Surgical Spirit

My friend Kath had a baby last week, after her second round of IVF.

Five attempts for me. I quickened each time but never made it to full term.

Miscarriage. Sounds like something to do with trains, not something to do with death.

Fibroids, cysts, and a malignant tumour.

They took out the cot and left the playpen.

A complete hysterectomy, no more babies, and no more hysteria.

I find little to laugh about these days.

Because I am empty. Barren. A non-woman.

Well, half a woman.

I still have my tits.

From: Friday Flash Fiction

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