THIRTY-FOUR

The cramps intensified when I got home. Taking Jean should have quenched the pain, but it had only made it worse.

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Hours have passed, maybe even days. The cramps come in bursts now; small explosions in my pelvis. I’m at the edge of something but it hurts too much to think about what. I can see the sparks reflected in my eyelids. I pant and sweat but there is no one to cheer me on, no one to help me to breathe through this pain. I am lying on my bed, naked and slick. I run my fingers gently over my vulva. I check for blood but there is none. The pain is so extreme I can’t believe there is no wound. I ride the pain and it feels like I am moving, like I am being thrown around. I feel beaten, my bones weaken. My muscles loosen, and my body gives up the fight. It writhes blindly, my muscles limp, my limbs floppy. It is like I am watching it happen to someone else, but the pain is mine.

Hot white pain shoots from my groin to my lower back. What is fighting to get out? I have everything inside me now to become the perfect woman, or to birth the perfect monster. My skin stretches like latex to accommodate the wild shapes that press through. Earlier, I tried to identify a wrist, a jaw, a foot; any indication that this void inside me contained a living creature. But I can make out nothing.

The pain peaks, and even though I am trying not to push, something is fighting its way out. It is clawing at my innards, determined to pull with it what it can. It is going to get free and turn me inside out in the process.

When I think it is nearly over, my body clenching to force out this thing, exhausted, my head drops and the spasming stops. The pain eases. The rushing inside me slows. My skin contains me. Whatever is inside me becomes calmer, in sync with my body, part of me. I run my hands over my chest, my stomach, my pelvis. I don’t fight or struggle. The process is complete. I smile and everything within me becomes still.