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Topic: Sharp (03/07/13)
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TITLE: Short Life = Long Pain | Previous Challenge Entry
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03/07/13 -
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As he scrapes about inside my body with various instruments, he talks to me about school and my job. How odd that this man can talk to me about such things as he perform this horrific act.
“We are almost done, little lady.” He continues to scrape and set something on a tray next to him.
There is no one else in the room, not even a nurse. On the wall to my left are windows. The sunshine is coming in through the slats of the blinds. It is a warm day outside. Normally I would be at school. I ask him if he will write me an excuse for missing classes. He tells me he will. To my right are a series of posters. Each one is an illustration of the inside of a woman’s body. One poster even shows a photograph of sperm swimming toward an egg in waiting.
Soon I can hear the squeaky wheels of the doctor’s side table as it is being pushed aside. He is wiping me now down there but I do not feel much. As he snaps the latex gloves from his hands, I peer off to my right again. There on the little stainless steel side table is a mass of lumpy blood. I can make out a tiny arm with fingers sticking through the mess. It is my baby. It’s arm reaching up towards the ceiling.
The doctor sees me looking and says, “It’s a boy.”
Soon, a nurse comes in, covers up my baby boy, and wheels him out to be disposed of, I guess. How ironic that the doctor announces to me the sex of my baby without as much as an ounce of regret. Another nurse comes in and tells me to sit up. She helps to get me into a wheel chair and wheels me out into a long corridor. There in the carpeted hall, I notice other women, some young like me and others not so young. They are sitting in wheelchairs too. Many are crying softly into their hands.
About thirty minutes later, I am wheeled out to the car so I can go home. My mother drove me to Birmingham today for the procedure. She is standing next to the door looking somber and a little angry. I make my way into the back seat of her dark green Plymouth Duster. The cool vinyl of the seat feels good against my hot skin. It is an hour drive back to Tuscaloosa and mother and I do not say anything.
It is hard to imagine twenty three years later, I still feel the sharp prick that the doctor warned me of before the abortion. He was wrong in the sense that an abortion isn’t over with quickly. The killing of my child, little Moby, leaves a deep scar in my heart. Only God is able to take away the pain when it comes out of hiding.
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