by Emma Gannon
“Right,” I say.
“As women, unfortunately, we cannot trust our own hormones.”
What?
“It’s annoying, but such is life. You shouldn’t read too much into these intense feelings. Try not to.”
“So, you’re telling me I can’t trust these feelings I’m having?”
“Indeed. It’s just your mind playing a trick on you. Very normal.” She pauses. “So how would you like to move ahead and work together? Our approach is highly personal and holistic. We offer acupuncture, diet and nutrition advice, testing for fertility issues, and emotional support. Don’t be afraid; we will find a solution to this problem.”
“But . . . are you saying you’ve never come across women who genuinely never wanted children—and felt fine about it? I’m pretty sure these women do exist,” I say.
“Oh, of course they do! But from my experience they always end up wanting one after our sessions. It’s about getting the body ready to welcome a new life. We get to the bottom of it, whatever that issue or block might be, and we realize those maternal feelings were there all along,” Cyril says, smiling. She is now sitting on the floor in the lotus position. “Sorry, darling, I do like to move around a lot while talking. I like to stretch; sitting in one place for too long isn’t good for you. Come down here and stretch with me.” She flaps her hand at me.
I get on the floor, on a giant mat, and she tells me to kneel on all fours.
“Right, first let’s do the ‘cow’: lower your back so it’s flat.”
“Okay.” I do as she says.
“Say moo with me,” Cyril says.
We moo.
“Now, we do the ‘cat,’ arching our backs. Lift upwards; you’ll feel a nice stretch. Now say meow as you breathe out,” says Cyril.
We meow.
We do this mooing and meowing for some time. Cyril seems to be getting more and more high-pitched with the meows and really “mooing” from her core. It’s really hard not to laugh. She is deadly serious. I look at the clock.
“Feels so good to stretch, doesn’t it?” Cyril says when she finally stops. I follow her lead, and we both get up and sit back on our springy balls.
“Right. So, Olive, I’m glad you booked this chemistry session.” She reaches for the drawer next to her and pulls out some papers. “Please fill out this form at home and send it back to me. It’s quite long; we’re asking for a lot of personal information, but obviously it’s all confidential. Then we will contact you with a bespoke treatment plan and fee for going forwards. Oh, and we do monthly price plans too, if that helps at all. Obviously if you don’t send back your form soon, we will take that as a sign that you do not want to go any further. But I must say, I’m excited for you to really dig into this and face the truth of these feelings.”
I take the form. It’s a thick wedge of paper in a plastic wallet.
“Okay, I’ll have a read-through.” I already know that I won’t.
“Wow, where has the time gone, eh?” Cyril says, glancing down at her watch. “Well, I hope we’ll see you again very soon, Olive. Make sure you drink lots of H20.” I mean, she could have just said “water.”
Cyril leads me out and points me in the direction of the reception area again. She bows and says: Namaste.
I feel a little dumbfounded. All the Google searches I’ve been doing run on loop. I liked Cyril at first; she was being nice and gentle with me, but I could also sense her fierce judgment. Suddenly it all feels a bit sinister; what is this? A type of conversion therapy? I wanted to meet Cyril to have a frank conversation and talk to someone who has seen it all. And perhaps, deep down, I did wonder if I could change, if I could get Jacob back.
I shake my head. I decide in that moment to march back in. I tell the receptionist I left something in the treatment room.
“Okay, but please be very quick,” she says bluntly.
I walk down the carpeted corridor and knock.
After a long pause, I hear Cyril’s calm voice reply, “Come in.”
I open the door slowly and peek ’round. Cyril is meditating cross-legged on the floor.
“Sorry to interrupt, but—”
“Go ahead,” she says, opening her eyes very slowly.
“I don’t feel like you took me very seriously just now.”
“Oh. How so?” Cyril says breezily.
“I was watching a TED Talk the other day about a woman who had her tubes tied—did you know one in five women don’t want a biological child?” I say. “Next week, for example, I am going to the Child-Free By Choice event. With hundreds of other women who feel the same as me.”
