Women claiming that they have been impregnated miraculously without sleeping with a man is nothing new of course- a myth that has been around for literally thousands of years. A tale as old as time.
But then it happened to me.
Unlike those ancient myths however, I am not a young nubile virgin, oh no. Just a dumpy middle-aged single mom on the cusp of loneliness, an empty nest looming before me. I hadn’t been dating for years- getting my son through high school and launching him into independence had been hard, and took up all my energy, but worth the effort. He was moving out, into his own place, his own job, his own life.
I had barely paid attention to my own body. The first time I had an inkling that anything might be wrong was when my c-section scar started twitching and moving again.
It was nestled right under my belly, above my pubic area, bright red and hot. Even though it had been almost twenty years since it was cut open to remove a baby, it still seemed fresh and hot to touch. Well, I couldn’t bear to touch it.
I lay back on my bed, pulled down my pants a bit and held up a small hand mirror to examine it. With my recent weight gains, that was the only way I could look at it. I was trying to eat less sweets and move more, I did ten minute yoga routines and went on little walks, but it seemed impossible to keep the fat off, and my belly seemed to be growing daily. And sweets and baked goods were just everywhere.
Sorry, back to the story.
My scar had always been “sensitive” and “tight”. God knows how much I’ve spent on countless applications of oils and creams, all proving fruitless. I had accepted it as part of my body, just one of the many prices I had to pay for motherhood. But now, looking at the reflection of the thin bright red line running below my midriff, it was more vivid than ever.
It moved.
I was prepared to believe it was wholly psychosomatic, a result of the empty-nest syndrome looming over me as Jack prepared to move into his new place.
Then my skin and flesh twitched again. The scar seemed to be rippling. I wondered whether I should go to a doctor or something.
“Mom! Mom! I’m going!” Jack’s voice floated upstairs.
I dropped the mirror, and stood up hastily, pulling up my pants. “Wait, honey- did you take -“
“yes, Mom, everything you told me to” he sighed.
I ran downstairs to him, craning my neck up to look up into his face. He stood there by the door, surrounded with suitcases and overflowing bags. I could never cease to be amazed that this tall beautiful strong creature had come out of my crinkly sagging body. I loved him so much, it was actually ridiculous it was so cliché.
He bent down to hug me. I felt the usual surge of joy whenever we hugged, but this time with a wave of frightening misery.
“Text me when you get there, ok baby?”
“Ok Mom- it’s literally just across the town.”
Was I imagining that his voice sounded gruffer than usual? I tried to guess his emotions as I have been used to doing for the past fifteen years.
Then, my scar rippled again, I gasped before I could help it, and immediately glanced guiltily at Jack. He hated it when I was in pain or sick, and of course I didn’t want to make his departure about me. Certainly I wasn’t going to make a show of illness while he was on the doorstep about to leave.
I smiled. “Off you go then!” I chirped brightly.
He looked suspiciously at me. “Everything ok Mom?”
“Of course!” I exclaimed “don’t worry about me! Amy’s coming as soon as she’s off, we’re gonna have a grand old girls’ night, getting into the wine, not worrying about you! Off you go!”
He lingered a bit, but I could tell he was becoming desperate to leave. I helped him carry his bags to his car, huffing and puffing a bit. Well, more than a bit.
He finally left. The moment the door close, the pain I had been holding back in shot through me, unable to be denied any longer, and I almost fell backward onto the couch, gasping.
I lifted my top and pulled down my pant and underwear, flinching as the waistbands grazed my scar. There was no doubt, even without the mirror, I could now see the scar as I looked over the mound of my belly. It was now a deep crimson, swollen and pulsating. Fear and agony poured through me in equal, increasing amounts.
Actually, thinking back on it, it wasn’t as painful as it looked, more like hot and tight, and I seemed to start floating on the pain.
I leaned back further on the cushions, and raised my legs on the couch’s armrest.
A stabbing pain went through me, as the scar began to split.
I screamed involuntarily, and then grabbed a cushion and bit down as the scar slit further, now a deep crimson river, blood dripping from it on to the couch and floor.
The split deepened, I gave a final scream of pain just as Amy let herself in and rushed towards me. “What the hell- oh my god oh my god-“ she cried.
Amy was in time to see a bloody head emerged from my split-open belly, two tiny bloody hands reach upwards. I was swimming in and out of consciousness, the pain seemed to be ebbing and flowing.
She ran forward to help me, god knows if it was age-old instinct or countless tv shows prompting her. She grasped the baby now lying face forward on my split belly, still attached to me.
Amy staunched the blood with a cushion, and looked around desperately for something to cut the cord with.