Fauna Page 3

  The timber counter here provides mints for patients and convenient payment options. Neat, mature office staff wear blue and white uniforms and have sensible names— efficient Lauren and kind-hearted Sophie. They want me to feel I am in safe hands. I know Jeff is giving us the best care. There will be no blunt words this time.

  ‘Welcome, Stacey. Dr van Tink won’t be long. Please take a seat.’ Sophie smiles at me. Neat and blonde.

  On a large screen, a video plays promoting the work of LifeBLOOD® with smiling staff and neat-haired parents. A Petri dish and pipette allude to their laboratory work, a content-looking young woman in a white lab coat. Lots of happy women working in a clinical setting. Lots of happy women with pregnant bellies smiling back at them. Flowers in bloom. A family playing at the beach. A spotted ball thrown in the air against a blue sky. There is a rack of magazines. I stare out the window at the drooping eucalyptus. The screen replays the same footage, the sound low.

  He will have landed in Johannesburg by now. I could message him but he will be driving. I know where he will hire a car, usually a Volkswagen, and he will complain to himself about how powerless it is compared to his car here, even if it is getting old. He’ll be glad to swap it for the faithful LandCruiser when he gets to the farm. He will drive south and west away from the bustle and chaos of the city. It’s a long drive so he will stop for some Coke and biltong at a service station. He’ll be tired but he will drive as fast as the car can go to the dry town and the sparse vegetation. He will drive tired for hours, across towards the border with Botswana to Upington. He might see gemsbok, springbok, jackals, and take photos for the kids, a blurry selfie.

  His mother will be pleased to see him and disappointed not to see the children. She will cook him breakfast—pap porridge then bacon and boerewors and eggs—he will try to eat it all and feel quite bloated. She will be positive about me when he complains to her that I don’t cook like she does, but underneath her words she will prefer that he doesn’t resolve whatever thing caused him to travel to see her in the first place. She wants him to stay. Bring the children back to their oma and their family, teach them Afrikaans. He will feel a little suffocated but liberated of his responsibilities at home.

  He will drink a lot of Castle beer and complain about Australia, work and me, probably, to his cousins and his uncle. They will camp out in swags around a fire under a camel thorn tree and shoot a springbok, or better still an eland, which they will butcher on the spot and eat, charred and sandy off a pocketknife or in a white bread roll. They will drink together, bond over the killing, tell stories and walk out in the night to shoot jackals, full of Klipdrift brandy and Coke. He will realise he has changed, that he has outgrown them. That he doesn’t really fit anymore and he will miss Emmy and Jake and me. His mother will tell him how people struggle to have a good life there and of all the people who have emigrated and are doing so well in Australia or England.

  In a couple of weeks he will call and tell me he has booked a ticket home. His mother will have offered to pay for it but his pride will refuse and he will use the credit card to take her out somewhere for dinner and tell her that he’s going to pay her back her savings in a few months. She will feel better about her future and so will he and then he will remember that his promises depend on me having this baby. And I depend on him.

  A young woman with large glasses calls my name and I follow her down the hallway to a small room. She guides me to a chair.

  ‘I’m going to take some blood, check your pressure and get you started. The doctor will see you after that.’ She wraps my arm, pumps air into the sphygmomanometer. I can hear her breathing. Pressure on my arm. Release. She pricks my finger. Squeezes and gathers my blood on two white cards. Hands me a small plastic jar with a yellow lid. ‘I need a little urine to test please. The door just behind you.’ Warm jar in my hand. She dips, checks the colours. No comment. She smells of sugary deodorant. I sit back silent in the chair while she types into the computer record. ‘Okay, we’re done, Stacey. If you’d like to wait here, the doctor will call you through in a moment.’ The language of bossing adults around is so benign but it leaves no choices. If you’d like to wait.

  Jeff is a nice doctor. Smiling too, but without the makeup and perfect teeth of his staff. He has some grey in his hair and sharp blue eyes, crystalline and intelligent. When he opens the door and calls me through I can’t help but smile. He is familiar, good at getting me to let my guard down. Isak reckons Dr van Tink would be in trouble if they knew I worked as his au pair once. That he might be accused of having groomed me; he definitely uses his charm on me. Isak is suspicious that I have a crush, I think.

