Back in March, a review declared that UK surrogacy has outgrown the legislation, drawn up almost 40 years ago, to govern it. As the system awaits a change that will grant intended parents legal status from the moment of birth – rather than months later – the topic is making headlines once again. So what’s it like to navigate the system as an intended parent? How does it feel to hand over a baby you’ve grown for nine months? And what happens when the unique relationship between an intended parent and a surrogate breaks down? Through five stories of women who have been there, we explore these complex questions – and more – to reckon with the reality of UK surrogacy in 2023.
• After watching a documentary on surrogacy, I was sure I wanted to do it. The year was 1983; I was 27, raising my son and daughter with my husband. I wanted to help others have their own children, and the £6,500 fee offered by an agency would ease our financial strain. I wouldn’t know the baby’s identity and, post-birth, there would be no contact. It seemed simple, but, on so many levels, I was naive.
Things began to unravel after I spoke, anonymously, on the BBC’s Panorama programme about being the UK’s first surrogate mother. My identity was promptly uncovered and it wasn’t long before national media were camped outside my door. Then came the headlines. While the media framed me as a ‘moneygrabbing bitch’, I did all I could to stay calm – Iwas pregnant, after all.
When ‘Baby Cotton’ was born on 4 January 1985, there was outrage over surrogacy’s financial incentives. The intended parents got their little girl; I became the face of the UK’s surrogacy debate turned moral panic. Commercial surrogacy was outlawed within six months – even those who enacted the law admitted it was a knee-jerk reaction to a press storm masquerading as public opinion.
Altruistic surrogacy was growing in the UK when I set up Cots to connect surrogates with intended parents and help them in developing trust. Becoming a surrogate again for friends – giving birth to twins in 1991 – reinforced how painful it was that I never got to know Baby Cotton. (It still hurts.)
I wasn’t receiving money this time, so the media cast me as an angel. That solicitors, clinics and labs in the multimillion-pound infertility business charge what they like while women attract scrutiny makes me feel sick. Surrogates risk their health, and the average expenses are £15,000 for 18 months of 24/7 commitment. It’s inadequate – and impractical.
What’s more, a shortage of surrogates is exacerbated by the 1985 legislation that prohibited advertising for an arrangement. Surrogates need to be compensated – while their services ne