She gasps loudly.
“Please do not say such things inside my clinic, Olive. We deal in positive energies here, and such dark thoughts about sterility will not be tolerated. We will not have negative omens brought into this space. I have a lot of women who come through these doors who desperately want children. And I am their only hope. We must always think positively!”
“But this is the whole point: I think you’re being pretty insensitive to my feelings.” Many women’s feelings.
“I’m sorry to say it, Olive, but it is insensitive of you when so many women are struggling hugely with conceiving. Women whose eggs have not frozen properly. Bodies and wombs that aren’t working. You have a healthy womb, I can sense it.” She closes her eyes and stretches out her palms. “You have nothing to complain about. You’re pursuing needless drama.”
“Hey,” I say, stepping back. “Stop visualizing my womb. That’s private.” I put my hands over my stomach area.
“Look, I understand. But you have to understand that your feelings of not wanting a child will never be as important as a woman who desperately wants one but can’t.” I feel guilty again for even being here. Cyril is describing women like Isla.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“The women I meet, who want kids, or have miscarriages, those are the women that our society needs to support. These women who come through my door desperate for my help. The women who have lost partners because they can’t conceive, the women who have suffered multiple miscarriages and are putting themselves at risk, the women with illnesses, the women who are desperately grieving and coming to terms with having missed their biological window to have a baby. You will be fine; you have made an active decision. You will go on holidays and live your own life. Statistically, you will live longer and be richer than women with children! You will do as you please. We must think of those women whose lives are on hold until they have a child. It is their dream. And it is my dream to help them.”
I gulp. “Well,” I know I sound defensive, but my mouth keeps moving, “how do you know that there aren’t women out there, like me, suffering with the fact that they feel a bit like an outcast?”
“What you are talking about is loneliness. Loneliness can be cured. But it does not compare to the desperate women I help and tend to in my clinic. These are vulnerable women.”
I am hot with rage. I don’t know if I’m angry because Cyril is so right, or so very wrong.
I get out my Dictaphone and start to talk into it as I walk to the bus stop. Ranting, asking rhetorical questions, describing what just happened. I’m sure I could write a piece on this. On Cyril.
“Olive recording. Part 2, notes. Research Cyril backstory. Why do homeopath fertility experts rub me up the wrong way? Is it because their position makes me feel inferior and jealous? Because deep down, I wish I was ‘normal’? Interview some of her past clients—see what they say. Has she ever convinced someone that they want kids, when deep down they might not? Do we not care about women with no maternal feelings in society? Must we change them? Or disregard them? What did I like about Cyril? What did I not like? Unpick own emotion versus what factually went on in the room.”
I’m still seething as I get on the bus home
. I WhatsApp Colin—an unlikely oracle, but I need someone to off-load to.
Me: Oh my GOD just went to see that Cyril woman I was telling you about
Colin: The fertility woman?
Me: YES. She made me feel like a freak. That I was going through a “phase” and for a price she could “convert me” into wanting a baby—it was actually kinda gross??
Colin: Jeezuuuss. Isn’t it odd how some human beings make their money? How does she sleep at night?
Me: Seriously
Colin: It was a bit weird, though, Ol. Going to see a fertility expert when you don’t want kids
Me: I needed some perspective! Besides, she was pushing the whole “homeopathic” approach on her ad. I’m a sucker for that stuff
Colin: Wait was this for an article for the mag?
Me: Nope, spent my own cold hard cash on it, but I might pitch it to Gill
Colin: Youch $. Yes. You should
Colin: How are you feeling now?
