The End of Men

by Christina Sweeney-Baird

need an acknowledgment of the potential worst-case scenario. I need him to understand how hard it’s going to be for me. Because, as with all things involved in the growing of a human child, it will be the woman in this equation who experiences the negatives.

Indeed.

“Mummy, Mummy, what’s wrong with Mummy?” Theodore is in the hallway with me, patting my hair the way I soothe him when he is upset. Tears are streaming down my face and dripping off my nose as I look my gorgeous boy in the eyes. His face is a picture of a concern. I wipe my nose. I need to keep him safe and that means keeping him away from me. In my life now, it seems, my love must express itself at a distance. I sigh and shoo Theodore into the living room. Now, all I can do is wait.

Fuckfuckfuck. I cannot imagine…

I have a team of immunologists, geneticists, virologists gathered here and for what? For Amanda to tell us that she doesn’t know anything yet. Great. People are asking questions about the Isle of Bute’s climate, how she knew it was a virus, how she spotted it so quickly. It’s a massive circle jerk. I decide to make use of this time and get through some e-mails. God knows how long later, everyone on-screen starts saying their good-byes and that’s that. “Back to work, team,” I say. What a fucking waste of time.

This person Lisa, head of the department of immunology at the University of Toronto? She’s a fucking bitch. In contrast to the next person, Elizabeth…

A smile overwhelms my face and I have to contain myself from reaching across the table and kissing him, right then and there. And then I remember that the world is falling apart and nothing is like it used to be and I haven’t been on a date in a long, long time. So I reach across, kiss him and it’s the best first kiss of my life.

Aaww, yes. So sweet!

I’m going to win the Nobel Prize. Of course I am.

I fucking hate this arrogant, sociopathic bitch.