  Jeff’s office has degrees on the wall, plastic anatomy. A uterus on his desk beside the computer with a discreet gash in the labia. Lots of branded stationery from companies—growth hormones, regeneration clinics, gene therapy. Clean advertising. A couple of fat books on human anatomy. Photographs of his adult children, who look vaguely like they did over a decade ago when I used to take them to school. Two beagles asleep on each other.

  ‘So how are you faring, Stacey? All your tests look perfect. Nice strong heartbeat but how are you in yourself?’ The counsellor would have written something to him, I’m sure. ‘Any concerns?’

  ‘Hopeful. I was relieved when I heard the heartbeat.’

  He nods, seems to understand what it means to me.

  ‘The tiredness is better.’

  He had lots of volunteers but he picked me out for this because of my passion for his work in Singapore and because I lost my last baby. This time, he said, the baby will be very strong. Resilient. It will prove something about the need for this research and I will be doing something extraordinary. Me—making history.

  This time, we will watch the cells divide, heartbeat like a hasty metronome.

  He turns the image on his computer for me to see and points at it with his pen. ‘Nice head formed here. Spine.’ His pen follows the frond-curve.

  ‘How does it compare to my other children?’

  He smiles at that, mischief eyes.

  ‘So far there’s no real discernible difference. We’ll expect a slightly longer cranium to start showing in the measurements next time. Looks good. You’ve done well.’ I am the perfect patient. He turns the screen back towards him, taps on the keys. ‘Now—’ He reaches for a small plastic package behind him and holds it in both hands, thumbs pushing together a small lump in the plastic. ‘This is a little device. A micro-ultrasound designed to monitor the embryo as it develops. It’s still in its prototype stage and we are participating in the human trials.’ He smiles with his eyes. Meets mine with his sureness. Hands me the packet. It’s tiny, coated in a thick soft shell. Silica perhaps. With a plastic tail.

  ‘It’s intra-vaginal. Perfectly safe for the embryo and we just place it near the opening of the cervix.’ I turn it in my fingers like a soft earring. ‘It emits regular high-frequency soundwaves, just like an ultrasound, and the image is sent back to the server. You will be given access to the images. It records movement and change so we can head off any problems and keep you both in good health.’

  PregCam™ is branded across the top of the package. ‘How does it send images back?’

  ‘It links into your wireless network. Totally fine.’

  I question his confidence with this new device. Always, every day something new to amaze the world. I wonder at the risk to my tiny, curled creation, beating gently.

  ‘Have you used these in many women?’

  He is ready for my questions, seems to forecast my thoughts. ‘Like I said, we are part of the human trials. They’ve shown great success in pigs. Here, take a look at the footage.’ He turns his screen back to me again. ‘I wouldn’t risk this embryo, Stacey. It’s safe.’ Several spines, tails and limbs flash past in time lapse, grainy images. I am a sow. Isak would say something but I bury the pip of anger. ‘I think this was the first prototype so the images aren’t good quality. This one has a more refined proce
ssor in it so we should get some better footage.’ Generous with his smiles.

  ‘Can I think about it?’ I’d rather discuss it with Isak. I explain that he’s gone to visit his family in South Africa before the pregnancy gets too advanced. He might think it’s already too advanced but I leave that out of my story.

  He pauses a moment and I hand him back the PregCam™ packet. ‘Timing is everything with this you see.’ He leaves it on the desk between us. ‘So we can’t wait, sorry, Stacey. We only have a small window to install it without risk to the baby.’

  A little shiver runs through my skin and I feel my resistance radiating into the distance.

  He wheels his chair closer, ‘So anyway. I wanted to get this done today.’

  I mount a second wave of objection, but it is weak and I know he has won me over. I wish Isak was here. ‘Am I obliged to do this?’ I hear myself whine, like Emmy’s refusal to brush her hair.

