Busting the Myth: Can You Really Get Pregnant with a Turkey Baster?

The baster is a large kitchen tool used to moisten meat while it cooks, which you may be familiar with if you have a roast turkey dinner for Thanksgiving or Christmas. But the baster has long had another association: as a tool for self-insemination. Christine Ro examines how the myth of turkey-baster insemination came to be, where it originated, and whether or not babies have ever been conceived in this manner.

It was during the first phase of the Covid-19 pandemic. I was restless. And after making a number of unexpected discoveries, I developed a mild obsession with turkey basters—kitchen tools that resemble big syringes but are meant to keep meat moist while roasting.

It began when an unknown person messaged me on Facebook, suggesting that we might be related. This discovery of a half-brother made me reflect on my general apathy about genetic origins. Being the adopted aunt of a Mexican, the stepsister of a Filipina, the daughter of a Korean, and the stepdaughter of a Native American, I’ve never placed too much value on ties based on bloodline.

But for my half-brother, as for so many people around the world, this chromosomal link meant something. I wanted to better understand what I was missing, and this curiosity took me in some unexpected directions.

During that early, isolated, Zoom-heavy phase of the pandemic, I attended a webinar titled “Curious connections: the social life of egg and sperm donation.” It was part of a sociology research project at the University of Manchester.

During this discussion, University of Hertfordshire sociologist Kathryn Almack inquired about the history of the “turkey-baster myth.” This folklore claims that turkey basters are useful for more than just cooking—they can also be used to transfer sperm from a man into a woman without requiring sexual contact.

“I wonder where that myth about the turkey-baster came from; according to my research, women who use known donor sperm typically use a small syringe,” Almack pondered. Given the tiny amount of sperm per donation, the couples she spoke with for her research “said they used syringes and laughed at the idea of turkey basters!”

And with that, I set out to find out more about the turkey-baster myth. Over the past few years, visiting archives, reading writings by self-insemination pioneers, and learning more about women’s experiences managing their own fertility have made for a pleasant, low-stakes, idle curiosity project.

“Considering the small amount of sperm per donation, the couples who were interviewed stated that they used syringes and laughed at the idea of turkey basters!”

It is now evident that the “turkey-baster insemination plot” is a popular culture cliche that can be humorous at times or frightening and violent at others, which is one of the main reasons the myth endures. The baster in the soap opera Jane the Virgin is large and goofy, but in the horror movie Don’t Breathe, it’s terrifying. In both cases the baster has a dramatic visual presence.

However, a particular form of visual culture called pornography has given rise to some common misconceptions about the amount of semen that is produced during an ejaculation. Let’s just say that an eye dropper or teaspoon is generally big enough.

Women have often had to be resourceful and innovative when it comes to getting pregnant. And, though their use has been exaggerated, women have certainly tried using turkey basters as vehicles for sperm. “I think that turkey basters or similar devices were used for at-home inseminations,” says Lisa Jean Moore, a medical sociologist at the State University of New York. “People also have been known to put semen on diaphragms and then insert them. ”.

Moore herself has personal experience of self-insemination, using a syringe. “I believe that syringes for medical use can be difficult to come by, depending on where a person lives and their access to healthcare, so people make do with readily available technologies.” ”.

While artificial insemination goes back centuries, the “turkey-baster era” of self-insemination dates to around the 1970s. There was plenty of personal experimentation involved, for instance within the Feminist Self-Insemination Group in London.

Lesbian and feminist organizations played a particularly significant role in promoting the idea that conception didn’t have to be extremely expensive, medicalized, or exclusive. This was crucial for certain groups of women, such as queer and single women, who faced particularly harsh judgment from the moralistic medical establishment.

“A symbol of domesticity turned into a tool for taking charge of one’s own reproduction, a welcome diversion from reports of doctors secretly inseminating women.” ”.

Parts of the groundbreaking book on women’s sexual health “Our Bodies, Ourselves,” which was published in the 1970s, contributed to the idea that turkey basters could be used as a tool for reproductive agency. A tool for taking charge of one’s own reproduction was once a symbol of domesticity; this was a welcome change from the reports of doctors secretly inseminating women or comparing artificial insemination to adultery or worse. Using ordinary household implements also allowed self-inseminators to evade the scrutiny of would-be meddlers.

A woman expressed amazement in the 1979 book “Up Against the Clock: Career Women Speak on the Choice to Have Children” when she learned that lesbian women on the West Coast were using turkey basters to inseminate themselves. That’s right, the kind you keep in your kitchen. I know it sounds a little strange, but I thought it was a wonderful idea. So I used a turkey baster and there was nothing to it. ”.

Since then, at-home insemination has gained a great deal of normalcy and precision, and the self-inseminator has access to an astounding array of tools and resources. Turkey basters, meanwhile, have generally returned to their single purpose in the kitchen.

Yet “turkey baster” remains a kind of shorthand. It can also refer to self-insemination using a syringe or cervical cap in place of a baster, and it was used hundreds of years before the invention of the turkey baster.

Regardless of how common it ever was, the turkey-baster myth remains a useful reference point. It’s also a reminder that family units come in all sorts of configurations. That’s beneficial for those like me who harbor unresolved emotions regarding the genetic ties we share with non-biological relatives.

Strangely, my research into turkey basters has become a conduit for some of my questions about family, even though there’s no connection. Now, a few times a year, my half-brother and I exchange halting messages in an attempt to maintain a shaky connection. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

Steven is a photographer at Wellcome. His photography takes inspiration from the museum’s rich and varied collections. He enjoys collaborating on creative projects and taking them to imaginative places.

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