Cutthroat

TRIPLETS

Tamara MC

We named them: Fuchsia, Turquoise, and Black Ivory.

The moment they were fertilized, before they had even become fetuses, everything

about them had been genetically determined.

How do you speak about losing three babies? Technically they weren’t babies, but blobs

—fertilized eggs that had turned from two cells, to four cells, to eight cells. On the fifth

day, they turned to blastocysts, before they would become an embryo. And, only by the

twelfth week, would they have become official fetuses.

On October 24, 2017, I abort Fuchsia, Turquoise, and Black Ivory over an eight-hour

period, from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. Throughout the night, my toilet fills with blood and clots. I

don’t flush. Each time I run to the bathroom and release, I turn on the light and stare at

my babies. I collect their every bit and piece.

After my blood ceases, I reach into the red water, scoop my babies up, and clutch them

one last time. I bring them close to my chest and then up to my mouth. I kiss. Slowly

they trickle through my tensely closed fingers running down my lips, chin, and neck.

They cascade down the front of my white nightgown before they splatter onto the cold

hard floor.

Bloodied lips and all, I huddle over them. I pray. I unwind toilet sheet after toilet sheet

after toilet sheet. I wipe the ground over and over until most of my blood has been

placed back into the bowl. I lean over the seat, hold it with both hands, and hunch over.

I stare one last time at Fuchsia, Turquoise, and Black Ivory. I flush.

51

HOW TAMARA GOT HER BREATH BACK

Tamara MC

I.

A Lithuanian Jew bred me

I ate rye bread

Had an argument with my mother about being Muslim

End it now, she says. End this damn Islam thing.

I won’t. I can’t.

I will rip out your eye, she says

I will take a pistol to my heart, I say

I will turn it to my face

You will see my anger

Oh me, who is full of power

Pop! Pop! Pop!

You’re a savage girl, were always a savage girl, she says

I am a soaring girl. I soar, I say.

You are a sore loser, she says

I live in the House of Faith, I say. This is my house.

Pull up a chair. Sit your ass down.

Dipping, dipping, dipping, I dip out.

The moon is shining. I shudder from the bright light.

Shut-ter up, she says.

You old hag, I say

I will sail away on a boat. Sail, sail, sail.

II.

Fog filled the sky

I couldn’t see behind, in front of, or below me

I watched Blazer as he scampered

Smelling the bush

The concrete

The car tire

Coyotes were howling

A dog was barking back at them

We took a different path

Charles held the leash

I held myself back

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From screaming at him

He was insistent to know

What it was about my things

That made them so personal

He couldn’t love me

I said to myself

I don’t feel protected and safe

We passed more Christmas houses

Passed a house with a stuffed animal collection at its front door

We passed my ex boyfriend, Josh’s house

I noticed a silver car

It must be her car

The RV was still parked beside his Tacoma

I wanted to run inside

To the home that used to be mine

I wanted Josh to protect me with his gun

To get on his Harley with his biker friends

And escort me through life

Charles didn’t speak

A dog yapped at Blazer

III.

I felt gravel on my bare feet

I was unable to put back on my flip-flops

Cross-legged, I focused on my breath

The brighter greenery in certain leaves

The black beneath her fingernails

Wondering if she was a potter, or a gardener

My sheets filled with stones

Turning over again

Swiping dirt from underneath my right hip

The white cotton tenderly hugging my skin

He breathed in through his mouth

And out through his nose

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The flaps on his lips trembled

I had a hole in my purple leggings

I wondered if Norman the Buddhist noticed my skin

My long blond hair strand curled up on my left leg

Was I getting my breath back?

IV.

In the ER they ask me to rate my pain

Maybe a 2, I say

I’m not in pain

I can’t breath

We will take you for x-rays, the triage nurse says

To protect the baby

V.

He shot me in the butt

The hormones seeped into my musculature

Charles, I say, as I always do

Avoid my sciatic nerve

I feel the liquid move from the tip of the needle

Piercing my skin

The sting

The puncture

Like a three-dimensional spider web

Filled with air and hope

The hormones scurry from my hip

To my ovaries

They expand

As my lungs deflate

VI.

I receive a call from my primary care physician

Your D-Dimer test came back

It’s very high

You must go to the ER immediately

We were walking Blazer when I got the call

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I’m leaving, I tell Charles

Charles doesn’t offer to come with me

He dresses as usual

Gets ready for work as usual

Does his usual

As my lungs collapse

Trembling I turn the wheel of my Honda

Try to keep my car moving straight

A new triage nurse is at TMC now

She looks at my files

You were here last night, she says

Yes, I say

What’s your pain level?

Still a 2, I say

We will have you see a doctor immediately

Ten minutes later, I am called back

Last night, we did an x-ray

Today we will need to do an MRI, the doctor says

VII.

My babies, I scream

The tech comes to get me

I have babies inside my belly!

Babies? he asks. How many?

Three!

VIII.

I walk by myself for an hour

Talk to God

I’m talking to you, God

I don’t stop

I keep talking

Someone is listening

55

NEVER

Tamara MC

: i thought we would have babies together

: i thought I would be wearing maternity clothes from “Destination Maternity”

: in the mall on Sunday we sat

: at the Tucson Mall drinking “Gloria Jean’s Gourmet Coffee” we discussed

: our baby

: the baby we would have together—Fuchsia was her name

: i’m in New York; you’re in our condo in Tucson

: the temperatures are in the 60s, turning to Fall

: here I’ll have a change of seasons

: the sun is always out in Tucson—always summer—always sunny

: “you’re going to have a do-over” you said

: “this baby is going to be different” you said

: “the father is different,” you would say

: you followed me for 26.2 miles

: twins—we planned

: fuchsia and Turquoise

: i would take Fuchsia to dance, dress her in pink

: you would take Turquoise to football, basketball

: i saw your long arms and legs in them

: i saw Fuchsia’s curls

: i saw my daughter

: “you’re not too old,” you said

: “you have the eggs of a 25-year old,” you said

: six months ago, we break up

: for three years we try to make a baby

: you fail to tell me you don’t have sperm

: you fail, Slim Pop!

: i’m lucky now if I have one or two remaining eggs

: no one, NO ONE will be able to impregnate me ever again

: you stole from me

: you stole the last years of my fertility

: you stole Fuchsia and Turquoise

: i will never have another baby again

: never

: never

: never

: never

: never

: never

: one day we are fertile, and then the next day we are not