It turns out that I was indeed pregnant, but not by the man I thought I was. You see, I just had a miscarriage. I didn’t even know I was pregnant, and it seems it was about 8 weeks old before it died. I’m lucky not to have blood poisoning or something, as the doctor reckons it’d been in there for quite some time. Ew. Thankfully, I was already in the emergency room when it fell out of me, as I thought I’d had my drink spiked.
Knowing I was pregnant makes me feel disgusting, if I’m honest. I’m sure my stance on pregnancy and children is already clear, but there’s another reason why I don’t like having a fertile womb. It reminds me of my sex, in the chomosonical sense. My womb is part of my unwanted womanhood. Hell, just using the phrase ‘my womb’ makes me feel bad. I do not want this womb within me. I do not want an organ that is specifically female and for the use of harbouring fetuses. I consider myself genderqueer, leaning strongly to the male side when it comes to my body, and a womb is not right for that.
I need to have a doctor who will understand this. My womb is not wanted. Having it is distressing, and this miscarriage situation is just another horrible reminder of my internal situation. I have a doctor’s appointment due tomorrow, to discuss the possibility of a D&E, to clean out any remaining tissue, and I will bring up my unwanted internal organ then. Hopefully, he will finally listen.