Me: A bit stupid for doing it. But OK, actually. Do I care if some homeopathic woo-woo woman thinks I’m not living up to my full human potential—no! Do I want to live my life in a way that suits me? YES
Colin: Exactly. And also even bad experiences make great anecdotes as Caitlin Moran would say
Me: Definitely. Makes me realize that splitting up with Jacob was right. My feelings are valid. And that woman Cyril is BANANAS
Colin: That shit IS bananas b-a-n-a-n-a-s, as Gwen Stefani would say
Me: Thanks Col
Colin: Anytime. Go and have a nice G&T, and immediately wipe this Cyril woman from your brain please
Colin: RELAX—as Frankie Goes To Hollywood would say
Me: omg please stop quoting people
I want Colin to think I’m fine. That I’m tough, with my outward-facing armor on. Why can’t I even admit the truth to him, the most relaxed person I know? Yes, the meeting with Cyril was silly and flippant, a bit of an experiment. But really, if I’m being truly honest, I have a feeling it’s going to take awhile to wipe away the feelings that Cyril stirred up in me. She made me feel wrong. She made me feel overdramatic. She made me feel like I had no right to explore my fear. Even though I don’t want a baby, I have to admit that I am petrified of my own uncertainties, the demons that might come back to haunt me later on in life. The fact that Jacob is moving on, and I am still in the same place.
“Are you really viewed as any less of a woman because you don’t have children? What do you think?”
Coleen Nolan, Loose Women, 2016
24
2018
We were out at a sushi restaurant celebrating because Cec had been given a promotion at work. I didn’t know much about the legal firm hierarchy system, but I did know that she was now only one step away from becoming partner—which was the ultimate dream goal.
“I’m paying tonight—I’m feeling flush after Gill gave me a bonus, so let’s go wild,” I said. It wasn’t quite lawyer-standard salary, but I liked to treat my friends.
“That’s generous! Thank you, Ol,” Cec said as she poured everyone a glass of water.
“I’m gonna get the lobster, I think,” I said, scanning the menu.
“Ooh, me too,” agreed Isla.
“What’s everyone going to drink?” Bea said, grabbing the wine list. “I’m in the mood for some rouge.”
“Aren’t you meant to have white wine with seafood?” Isla suggested.
“Oh, I hate all those snobby rules,” Bea said, waving her hand.
“Think I’ll just go for fizzy water, you know. I’ve got an early start tomorrow,” Cec sighed.
“No! C’mon, Cec. Just have the one, at least—my treat!” I said.
Cec shuffles around in her seat. Sitting on her hands. Slightly pink in the cheeks.
“I really shouldn’t, actually,” she said quietly.
“I promise it won’t be a late one,” I said, pressing.
“It’s just that . . .” We all looked up from our menus. “Um . . . Well. I’m . . . actually . . . pregnant,” Cec said quietly, breaking out into a huge grin.
“Oh my god!” Bea yelled.
“Amazing!!” Isla screamed.
I opened my mouth to speak, to offer my congratulations, but I was frozen, totally frozen.
They both jumped up to hug Cec, and started making such a fuss over her, hugging her and squeezing her shoulders. I suddenly felt like the walls of the restaurant were coming in around me, closing me in, alone. Like the world had suddenly tipped.
“Ol?” Bea nudged me under the table.
“You okay, Ol?” Cec’s voice started drifting into my ears.
“Sorry . . .” I leapt up. “I was just taking it all in. I’m . . . just . . . surprised! Wow!” I said, pushing my chair back, making a slight screech, and joining in the group hug.
I can’t believe it. Cec. Pregnant. Wild Cec. My Cec. Deep down, I always felt she was my ally, my partner in crime. How did we suddenly get here?
On the drunk side of tipsy, I WhatsApped Cec on the way home in a cab.
Me: Sorry for my delayed reaction about the baby news. I was just so surprised. So happy for you, Cec, it’s amazing news
Cec: It’s all good, Ol! It’s taken me by surprise too
Me: Have you been feeling OK though? Any cravings? Crazy hormone rages?!
Cec: Not really yet. Although I’ve started dreaming about salty McDonald’s fries
Me: I would happily take you there!
