I woke up in a pool of blood. It was saturday morning, still too early for the sun even to be hot yet. Distant pain was trying to seep in, but what I woke up to was the wetness. I rose from the bed my legs and tummy covered in blood and instinctively headed for the shower before I could think. I spent another half an hour sitting in the shower trying to win the pain over. Same on sunday. I feel like puking every other minute, I’m breathless and exhausted. Maybe it’s from the loss of blood? I don’t know.
I went to this picnic on saturday, because I was organizing a thing before it and had to go. It was a very hazardous thing to do while still bleeding and feeling utterly exhausted and mentally beaten. There was this friend of a friend, who I found out was visibly pregnant at the spot. I survived pretty well until people started talking about it. Especially this one woman, who was talking about how she has never wanted kids, but isn’t it time they should, because they’ve been together so long… You know the drill. Hearing her treat it as such a self-evidently easy thing to achieve was exhausting. So was the way she was talking about the pregnancy of the friend there. How happy and excited she was for her friends baby.
I had to leave. I made up an excuse about work and left. Just like that. That’s something, right? That I can protect myself like that?
I called Wonderboy from the way home.
Did you get tired? he asked compassionately.
No, I got sad, I answered.
Come home and I will cuddle with you, he said. It was the perfect answer.
It was real work keeping the tears inside, which I mostly managed, throught the bus ride home. When I got home Wonderboy came to hug me straight away. He didn’t try to evade me or make me laugh. He just took me to bed to cuddle.
I cried a long time.
It’s just so painful to feel it going away, I said.
He hugged me.
I know, he said in a tender voice.
What if I’ll never be able to carry any children, I confess my fear, yet again.
It doesn’t matter, he says and holds me.
He caresses my head, blows hairs out of my face and just holds me against him.
At one point in this story this would’ve been an insult. I would’ve wanted to fight, to say it does matter to me! To shout, to kick, to state how I will have kids one way or the other…
But I felt huge relief. I felt his strenght shield me. I was pushing against those words, for a second, and then I let go. I let them in. It doesn’t matter. If my owner says it doesn’t matter, then it doesn’t. He knows best. He will take care of everything. He will be strong where I am weak.
And also. It doesn’t matter to him. It’s never been a relief before. But it is now. If I can’t have children… I don’t need to worry about losing him. He won’t abandon me to have biological children with someone else. He will be right here, holding me through it.
He stays with me through the pain.