Lalit. It is difficult for me to speak. Words halt and shuffle under sentiment and I labor to breathe. All was as usual today when I hopped into a cab and was on my way to the sonography. Dr. D awaited me, it was just a routine scan, there wasn’t much thought to it. The fools they call staff around the place made me pee first and then guzzle four more glasses for the procedure. That brought my total to 14 since noon. I even looked over my shoulder a couple times, half expecting the BMC to rap my knuckles for excessive water consumption. Finally, I was in.
Good, good, murmured Dr. D as the cold gel spread over my belly, the smooth end of the pod bearing down on an alarmed bladder. Just mildly polycystic, she said, as she continued to examine my ovaries. They’re well-behaved, as you know. Haven’t ever been cause for trouble. So I lay back and let her earn her fat pay cheque.
Kidneys, check. Urinary tract, check. Uterus, the pod dug deeper. I casually turned my head toward the screen. Emptiness, naturally, stared back at me. A cavernous space, quiet and unused, minding its own business for three routine decades.
WHY AREN’T YOU HERE? I WANT YOU TO BE HERE. WHERE ARE YOU? WHY AREN’T YOU HERE, WHY, WHY? Half roar, half hysteria, the words flung themselves at the screen. I turned for Dr. D’s reaction. She was dictating away. The nurse in the corner hadn’t noticed anything amiss. The being formerly known as me pleaded with the blackness, willing my eyes to see a shape, railing in unreasonable hunger, consumed by a bodily need no logic could perforate. But baby, you’ll say (and I’ll pardon the terrible pun), you’ve never had a child! You aren’t planning one now either, so why the agony?
I don’t know, Lalit. I wish I could say it took me by surprise. But no emotion save blind urgency was permitted to address me while the virgin longing coursed through my body and held it utterly captive. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The room melted away. Dr. D travelled into another dimension. The nurse ceased to exist. I did not obey my own body. All that excess water pricked the back of my eyes and flooded mountains in my throat. Atlantis drowned all over again and oceans rose to demand a tenant. For the first time in my three routine decades, it was just me and a baby I wanted to exist. I fear motherhood, Lalit. The erasure of carefully constructed thought, plan and reason.
Back at baseline, I reacquaint myself with consequent emotions and catch my snatched breath. Maybe what happened this afternoon was an aberration. Oh well, now we know I have somewhat healthy ovaries.
Wisdom Wears Neon Pyjamas 
OJ, how do you write like this? So beautiful! I am trying to deal with my infertility and time and time again ask the same question, “WHY AREN’T YOU HERE?”
your writings take my breadth away OJ…
“But no emotion save blind urgency was permitted to address me while the virgin longing coursed through my body and held it utterly captive”
“All that excess water pricked the back of my eyes and flooded mountains in my throat. Atlantis drowned all over again and oceans rose to demand a tenant”….
beautiful!!!!
i know i have commented several times in the past to write a book…perhaps you should consider teaching a creative writing course-use your talent…flaunt it more!!! i am sure there will be many enthused and keen learners out there wanting a piece of your magic, including me. i have friends and family members who think i should publish some of my writings…i am blown away by their confidence in me and everytime someone mentions it, i humbly accept their faith in me and quickly refer them to your blog!
amen sukanya .
i think even if OJ just keyed in a batch of numbers it would read brilliant.
your fan forever.
visited a few times but never commented. Absolutely beautiful. No words I put here will do justice to how nicely this one has been done. Kudos 🙂
I am speechless. You have transferred that blind urgency into my body. My eyes are wet.
God bless,
Anjali
You are brilliant.
Same as above…a hundred times more.
this gnawed at my heart. even if I haven’t been there. listen to the girls, OJ. a book awaits.
Tears pricking this old cynic’s eyes, OJ. Write. You were born to write.
Lovely! You have a gift – I sure hope you nurture it and become famous!:)
Sharon
Ammu: I’m so, so sorry, Ammu. 😦
sukanya: I wish my writing took my breadth away too, hon. 😉 Nothing does.
And really, can’t teach when there’s no method to the madness, no?
maidinmalaysia: Aww, that takes me back to school and the days of fan clubs. 😀
Sands: No justice required. Just say hi!
Anjali: Uh oh. Sorry. 😦
M4: Oh wow. Thanks, hon.
nino’s mum: A book, girl, will be the death of me. 🙂
dipali: It costs, Dipali. The words may come easy but they dredge up too much else. Not always, thankfully.
Sharon: Not equipped to deal with fame. 🙂 But thanks. Must confess I do no nurturing at all.
Ok, I’ll keep the comment simple then – this piece was perfectly crafted. You are gifted writer 🙂
su: Thank you, su. I didn’t bother with any crafting, though.
this is so like a piece of music..climbs to a pitch and then quietens down so beautifully. l
“A cavernous space, quiet and unused, minding its own business for three routine decades.”…
“All that excess water pricked the back of my eyes and flooded mountains in my throat. Atlantis drowned all over again and oceans rose to demand a tenant”
m wowed, all over again.
pri: Oh wow. You make it sound so clever. Thanks.