ON July 25, 1978, the world’s media were camped out in Oldham, Greater Manchester, for what had been dubbed “the most awaited birth in perhaps 2000 years”.
So crazed were the paparazzi in their pursuit of a picture of the newborn that they triggered a bomb scare, leading to the evacuation of Oldham General Hospital’s patients.
Louise Brown is the first baby born by In Vitro Fertilisation
Louise’s birth will feature on Netflix’s Joy
The baby born later that day via caesarean section was Louise Joy Brown, a healthy, fair-haired little girl weighing 5lbs 12oz.
Her parents, Lesley and John, weren’t celebrities – but the circumstances of Louise’s birth made her a medical miracle.
She was the world’s first ‘test tube baby’: the first of an estimated eight million babies to be born by IVF.
It was gynaecologist Patrick Steptoe and biologist Robert Edwards, the two men who pioneered the technique, who came up with Louise’s middle name.
They said her birth would bring joy to so many people and, 45 years later, that continues to be true.
Despair and desperation
Louise remains a symbol of hope for millions who long for a child, but despair that they will never have one.
Back in the 1970s, however, there was a very mixed response to Louise’s conception, with some accusing her family of creating ‘Frankenbabies’ and the Vatican saying it could have “grave consequences for humanity”.
For Bristol couple Lesley and John, a truck driver, it was desperation that led them to take a chance with an experimental procedure.
Lesley had been trying to become pregnant for nine years with no success, due to blocked fallopian tubes.
By chance, her doctor had heard of the work being done by Edwards and Steptoe in Oldham, and referred them.
Lesley was a shy, self-effacing woman, but with a bravery and determination that changed history.
“My mum just wanted a baby, and no matter what, she would have done it,” Louise said.
The treatment involved an egg being removed from one of Lesley’s ovaries and mixed in a petri dish – not a test tube – with John’s sperm and the resulting embryo being implanted in Lesley’s womb two days later.
There had previously been 64 embryo transfers between 1971 and 1977, but all had failed – a fact Lesley didn’t realise at the time.
The average success rate for women aged 18-34 is 41% and the average success rate for women aged 43-50 is 6%.
“It wasn’t until near the end of her pregnancy that she understood it would be a world-first,” Louise said.
By the time Louise arrived home from the hospital 11 days after her birth, the family’s house had been deluged with hundreds of cards, letters and cuddly toys.
There was hate mail, too, including one package containing letters covered in red liquid, a broken glass test tube and a plastic foetus, accompanied by menacing notes.
“Imagine how worrying this was for Mum,” said Louise.
Lurking in the streets
The extraordinary levels of attention have continued throughout her life, something she has admitted can be “nerve-wracking”, adding: “When I was younger it could play on my mind that everyone knows my name.”
She had an ally in her sister Natalie, who was born in 1980, becoming the 20th IVF baby.
The pair often did media appearances together to celebrate milestones such as birthdays, taking some of the pressure off Louise.
Throughout their childhood, they made a game of spotting reporters and photographers lurking in the street.
Louise first learned about how she was made when she was four, when her parents sat her down to explain IVF and showed her the video of her birth.
Louise pictured with her mum, dad and sister in 1980
Louise with pioneering Professor Sir Robert Edwards
She has described herself as “very much like [her] dad”, in that she takes her unique position in her stride, while her mum hated the attention: “She’d sometimes say she felt like I wasn’t her baby; that she was sharing me with the world.”
But she insisted: “My life is normal. It’s just like everybody else’s, but with the added press and media on special occasions.”
As Louise grew up, she remained exceptionally close to her mum, who was very protective of her daughter, particularly when she saw the cruel and hurtful things people sometimes wrote about her.
“I don’t mind, but it wasn’t nice for Mum to have to see comments about this ‘thing’ she created,” she said.
She met her husband, Wesley Mullinder, a nightclub doorman, in 2002, and the pair had been together a few months before he realised that Louise was the world’s first IVF baby.
IVF success rates have tripled over the last 20 years in the UK
Remarkably, Wesley, who was eight years older, had lived across the road from the Brown family and had been standing in the crowds outside their house when they brought Louise home from the hospital – a coincidence she described, in typically no-nonsense fashion, as “a bit weird”.
They married in 2004 and two years later they welcomed a son, Cameron, followed by Aiden in 2013, both conceived without fertility treatment – although she believes fiercely that everyone should have the right to IVF if they need it.
Now 45, she works a 9-5 job as a clerk in a shipping company, reflecting her determination to live as normally as possible.
Her family home is happy, bustling and full of pets: two dogs, three cats, a kitten, a tortoise, a hamster, a rat and two rabbits.
