A Band-Aid for My Uterus

Written Monday, September 14th:

28th day of my cycle. The day I’ve been waiting for. “It” is not here yet, but it could come at any moment. Like waiting for someone you don’t like to show up at your door, knowing they’ll stick around for a week and make your life miserable. The only way to try to prevent their arrival is to have lots and lots of sex, relax, and hope for the best. Not bad, I guess.

And now the thought of its arrival actually makes me think of dead babies although not as gruesome as that sounds, if it’s possible for that to not sound gruesome. Another missed opportunity, another month closer to old, and a dead egg washing out with the blood. My potential child that could have smiled and laughed, run really fast in the park and learned to read, flashing me a toothy grin knowing how proud I’d be. Instead, I might be flushing my baby down the toilet today or wrapping her up in a big wad of toilet paper and sticking her in the garbage under the sink. I guess she would have been a girl.

I could go to the drug store and bring home a test to see if peeing on a stick would end my anxiousness. They say they work as soon as the first day of a missed period. Is that today? It’s almost 11am and no sign of it, does that mean I’ve missed it?

I can feel a trickle starting from my abdomen and traveling down. A little trickle of something and I picture a tiny drop of blood about to slide out and ruin my day. How would I react to that tiny crimson splotch?

It had never been such a bad thing before unless I was unprepared and it made a mess. It used to be such a relief. Now I feel guilty for all those times I sighed and smiled and high-fived Dave. I waited until I was old enough to wonder if they’d run out.

Maybe all I’ve got left are empty ovaries, echoing with bareness. The universe gives me a firm stare, “you had your chance. I gave you hundreds of eggs and you squandered them, one after another, flushed away like a dead fish, celebrating your unfertilized eggs because you wanted to keep your job, travel the world, have a beer with your friends, do whatever you wanted whenever you wanted. Don’t you feel silly now that all you want is someone to call you mommy and grow up to save the world like you couldn’t?”

Will I cry?

I feel like I have to pee. No sense in being afraid. I can always try again next month. I have to pick up a prescription. Might as well drop by the drug store today.

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6 thoughts on “A Band-Aid for My Uterus

  1. you’re too young to be running out of eggs! for reals.
    this was a raw, charged piece of writing though. it takes guts to share writing like that. bravo!

  2. We had a dog once, Lily, who reacted intensely to the words “walk.” Flipping out, falling all over herself in her pleasure to get outside to run at breakneck speed. So we would rhyme around her, saying “I’d like to write on the driveway with chalk. Does that idea cause you to balk? No, I just think it’s a crock…” and the like.

    She’d squirm and visibly squelch her anxiousness and potential excitement, straining to hear the magic word.

    And yup, I feel a little like that right now. Thinking I know what’s going on, but not willing to spoil it by jumping ahead of the words themselves. In the meantime, I’m eagerly reading along, enjoying the suspense and the story, regardless of the ending. Whatever the result, you’ve already created something beautiful.

  3. Thanks everyone! It is difficult to post these kinds of vulnerable entries, but I’m always happy I do because you all inspire me to write more.

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