  His sharp eyes drag my gaze to his. ‘Well technically no, but under the communications clauses in our agreement we do need to keep you under regular care so we’ll have to book you in for a lot more ultrasounds if you don’t. And they’re expensive.’ He fidgets, knows he has hit the tipping point appealing to our budget. ‘We cover the cost of the ones we have scheduled. If there are more required you will have to pay for them. It’s up to you.’ He returns to his notes.

  PregCam™ seems innocuous enough. Pink and soft and quite tiny, about the size of a kidney bean. ‘How does it stay in place?’ Tail like a sperm.

  ‘Just like a little IUD. That technology has been used for many years now. Won’t be a problem.’ Keeps at his notes. ‘What is it that worries you about it?’ He glances over, seems to convey there is no reason to resist.

  I wonder myself for a moment. We really can’t afford big medical bills but that isn’t why I hesitate. The womb is such a silent, private place and having a camera—an audience—pointed at this baby so it can’t even grow into being without scrutiny seems like the ultimate invasion. But I have already ceded control of my body to this pregnancy and I get the feeling he will have his way. With or without my consent. ‘So nothing really. I suppose it’s fine.’

  ‘Great.’ He looks up, smiles wide, eyes shimmer. He stands, leads me behind a curtain to a high gurney. ‘I’ll leave you to get ready. It’s just like having a vaginal examination or pap smear. Just hop up on the bed when you’re ready.’

  My breath is short, quick. My knickers, a small dark pool on the floor. I push them inside my boot. Something so forlorn about my shed clothes on his hardwood timber floor. A lump rises in my throat but I lay on the narrow bed and drape a blue woven blanket over my bottom half. As if he’s been watching, he appears as soon as I’m ready.

  Places his hands on my knees over the blanket. ‘Now, you need to relax. This is not painful and it will be very quick. Bend your knees up.’ He lowers himself level with the bed and moves towards my feet. I hear metal clink. Gel. ‘A bit cold now, sorry. Just a little pinch.’ Something cold and metal, wider than I expected, pushing through the muscles. ‘Now just relax, I’m going to open up the speculum.’ I hear his breath hold. ‘Good girl.’ I feel like a farm animal. Sow. Close my eyes. Calm. The speech bubble. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Scraping feeling inside. He fiddles about. The metal releases, clicks and he draws it out. ‘Right. All good in there, now pop your clothes back on and we’ll link it up to the system.’ My abdomen pulses.

  I dress and wash my hands in his sink. I don’t know why. It’s not like I was involved in this procedure but somehow I am coated in bodily fluids. His soap is yellow and liquid, antibacterial. No smell to mask the vaginal fug in the air. I want to spray myself with perfume.

  In his chair, he has his mobile phone in his hand, tapping away at the oversized screen. Pinching an image in and out. ‘We have contact, Houston.’ He smiles as if that joke has not been heard a million times. Turns his screen to me and there on his phone is my inside. A clear image of several vertebrae surrounded by lighter areas. Masses of tissue and organs I don’t recognise or understand.

  ‘It’s very close up. I can’t really make things out very well.’ Swallow a lump in my throat.

  ‘The technicians will though. They’ll get all the images sent direct to them and be able to monitor the growth and development of the embryo each step of the way.’ He is excited, staring at the images. ‘Well done, Stacey, and thank you for agreeing to be part of this.’

  I don’t remember agreeing. It was more like not disagreeing. I want to clench the muscles around the baby. Keep it hidden. But it seems I am too late for that.

  ‘Next ultrasound is booked and you have a follow-up appointment with me a week after. Contact my offices immediately if you need anything, Stacey. Anything at all. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ Not really. Not really that okay at all.

  He nods. ‘The ultrasound images will be on the website.’ He puts the phone on his desk, folds his hands politely in his lap. Bedside manner.

  Finally a question comes to me—‘Can the whole world see it?’

  ‘No, definitely not,’ he says, serious and shaking his head. ‘We have a very secure intranet. Firewalls and security codes all over the place. Don’t worry.’

  Everything is on the website. I nod and smile.

  ‘We’ll be in touch then.’ He stands from his chair and herds me towards the door. ‘Just let the girls at the desk know that we’re done and they’ll get you to sign off on the insurance claim.’ His hand on my shoulder as I walk out the door is hotter than I expected.