Her father died a fortnight before she became a mother, and Lesley died in 2012.
Over 1.3 million IVF cycles have been performed in the UK since 1991
“I think of my parents all the time, and we talk about them,” she said.
“As I’ve got older I’ve realised what they went through to have me.”
Meanwhile, the hate mail and poison pen letters have been replaced with internet trolls – in 2017, Louise revealed: “People put cruel and ill-informed comments on the internet just about whenever there is a story about me. But I just ignore it.”
In recent years, she has become more comfortable with her place in history, viewing it as a privilege. “I didn’t do anything – I was just born,” Louise said.
“People come up to me and say, ‘Without you I wouldn’t have any children.’ But I take all the thanks on behalf of my mum now.’”
A cutting from the Daily Mail about Louise, dated July 1978
Abby Lawrie about to go in for embryo transfer during IVF
“Without IVF, I wouldn’t be a mother”
Abbey Lawrie, 36, is a head music teacher and lives in Kent
“Holding my son Zach in my arms, moments after his birth in May 2023, was a moment I’ll never forget. Just over a year earlier, I’d been told I had less than a 10 per cent chance of conceiving through IVF. I’d been convinced I’d never have the child I longed for, but now, I was holding my baby boy.
Before undergoing IVF my husband and I tried to conceive for 18 months, without success. Tests revealed that my egg count was below the threshold to be eligible for NHS treatment in our area; in other words, the chances of it being successful were so low, they weren’t prepared to fund it.
Not wanting to give up our dream of parenthood, we decided to go private, using savings to pay £6,000 for a single round.
It was such a rollercoaster of emotions, from despair to hope. When a blood test at the clinic confirmed I was pregnant, I was still incredibly anxious. I couldn’t believe it and kept thinking it may not stick.
When I had an early scan at seven weeks, I gazed in awe at the bean shape on the screen. But it wasn’t until the 12-week scan that I believed I was actually going to have a baby. I felt overjoyed.
Zach was born in May 2023, weighing 8lbs 6oz. He had a cleft palate – which we didn’t know beforehand- and had to have surgery at eight and a half months, which thankfully, he recovered quickly from.
He’s almost one now and not a day goes by when I don’t feel so much gratitude that he’s mine, and that IVF brought him to my arms. I realise not every woman is so lucky.
Statistically my baby shouldn’t be here, but thanks to IVF I’m finally a mother. Zach is my world.”
Andrea Ainsworth, 42, is a creative consultant and lives in Stockport, Manchester with her husband Greg, 41
Listening to the voicemail from the fertility clinic, my heart broke.
“The results are back from your embryos. They’re not viable,” said the nurse bluntly.
It was October 2017 and I knew then I was never going to have children.
Greg and I married in 2008, after nine years together and started trying for a family, thinking that it would just work. But after a year, nothing had happened.
In 2009, aged 27, we were referred for IVF.
Our first round on the NHS produced two embryos. One was transferred but was unsuccessful, which was so disappointing. I’d known it may not work, but I’d been hopeful.
The NHS trust in our area only offered one round of IVF, so we then had three further rounds at a private clinic, costing a total of £30,000, which we borrowed from my parents.
I had four embryos transferred, but never became pregnant. I felt emotionally drained and totally exhausted, having to pick myself up again and start over each time.
On the fourth egg retrieval I became really unwell with ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome and ended up in hospital for a week, surrounded by women who were miscarrying and undergoing hysterectomies.
It was really frightening and after that, we decided that the embryos we had would be our last attempt.
It was then that a consultant looked at our embryos more closely ahead of the transfer, to try and work out why I wasn’t becoming pregnant.
They discovered Greg and I were genetically incompatible as there were multiple chromosomes missing from both embryos, meaning if it had worked, our baby would have been severely disabled.
We didn’t want to go down the route of using a donor egg or sperm as we wanted a baby which we had made together, so the realisation that that would never happen was devastating. For around a year afterwards, I felt traumatised.
The pain and despair, along with unhelpful comments from others such as ‘have you thought about adoption?’ as well as strangers presuming we had children made me feel lost, frustrated and excluded.
Time has helped though. It’s hard when friends announce a pregnancy but I am also happy for them because I would never wish what we went through on anyone.
Greg and I are a strong team who have weathered the storm together. I still feel overwhelmed at times. It’s like grief – it’ll bite you unexpectedly – but those moments occur less.
Through my work, I run creative sessions for women unable to conceive, giving women a platform and voice in what can otherwise feel like a very lonely place. The solidarity of other women in the same situation helps me know I’m not alone in being one of the statistics for whom IVF didn’t work. It makes me realise my life has purpose beyond having children.