I refuse to die again, but the searing pain from the tablets she swallowed is targeting my left groin. It feels like a bulldozer tearing through everything in its path, squeezing the very soles off the foundation of muscles that support me. Breathing is difficult, so I crawl silently, one tiny step after another, to hide behind the fundus of the uterus, at the junction where it connects with the fallopian tube. I am determined to survive.
The last time I died, I was naive and ignorant. I didn’t put up a fight; I surrendered after just one pill, causing her to almost spill her intestines into the toilet. She defecated until I became dehydrated.
Last night, before she took the “termination” pills, I overheard them say, “We are not ready for a baby.” But even though I heard their words, nothing prepared me for the ruthless severing of my budding life, the violent uprooting from my implanted spot, and the blows I received from a certain drug I would later know as mifepristone. What a brutal fate.
There’s a rule that says we must wait two years if one of us dies at the hands of our parents. But Mother Nature had other plans, punishing me by exposing my convalescing self to the world too soon.
Who would want an ugly baby with burnt hair and dark lips? I haven’t yet recovered from my first death. I needed time to heal, to bloom and flourish, but who am I to defy Nature’s commands? I found my way back into her womb after an intimate night with her partner, the one she calls “babe.”
Mother Nature says I have a purpose to fulfill on earth, and my arrival will happen through this couple who seem to always blame each other for my presence.
“Why didn’t you take emergency contraception?”
“But I insisted you use a condom!”
“I pulled out!”
“…Your pull-out game is weak.”
Two strange people.
Here I am, again, holding on for dear life to the myometrium. It’s a better choice, even though the muscles slap my cheeks and pummel my heart when the uterine contractions begin. It’s still better than having Mr. Mifepristone and his accomplice misoprostol tear me apart and drag me out disgracefully.
I am hanging on because Mother Nature says I have a purpose. Please, pray for me.
#diaryofjournals
Notes By Emmanuella 