  I stand at the counter. Touch the rosy wood and wait. Efficient Lauren beckons me to her end of the desk. ‘I have another appointment booked for you, Stacey.’ She sorts out the account and I stand silent, my cervix connected through the air, through the walls, to Jeff’s phone. ‘We will send you confirmation the day before.’ Each pulse. ‘The doctor said your account should be covered. Can I have your health provider cards please?’

  I walk out the door leaving something of my spirit behind in the plastic packaging torn in two in his bin.

  Pink blossoms from the drooping eucalyptus have fallen on my car. I take a chunky gumnut filled with rosy stamens for Emmy. My calm one. In the car I check my messages—nothing. He must be there now, driving through a different landscape.

  In the silent evening, while the children sleep, I log on to LifeBLOOD® Bringing Life Out of Darkness and tap through the welcome page to ‘Parenting Stage 1’. Then to the PregCam™ images. The pictures are not coloured. They are tinted in a chromatic blue scale. In the time lapse the movements appear jerky. The figure shifts. Turning around the screen. Spine again. Ribs and the top of a limb, arm probably. The darks and lights bouncing blue, pounding like a heart. Profile of the face. My heart shifts in my chest, shades of blue. Light and dark. It is nothing but everything to fall in love with your own baby. The bulge of an eye which will open and peer deep into my own. Wanting what I can give. Only I can give. The spine again and a shifting, like a sigh before sleep. What will be shown has been shown. Yet it is a magnet and I can’t turn away.

  I make a cup of tea and return to the screen. Gone. ‘We apologise but images for this site are currently unavailable. Please try again soon.’

  I tap through the pages—What to Expect— seems unlikely anybody can answer this challenge so I read on. It is most important at this stage of any pregnancy to relax. The embryo is still in a fragile state and mothers must provide a peaceful and healthy environment in which their child can grow. Stress is a major risk factor so practise regular meditation or yoga … Why not join our yoga teacher online and be part of our mothers’ fitness program? Click here to join today.

  I skip past the image of a woman in tight pants standing in tree pose. A pregnant bulge in her orange tank top. I can do asana in my sleep, thanks to my mother, but can’t stand the thought of her false calm. ‘Namaste,’ she would say while Alex and I played endless rounds of Uno in a caravan in
some stranger’s back garden. Bored, we peeled strips of ply from the walls while she instructed strangers on goddess pose, warrior number one, mountain pose. She tossed the ply and the Uno cards in the fire pit, cursing us as ‘little shits’. Despite this, sometimes I long for her. I write to her— ‘I’m pregnant again. Congratulations granny. Due’—but I can’t say when it’s due; I delete the message without sending it.

  I sip the tea and browse the rest of the site. Our mothers—not just me. Lots of advice about healthy food and no alcohol. The usual list for normal pregnancy, but this is not a normal pregnancy. Avoid all stimulants including coffee. We recommend a wholefood diet, rich in protein and fresh organic fruit and vegetables. Takeaway boxes have again filled the footwells of the car. It is important to avoid alternative medicines for nausea as they are not subject to thorough medical trials and may impact the development of the embryo. My mother would have a lot to say about that and I soon abandon the site—there is no comfort to be found in information. Message Isak—‘went to an appointment today’—but there is no response. I send another—‘Jeff says everything looks normal’—and I now have a camera inside me. I don’t know how I will tell him this. ‘I miss you.’

  A great wind roars across the rooftops of the suburb. Something rattles on the front of the house and I walk barefoot on the cool tiles in the semi-dark. The floor sparkles with glitter. Emmy is asleep on her back, her arms above her head in careless abandon. I never thought of her when I made this decision. She wants a sister, like most girls, and she might get her wish, but it won’t be a human sister. I sit on the floor by her bed, take her dropped teddy and hold it close, stifling sobs in its musty fur.

  9 WEEKS

  This time she doesn’t use the diffuser and welcomes me with a smile and a handshake. She quizzes me about Isak’s trip and how I’m coping without him and I manage some kind of clarity and good sense. She seems to relax, like she’s got me hooked now.