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FAUNA
‘Fauna is the story of an experiment, as every relationship, every
child, every hope we cling on to is an experiment— a leap into
air. It is lush and corporeal and one of the most honest books
I’ve ever read about what we carve away for our children from
our hearts, our bodies, and our possible futures. I knew when
I started that this book would end, yet every moment I hoped
it wouldn’t.’ Amanda Niehaus, author of The Breeding Season
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‘We’re all done here, Stacey. Do you have any questions?’ She
glances at me.
There is only one question that can be asked. ‘Is everything
okay with the baby?’ And I know she is not the person to give
me the answer.
‘I’m afraid we’ll have to wait for the radiographer and his
team to write a report.’ She taps into the screen, holds up an
image of the embryo, curled like the sprout of a fern. My heart
jolts a little, unsure if I am seeing normal growth. She flips the
screen back out of view. ‘If you go on the website, they will post
images of the scan and a copy of the report for you. Have you
logged on to our site yet?’ She wipes the gel from my stomach,
flipping the loose clothing over me without touching my skin
with her gloved hand. I nod, wriggling off the side of the bed.
‘And I see you have an appointment with Dr van Tink coming
up so you can discuss your concerns with him.’ For a moment,
I did hear the beat of life. Fast and definite, as my own.
In the car Isak sits stiff and avoids my eyes. My insides twist at
the sight of his fine hands, hard against the shield of the steering
wheel. He measures his words, carefully planned.
‘I want to go and see my family for a while before we have
the baby.’
I sink inside.
‘The kids are both in school and they can stay here with you.’
He glances at me for a moment, just quickly. ‘I don’t want to
disrupt them. I’ll tell them I need to help my mum on the farm.’
He is pale, his lips stretched thin.
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Sick, frantic. ‘Will you come back? This isn’t it, is it?’ Will
myself not to cry. ‘I can have an abortion if you want me to.’
Silence between us ripples with emotion. ‘But— ’ Our eyes meet
for a moment and he shakes his head, obviously annoyed.
‘That’s a very loaded way of putting it, Stacey. I just feel like
I need to do it now because it will be more difficult when there’s
a baby involved.’ He sighs, looks at me with teary eyes. ‘I just
need to come to terms with this and I don’t quite know how.’
His voice cracks.
‘I need you here.’
He touches my hand but he is resolved.
‘I know it’s a bit weird but it’s just another baby really,’ I try
to soothe him.
He starts the car, calmer now he has cast off his anxiety.
I have picked it up, wrapped it around my shoulders like a prickly
shawl. ‘You know it isn’t just another baby,’ he says. ‘But you’ll
need me more when it’s born than you do now and I can’t see a
time ahead of us for a long while when I will be able to go.’ He
takes to the road more calmly. ‘I just need a bit of time to think
it all through. And you know I miss my family.’
I buzz with worry, turn to the window with my tears.
He softens his tone, ‘You’ll be okay for a few weeks, Stacey.
The kids are pretty easy when they’re in school.’
Life is so fragile— little curls of being, tiny bundles of cells,
the human heart. The delicate things; the most precious.
‘I’ll do it on the cheap, get another credit card. We’ll have
money enough soon.’ His need to go settles in. Traffic is slow
and we trace the coast back home, air-conditioner audible in the
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dense space between us. Even though cold air pumps out at me,
oxygen feels lacking in the car. I sip from my water bottle, setting
my eyes in the middle ground where rooftops fill the horizon in
shades of red, brown and grey.
‘I always think of us as rock solid.’ My face is tight, breath
shallow. Near tears.
‘We are.’ He grabs my hand and the car churns onwards,
nearing our exit.
‘You didn’t even ask me about the scan.’ Normally he would
be in there with me, asking the right questions. Hearing the
news firsthand. Perfect father.
‘Stop picking at it, Stacey. We are rock solid, I promise. Just
give me some space.’ I brush aside tears, loose and silent, and we
pull up at the kids’ school a little early. A bronze-winged pigeon
skitters quickly from the path of the car. I sigh deeply and we
make eye contact, strong and resolute. Neither willing to disrupt
the joyful days of our children. He squeezes my hand but I carry
that first image alone. He still hasn’t asked about the baby.
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Isak is gone. Only yesterday, but the pit he leaves in my heart feels
dark and heavy. I pull into the car park of the LifeBLOOD®
offices fifteen minutes early. Sit in silence, sip water. The hum
of traffic. Used tissues, burger boxes, a felt pen chewed to pieces,
the skin of a banana. Out of control. I gather it together into a
paper takeaway bag. Resolve not to feed the kids junk food while
their father is away and leave the stuffed bag on the passenger
seat. Have a mint, try to relax. They are sure to check my blood
pressure so I need to calm down. Emmy drew a little person
with a speech bubble saying ‘calm’ for our toilet wall. It has a
caption—‘think of a happy memory’. Breathe in through your
nose and out through your mouth while saying calm. I breathe.
Calm. He is in my happy memories. A Silver Princess eucalyptus
droops over the car park. Long grey-green leaves hanging vertical.
Rampant pink blossoms brighten the fading season. I parked in
its meagre shadow.
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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 coun-
sellor 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.
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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
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usual list for normal pregnancy, but this is not a normal preg-
nancy. 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.
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