Like The Plum I Bleed

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By Joujou Safa
@joujousafa

I get up, numb underneath the cloak of anesthesia and ache medicine. I’ve misplaced my left fallopian tube and my proper ovary. A form of stability I suppose.

***

I had 4 sons as soon as. They didn’t final very lengthy inside my stomach, however they had been mine for some time. Daniel, Jacob, Adam, and Ali. They existed lengthy sufficient to be named. Lengthy sufficient for his or her father and me to listen to their heartbeats.                                                             

***

The boys weren’t my first being pregnant, however they had been my final. I used to be solely 27 years previous and already executed with the flirtations of being pregnant and motherhood—they now not seduced me. 

***

My physique is uninterested in getting used as a vessel to hold the narrative of motherhood—a story I wasn’t positive I needed to be part of.  However as an Arab girl I used to be introduced as much as consider my value was weighted closely in my womb. 

***

The ache crept up on me immediately. I knew this ache—it has haunted me since I used to be a younger lady. I refused to acknowledge it. I satisfied myself for nearly two hours that my uterus was stretching—making room for my boys to develop. God couldn’t be this merciless. Not this time.

***

Blood was seeping onto my mom’s leather-based automobile seat. I’m apologizing for the mess my physique is creating. I’m actually apologizing for the disgrace we each really feel.

 ***

My fancy docs have an workplace proper throughout the road from The Met, my favourite museum. I used to chop class once I was in highschool and spend hours wandering the halls—admiring all the wonder people are able to creating. After I was referred to those docs, I took their tackle to be an indication.

***

Luis the doorman opens the automobile door and carries me into the constructing. His white gloves grow to be speckled with drops of blood. He gently locations me on the sterile mattress of the ultrasound room.

*** 

4 males await me within the room. The 4 males it took to assist create my boys. Three compassionate docs and my weary-eyed companion. I simply needed to create a household for us.

*** 

Buko juice from the Philippines. Cash donated to the shrine of Sitt. Zaynab, the daughter of the Prophet, revered by Muslims and Christians alike. Pray to the Virgin Mary. Acupuncture within the stomach. Drink room temperature water solely. The snake oil salesman is at all times lurking close by.

***

They implanted all my embryos. Regardless of all the additional medicine they gave me, I solely produced 9 follicles. 9 eggs had been all my younger physique may make. Among the ladies I encountered throughout the weekly physician visits bragged about how they produced over 20 follicles. These ladies had been at the least 15 years my senior.

***

 How do you lose 4 infants, I ask? 

***

Just one heartbeat exists—mine.


Visitor essay written by Joujou Safa. Joujou is an Arab-American author and entrepreneur from Brooklyn, New York. Her work has been featured in Operating Wild Press, Aramica and the Aesthetic Apostle.  She earned a M.A in Inventive Writing from Coastal Carolina College, the place she served as an editor for 3 problems with the college’s literary journal, The Waccamaw Journal. Joujou is at the moment writing a memoir about her struggles with infertility as an Arab Muslim girl. You can comply with her on Instagram.

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