containing one sheet of paper with non-identifying details of both donors.

I opened the envelope and stared at two neatly typed lists, just descriptive words and very short phrases, each headed by a code number. I immediately felt very stupid; surely I should know which list related to which of my children. Didn't I have any maternal instinct to help me with this sort of thing? But I didn't know and that feeling, illogically, stays with me. Fancy having to ask a nurse which man was responsible for which of my children.

The precious piece of paper has been photocopied (in case of loss), shown to selected family and friends and put safely away. It came out again recently when my six year old asked me who were the "very kind men who give their sperm" he had just been reading about in "My Story". The brief details didn't exactly grip his attention, especially as the Spice Girls were not even mentioned. I'm glad I have got the information; it is the only tangible evidence I have of the hospital's vetting procedures and I am vaguely comforted by a sense of the donor's backgrounds.

But there is more to it than being prepared for sons who may grow considerably taller than either me or my partner. Every child is unique; as a parent I want to learn about and help to develop my sons' personalities and talents. Yet somehow this already difficult process seems to have been made potentially more difficult by the sparse information available regarding their biological fathers. According to Prof. Steven Rose there are 100,000 genes so the permutations are endless; using this "cake" metaphor, you cannot quantify the effect of any of the ingredients on the finished product - and what about the competence of the cook in selecting the right temperature and timing!

So, how do I arrive at a view on my donors that I will be comfortable with? I certainly do not have much research to help me. The British Fertility Society says only 5% of those who enquire about donating sperm are accepted. That sounds reassuringly choosy; also many potential donors, not comfortable with the process, drop out, thus selecting a group who become aware of at least some of the implications. I don't care two hoots whether they get £15 for expenses or not, although I suppose I might care if they got £100 on the grounds that it may tempt some to lie about their medical background.

Having written the above, I then came across a review of a book previously unknown to me 'The Gift Relationship' by Richard Titmuss', now being reprinted. This book, about the blood transfusion service, celebrates the altruism of giving blood in a way I found very helpful in thinking about sperm donors. He concludes that the service stands for a gift relationship between individuals and their community which is of fundamental importance. Individuals have the right to give as well as receive from the society of which they are members.

So there we are. They have given us a great gift - and we have given them that opportunity. This is a work in progress but it'll do me for a while. It will make little difference to the way my partner and I go about the job of parenting, aiming to bring up children whose joy in being alive equips them to deal with their different genetic heritage.

Jane