Me: Wow, it’s so exciting. I can’t believe it :)
Cec: I know
Me: I found this old photo of us from 10 years ago that came up on Facebook yesterday. Look at us!
Cec: Oh my god. We’re so young. So slim!!!! Haha. Oh Ol. We’ve been through so much together
Me: And more to come xxx
I felt tears forming in my eyes. Talk about hormones—I wasn’t sure if it was a tangle of emotions about Cec’s good news, or the fact that everything seemed to be changing. Maybe, a bit of both.
25
2019
It’s the night of the CFBC! The night I’ve been waiting for. I’m on the phone to Bea, who promised to come for moral support.
“Looking forward to seeing you later. Thanks for agreeing to come with me,” I say. “It genuinely means a lot.”
“Of course, love—I always want to support your work.”
“It feels a bit more than just a work assignment, though. I’m excited to go and meet these women.”
“Yes I know, but it’ll be exciting to research, won’t it?”
“Yes—but I also feel excited about just checking things out. I think I’ll take a lot away from this, Bea.”
“I thought you always tried to stay neutral when writing an article?”
“Bea, this isn’t something I can be neutral about—it’s like I said, I’m not sure if having kids is for me, so this isn’t just a work thing.”
“Sorry, yes, I know, I know—let’s chat more later,” she says.
“All right, see you soon. By the way, Colin is coming too!” I say.
“Amazing!” she says, then hangs up. I can’t help but feel slightly annoyed by her flippancy, assuming this is only a work project.
Bea is staying the night at my flat afterwards, so she comes over to dump her bags before we go. She puts on a layer of lipstick in the bathroom mirror.
“So I did something a bit weird the other day,” I say, hovering by the doorframe.
“Oh yeah?” Bea says, rubbing her lips together and putting the lipstick back in her pocket.
“I went to see this hippie homeopath woman. About the fact that I’m not getting, you know, the baby urges.”
“That kind of thing doesn’t sound like you,” Bea says, turning to look at me.
“Yeah,
well, Jacob has a new girlfriend, and it has sent me slightly loopy.”
“Oh, Olive. Really? I’m sorry. That must feel way too soon.”
“It really does. How can he flip the switch on his feelings like that? Nine years with me, and now, suddenly, he’s into someone else? It’s only been a few months.” I feel my eyes water. There’s something about talking to close friends that brings these emotions out in me, even if I think I’m controlling them.
“I think people move more quickly when they are older. More decisions to make, you know?” Bea says, calmly and gently.
“Anyway, tell me something good. How’s Jeremy?”
“Well,” Bea takes out a clip in her hair and readjusts it. “Unfortunately, not great, actually.”
“Oh?” I say, genuinely taken aback.
“Yeah, things aren’t good at all, to be honest, Ol. But I’m just putting it down to ‘married life.’ You know. We’ve been together for so long, and marriage is hard.”
“Yes, of course. Anything in particular that’s bothering you?” I probe gently.
“Nah, don’t worry about it; forget I said anything. It’s just us being boring married old fogies. It can’t be passion and fireworks the whole time, I guess.”
I know she’s not telling me the whole truth.
Saved by the bell, our Uber arrives outside the front door, and we jump in. Magic FM is playing Spandau Ballet’s “Gold.” The Uber driver is wearing a shawl-necked gray sweater and has grayish stubble to match. He has one tiny hoop earring.
“All right, ladies? Good evenin’ to ya,” he says.
“Hi, thanks. We’re off to The Book Club bar, please.”
“Yup, no probs. Twenty-minute drive it says on ’ere, all in all,” he says, tapping at his GPS.
“Cool, thanks,” I reply.
There is a pause, and the driver keeps looking at us in his rearview mirror enthusiastically, like he wants to chat. Bea is sending a reminder to Jeremy about the leftovers in the fridge and where to find the acetaminophen in case Amelia’s cough gets any worse. I open the latest email from Iris with our tickets attached. The driver then turns down Magic FM slightly and clears his throat.