Legend of the Pah - 8 (S T Vasectomy Clinic)

Cece Hughes

Cece Hughes was what you might refer to as well preserved. At a distance she could have passed for somebody half her age, even close up you could easily knock eight years off.

She really looked after herself and exuded restrained glamour. Instinctively she knew how to put together a co-ordinated, flattering outfit without looking as if she’d put in any great effort. A master at applying make-up without going too far, she knew how to style her hair, short but feminine, clever highlights to blend away the grey. Her look was in line with the current fashions but always with class; clothes fitted just enough to show the contours of her trim, impossibly girlish frame. 

There was never a time when her appearance spilled out beyond the confines of its own exacting neatness. She was a package of suave reliability, a sort of honed, polished marble plinth on which her husband St John could rest himself, together with his bundle of professional achievements. It was something he’d spotted within her very soon after they met, the potential for her to facilitate his rise to the top.

Cece had begun her career working in the hospital as a receptionist aged just eighteen. She had originally trained as a nursery nurse but she’d found it rather dull and some of the children were dirty so she had answered an advert in the local newspaper. The pay was better and she could wear smart clothes, it was her petite good looks that secured a future. She soon attracted the attention of many young doctors and in the end St John’s persistence won her over.

They were married just after her twenty-first birthday and she said she would continue to work until she became pregnant with their first child. Unfortunately, thirty one years later, that longed for baby was yet to materialise. She carried on working part-time and over the decades became something of an expert on the archaic computer systems which ran the hospital appointment system. Indeed being called upon for occasional problem solving even after her resignation.

More importantly than her job though she managed her husband’s career. Her natural ability to host and network provided him with a secure platform on which he rose with ease to the dizzy heights of consultancy. The dinner parties at their home, The Driffold were legendary in their attention to detail, the quality of the refreshments, the luxury of the surroundings. Despite a very humble upbringing, Cece was a master at restraint.

By the time St John was fifty he had become a leading urology specialist. He revolutionised procedures, made them safer, quicker, he reduced infection rates, he travelled the world giving lectures. Over time the couple found their lives were tied up in the endless demands of his most excellent career. Cece found the almost sycophantic response to his presence from young medics increasingly sickening to deal with; however she internalised her frustrations, presenting herself with a slightly pinched smile.

Eventually they both became exhausted with the demanding cycles of his highly successful career and after decades of hard work they wanted a change. Following some discussion it was agreed that St John would retire from his full-time career in the NHS and move into providing private vasectomies in the local area. It was supposed to be a step back, a project they could work on together, giving something back to the community, although it had been far more work than they had envisaged.

The plan had been that they would both spend more time at home so that they could look into the possibility of adoption or surrogacy. Cece had spent the last three years researching the subject, travelling to various continents, studying their adoption laws, visiting orphanages and doing lots of soul searching. Is a child what I really want? She’d asked herself so many times but the answer was always yes but not just any child, she wanted a newborn, a fresh child, something she could influence with her sophisticated ways, right from the beginning. 

St John had been quite enthusiastic at first but it was a thoughtless enthusiasm based on the fact that it was a pleasant idea and something his wife wanted. Once the reality set in that it might actually be happening, the doubts crept in too and as the months went by he’d largely gone cold on the idea. He felt too old in his bones to be harassed by young children and was self aware enough to know that he adored his ordered life, peace and quiet and home comforts.

Cece, on the other hand, felt exactly the same physically as she had done at thirty; she was organised, active, energetic, keen for new experiences. Mentally she was sharp although she suppressed a degree of bitterness which had grown slowly inside her over the decades. She longed to push a pram up the high street with a perfectly turned out baby cooing inside. Many times she had pictured herself doing just that on an autumn day, dressed in an expensive coat and long boots. She’d wanted it for so long that it had grown like a bubble in her mind. Almost like a benign tumour it pushed everything else out of the way and affected her ability to think normally.

It was lucky she had honed the art of calm communication, moderation, organisation and self-control because underneath it she was reaching breaking point. St John knew it, he felt it in his heart, he thought she had recently become quite mad and he told her as much. 

Despite increasing hostility in their relationship, Cece had decided her husband’s sperm was an important component in any potential offspring and over time she had discounted adoption as a means of motherhood. Her own eggs were now too old to be useful and her body too fragile to carry a child but after much research she had secured a surrogate somewhere deep in Eastern Europe. St John’s body fluid was tested, approved, the little sperms swam in a forward motion, they were put to use, the procedure was successful and now a woman called Yulia was five months pregnant with their child.

It seemed almost unreal to Cece, like there were two parallel universes in her life. There was the childless one where nothing had changed, everything was clean and perfect and fully under control. Then there was the other one, in which motherhood was hurtling towards her at a hundred miles an hour and ready to blow the first one apart. It didn’t matter because the Hughes family would have everything in life they ever dreamed of. Well at least on paper and that was important to Cece, gather the components of the perfect life and then the other invisible stuff will sort of fall into place. 

Somewhere, buried deep inside, there was a part of her which was fully aware of the potential for friction. Her inability to cope with mess and chaos was a worry but each time it bubbled up to the surface she drowned it in her infinite, warm bath of broodiness. This baby is going to be perfect, she told herself and it’s going to be my very best friend. 

Cece was very lonely, it was something she barely acknowledged and she didn’t show it, in fact to anyone observing her from the outside, she had it all. However she really didn’t have any friends, only acquaintances, most of which were slightly intimidated by her and wouldn't dare to try to poke into her highly polished shell, fearing that it might break and the shards would surely cut them. And after thirty one years of marriage, she was conscious that she was no longer particularly keen on her husband, her subconscious self absolutely detested him, somewhere in the middle she admitted that she didn’t like the man.