Grabbing
yet another bottle of Vitamin Water Essential from the pack of six I’d bought
while stopping by Target on the way home from work, I closed my eyes, and,
pressing my back against the wall, I sunk into the deep dark pit of my bathroom
floor, my body coming to rest amidst a veritable sea of First Response value packs. Tears bubbled in my stomach, but were blocked
by the weight pressing against my chest, impeding my breath as if my body systems
had grown autonomous and aware that if allowed to hyperventilate, my lungs
would attempt a high-speed escape and I could choke on the contents of my
stomach if my organs were allowed to complete their simultaneous mutiny. I
opened my eyes to watch my entire world come crumbling down all around me…my
eyes focusing on the three positive pregnancy tests lying on the floor at my
feet, and though my lungs contracted violently I still could not cry. I could not move. Everything just went numb, except for the
vibrations in my toes feeling like pins and as I tried to exert my will on myself
that my blood should stop coursing so quickly, the deafening roar of my
heartbeat in my ears threatened to send me past the edge of sanity.
My eyes
water, and the next thing I know, I am facing the toilet and through blurred
vision I can just make out the faint orange pooling in front of me. My body heaves forward again, and as the
beverage I’d been gorging myself on to force continued urination, with my mind
intent on the hope that the two pink lines on at least one of these goddamn
tests could turn to just one, streamed out of my throat, the sweet release of
tears finally began to ease the burning of my corneas.
This
could not be happening. It was
impossible. Not even 3 weeks before, I’d sat in front of my gynecologist as he
explained the tiniest details of my test results, his face grey and immovable,
and looking at hard as the rocks of wisdom with which he stoned me, each
jargon-filled phrase piercing my weakened defense of stoicism. “Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome…not so much an
issue as a single ailment, Miss Boykin“… a tiny pebble whizzed past my ear and
I tilted away to deflect it… “But our greatest concern would be the
endometriosis”…as the pelting of stones grew from the size of small hail stones
to fist-sized rocks… “uterine cells on your ovaries…another biopsy can be
scheduled”…and then I’d wondered if all my years of squeezing my issues with
parental abandonment into the simple statement of “I’m never having children”
had come full circle to force the fulfillment of that prophecy as he did not
even check my face for any signs of comprehension before continuing to tell me
I had less than a 10 percent chance of ever conceiving a child, and even less
chance of carrying one to full term…a small boulder finds its intended target:
my chest… Yet, here I kneel, plunged
back into the present while inches away are three little constructions of
plastic and cotton and chemicals hell-bent on informing me that my life as I know
it is being torn completely asunder.
There
was no one I could think to call…What could I say? There was always Mr. Orange, whose face had
broken at the news that I could probably never bear his children…it was at his
beckoning that I’d even scheduled the appointment and faced a biopsy…but…there
was also what I had not told him…about Halloween night at the Doubletree that was not
spent with him while he called and left voicemail after voicemail from Fort Irwin, California...where he had been training for his deployment to Afghanistan...…my blood froze in my veins at the thought and everything fades to black…
