Before I moved to strange, etheral Pahrump, Nevada, I spent many years after college living in Europe. I married in 1995, and my then husband and I tried to conceive. We were living in Ireland at that time, and tests showed that there was nothing physically wrong with either me or my husband. We were discouraged, frankly, from pursuing fertility treatments, because my doctor admitted that the technology, services and success rates in Ireland were, at that time, “basically crap.”

Unable to afford to go to America and receive treatment there, I looked into alternative methods of healing. Somehow I came across Stephen Turoff’s name, an English psychic surgeon based near Chelmsford, England. Serendipity allowed me to book an appointment with him within weeks, rather than the usual six months’ waiting time. I flew to London, booked in at a hotel near Euston station, and took the train out to Chelmsford. The clinic was a tiny, two-roomed portacabin in the back parking lot of a local hotel, about ten minute’s walk from the train station. One room was the waiting room, filled with pictures of Stephen doing his healing work with light ray and orbs also showing up in the photographs. There was also a shrine to Sathya Sai Baba, a great influence on Stephen’s healing work.

The waiting room was filled with people from all over the world, and every few minutes someone would emerge from their session with Stephen, looking radiant, peaceful, and smiling or laughing. “This seems pretty good,” I thought to myself. Eventually, my name was called. I was led into a tiny examining room, and was instructed by two of Stephen’s assistants to remove my shoes and lay back on the table. The room was clean and distinctly medical in nature: there was paper on the examining table, and metal medical instruments and supplied nearby. His assistants explained it was their job to do some basic energetic work with me before Stephen would begin, so as to calm his patients. They held my feet lightly, similar to Reiki techniques, and I did indeed calm down quite quickly.

Stephen entered, a great big Englishman from East London (think Cockney accent here), and got straight to work. I’d filled out a card saying that I had unexplained infertility and wanted treatment for that. He asked me to pull my blouse up and trousers down only to the point that the area below my navel and above my pubic region showed. I did, all the while him making small talk with me about life in Ireland.

He took a scalpel, and in a fraction of a second appeared to make an incision at the level of my uterus. I was VERY surprised, and saw a little blood there, but I didn’t feel any pain except a sort of cold, sharp sensation. Then it got REALLY weird when I could literally feel hands and fingers INSIDE my uterus, tugging, pulling, and lifting away…kind of like someone was detaching something stuck on by Velcro! Stephen’s fingertips seemed to be either inside me or just plain invisible…I couldn’t tell what was going on! He kept talking to me, getting me to answer, while this process went on, even though I kept looking down and found it hard to keep up my end of the conversation. I often observed him making gestures like he was throwing away what he was taking out, but this was not the gore you might see with Brazilian and Phillipino healers, but more like strands of, well, “energetic snot,” as it looked to me! Silvery, translucent, thready material that disappeared as fast as I observed it.

This was all over in what seemed to be less than two minutes. When he was finished, all of a sudden he stopped talking, looked deeply into my eyes, and put one hand on my forehead. I went into an immediate trance state of deep peace and timelessness. He then took both hands and appeared to be pushing the open incision back so the two sides met together, and then sealed it with one hand on the area and the other hand on top of his first hand. There was an incredible feeling of warmth, and no pain whatsoever.

Stephen told me to try to come back in a couple of months if I could, but that was not possible for me, and also advised me to take it easy and not lift anything heavy for the next few days. He left to go work with the next client, and his assistants helped me sit up and get my shoes on and clothes organized.

If it were possible to have anything be stranger, all of a sudden an incredible feeling of grief and sadness came over me. I started crying and literally could not stop. This was very strange, too, because I had absolutely no idea what I was crying about, which was a brand new experience for me. I couldn’t stop, and while I knew I needed to vacate the room to allow people to have their appointments, I really felt out of control. Stephen returned, and said “go into the waiting room, cry it out, and in fifteen minutes you’ll feel better and be fine.” The way I felt at the moment, my mental response was “the hell I will!” But I shuffled back into the waiting room, very embarassed because I was still crying and I knew that doing that was certainly NOT reassuring to people waiting for healing!

I closed my eyes and let the tears roll as silently as I could. There was a clock in the waiting room, but I only noticed it when I first entered to find my place to finish my bawl-fest. To me, it felt like the deepest sadness I had ever, every experienced, and that I had been sitting there for at least 45 minutes. I was worried they were going to have to close the office at the end of the day and I’d still be there crying!

Then, as quickly as it came on, the sadness disappeared, and INSTANTLY I felt incredibly calm, peaceful and serene. A very clear thought came to me: “I’m done here, it’s time to leave.” My tears dried very quickly, I opened my eyes, got up and made for the door. I glanced at the clock, and to my total disbelief, exactly 15 minutes had passed!

I walked to the train station in a daze, took the train back to Euston, made my way to my hotel room, and came in, more exhausted than I’d ever been in my life. A big change from all those other smiling, happy, rejuvenated people I’d seen before me at the clinic! I got out of my clothes, and just as I was collapsing on the bed to go to sleep, another surprise: there was a tiny, red, horizontal line on my belly, complete with dots above and below, like suture marks! They weren’t scabbed, and they weren’t drawn on, either.

My astonishment at these marks did not stop me from falling asleep immediately. I slept for 18 hours straight, and when I awoke, the marks had faded into a silvery white. They continued to fade for about 72 hours, and disappeared completely after that.

I was unable to return for more healing, as Stephen had suggested, and never was able to conceive without miscarrying at a very early stage. I am now in my forties and have accepted my situation as it is. Fortunately, as an educator working with at-risk teens, I still have the pleasure of being around plenty of young people!

A wonderful book about Stephen is “Psychic Surgeon: The Extraordinary Story of a Remarkable Healer” by Grant Solomon. This book tells Stephen’s story in depth and detail, and I highly recommend it. If you ever get to be treated by him, be prepared for something extraordinary!