Jessica Hepburn - 21 Miles: Swimming in Search of the Meaning of Motherhood

A Note on the Author

Jessica Hepburn is one of the UKs leading voices on fertility, infertility and IVF. She is the author of the book The Pursuit of Motherhood and writes and speaks widely in the press and media on the subject of assisted conception and alternative routes to parenthood. In 2016, following her ten-year tenure as executive director of the Lyric Theatre Hammersmith, she founded Fertility Fest, the worlds first arts festival dedicated to the science of making babies.

www.jessicahepburn.com

Also by the author

The Pursuit of Motherhood

Dear Reader,

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To me the sea is like a person
like a child that Ive known a long time

Gertrude Ederle,
the first woman to swim twenty-one miles
across the English Channel

A Note from the Author

The events and interviews in this book largely took place in 2014 and 2015. It felt important to remain true to the story as it unfolded so they are recorded as they happened in the knowledge that the world changes and peoples lives move on.

I slide off the side into the deep end. My body feels weightless in the water as I start to swim. Breaststroke arms and legs pull me forward; it feels like my speed is strong. Could the duckling have turned into a swan?

My opponents mum nods admiringly as I reach the shallow end, as if she is impressed. My mum stifles a smile, I think, I can never be sure with my mum. Whoever wins todays swim-off will compete in the inter-schools swimming gala. The teachers havent been able to decide which one of us is faster, so me and a classmate have been sent to the local pool to sprint it out, two girls marshalled by their mothers.

My opponent climbs down the steps into the water and now we are both poised, ready to start. Her mum says Go! My mum stands silently watching. Im not sure she would know what to say; shes not like most peoples mums. I push off and swim, reaching ahead, pulling the water past me, kicking back. But I dont feel as quick as I did on my first length. Im fighting the water, Im losing the race and the coveted place in the gala.

When youre a child, life is all about speed. Who will be the first and the fastest? When you grow up, you realise that lifes really about endurance. Water would teach me that.

Can we have the works tonight?

You mean starter and pudding?

Go on. It is Christmas.

But you know I dont like puddings, Peter says. Im happy for you to have one though.

Its not the same eating a pudding on your own. Will you at least share one with me?

If it makes you feel better, Ill share one with you and you can eat it.

Theres no point continuing this conversation. Im not going to win.

Its the night before Christmas Eve and were having supper at our favourite restaurant, just round the corner from our flat. The place is fairly quiet. Most work parties are over, and everyone is either doing last-minute shopping or staying home in preparation for the excess to come. The waiter comes over.

Shall we? Peter asks.

Why not? It is Christmas.

Touch, he says, before turning to the waiter. Two Negronis, please.

The waiter smiles. Every waiter who knows their cocktails always does when you order a Negroni. Its a drink lovers drink.

I order the food. Crab on toast, followed by seven-hour lamb and a bottle of the Douro. Its what we always have.

Any sides? the waiter asks.

Greens definitely, I reply. Do you think we need potatoes?

Depends how hungry you are. The lambs for three so its going to be a big portion for the two of you anyway.

Its OK, Peter says, She likes big portions. He smiles at the waiter.

Peter likes food too. Not quite as much as me, maybe. But I could never have stayed with a man for twelve years who didnt like to eat. Having said that, my perfect partner would share my love of carbohydrates Peter thinks theyre boring.

Our Negronis arrive. Heres to Christmas, he says as we clink glasses. And to a great year ahead.

You say that every year and we still havent had one. Ive been thinking about doing my own version of the Queens Speech on Christmas Day 2013: my annus horribilis . I might think it was something to do with the number thirteen, except that every year for the past nine years has been unlucky.

It was Christmas day nine years ago that Peter and I first decided to try for a baby. I had just turned thirty-four and the topic had been under discussion for a while. Ill always remember him looking at me across the dinner table, surrounded by our family, and mouthing: Lets do it! But nine years later we still havent had one. This is the first Christmas in years that weve spent at home in London. We usually escape somewhere hot, somewhere were not reminded of the children we havent got.

It is going to be great, Peter says in his most encouraging voice. This is the year you officially become a writer.

Yeah, but whos going to want to read a book called The Pursuit of Motherhood that doesnt end with a baby?

Not yet. Theres still hope.

Peter, I love you for your optimism, but Ive just turned forty-three. Havent you heard thats the age a womans fertility jumps off Beachy Head?

Why Beachy Head? he says.

Well, I would say falls off a cliff, but apparently good writers steer clear of clichs.

He laughs.

Mind you, I continue, clichs are clichs for a reason. They say it how it is. Theres nothing active about the decline in my fertility. Its falling, not jumping.

Peter gives me that look which I know means hes afraid Im heading down the path of despondency. I dont know what youre worried about, he says, trying to turn the conversation around, misery memoirs are all the rage these days.

Yeah, misery memoirs that have a happy ending. I know I didnt manage it by the end of the book but I was at least hoping that by the time it came out Id be able to announce I was pregnant. It would have made a perfect real-life epilogue.