Another Mouth To Feed

"I think I'm pregnant."

The words, spoken over a minute ago, were still racing through Jim
McClure's head, as he chased them round trying to pin them down and
divine their meaning. Gradually they tired, and he caught them, stopped
them, and finally understood them. "You really think so?"

"Yes. I did a test this morning. It came out positive. But I didn't
need that. I just know." Shelly McClure, Jim's wife of five years, was
not particularly given to having feelings about things, but he guessed
in this case it was fair to assume that any woman would know when a
knew life began to grow inside her. All the same, he was not entirely
convinced. For one thing, he had had a vasectomy two years ago.

"How the hell could that have happened?" he asked, knowing that she
would have no more idea than he did.

"Well, they did say at the time you had the operation that they could
not be 100 percent certain that it would rule out pregnancy. Because
they only tie the tubes now rather than cutting them, they said it's
possible that sperm can still get through occasionally. I suppose
that's what must have happened."

"I suppose so" he sighed. He rubbed his face. This was the last thing
they needed. The three-year-old took enough bringing up as it was
without another one. But he was sure that Shelly wouldn't agree to a
termination, and he would never suggest it. So, if Shelly was right,
they had to come to terms with having another mouth to feed in the
not-too-distant future. What a start to a Monday morning!

~*~

The formal test conducted by the G.P. had, as he knew it would,
confirmed Shelly's instincts. She was pregnant. The next five weeks
were spent buying, organising, buying, planning, and buying. It was
late one Thursday night when Shelly first mentioned to Jim what she'd
been thinking about for the last three days.

"Jim, I'm not sure everything's right with the baby."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I can't really feel it. Not moving about or anything. I mean, I
know it's there, it just doesn't seem to be doing anything."

Jim rested his hand on Shelly's tummy, trying to feel any kind of
movement within. There was nothing.

"Can you feel anything?" she asked.

"I don't know. But I'm sure everything's okay. And you have the scan
next week anyway. That'll show you everything's alright. Eh?"

"I suppose so, yes."

~*~

Shelly lay on the bed, her blouse and jumper pulled up over her tummy,
which had already been smeared with gel to give good contact with the
ultrasound scanner. The obstetrics nurse, Angela Crosby, slowly moved
the scanner across her, watching the monitor for signs of the
developing embryo. Several minutes passed without speech from any of
them. Jim put his hand on Shelly's shoulder, and smiled at her as she
looked at him anxiously. Eventually the nurse spoke.

"Now I don't want you to worry, it's just that I'm having a little
difficulty locating baby. This can happen, and it doesn't mean
anything, but I'm going to ask the consultant to come and have a look.
Okay? I'll just be a minute. Please don't worry." She smiled at Jim and
Shelly, then disappeared. Jim squeezed Shelly's shoulder and said
nothing.

After five minutes, the consultant, Doctor Amir Hassan, entered the
room, along with nurse Crosby. She stood to one side as Doctor Hassan
sat next to the bed, took up the scanner, and began moving it over
Shelly's tummy again. After a couple of minutes, he stopped it in one
location, then moved it slightly back and forth, up and down, always
coming back to the same point. After another minute, he told
them.

"I'm afraid I have to tell you, Mr. and Mrs. McClure, that it looks as
though Mrs. McClure is not actually pregnant. Can you see this dark
area here?" He pointed to the monitor. "It looks as though we're seeing
what we call a Teratoma, or Dermoid Cyst. I'm terribly sorry, I know
this is awful for you, but unfortunately these can sometimes give the
impression of a developing foetus. I really am so very sorry." After
sitting in the McClure's silence for a few minutes, he felt he ought to
explain exactly what the terms meant. "A Dermoid Cyst occurs when an
egg in the ovary begins to develop itself, without being fertilised. Of
course this isn't a real foetus, and most are just a bundle of hair and
teeth. But in the early stages it alters the body chemistry in the same
way as a foetus would. That's why they are so difficult to detect until
the scan is performed."

After making an appointment for Shelly to have the cyst removed, they
went home.

~*~

Three weeks later, and two nights before she was due to have the cyst
removed, Shelly woke Jim at three in the morning. "Jim, I think it's
coming."

Jim stumbled out of bed and followed his wife into the bathroom, where
she had come from. She was naked. She climbed into the bathtub, which
was a quarter full of warm water. There was a trace of blood already
leaking from her vagina, and as she began to push, the trickle became a
steady flow, which turned the water pink-red. The empty Castor Oil
bottle stood on the side of the bath. After several minutes of pushing
and panting, Jim saw her vagina begin to distend. Reaching down into
the water, he prepared. Before long, a small patch of jet-black hair
began to push its way out from the widening opening. Shelly pushed
again, now making short yelping screams. The patch of hair became a
lump, several inches across. Jim Cradled it in his hands, and Shelly
pushed and pushed, and the lump became a ball. Then Jim saw the face.
Well, not exactly "face". On one side of the ball of hair, a ragged maw
circled with irregular, tiny white teeth could be seen. It was opening
and closing spasmodically. With one final push, Shelly succeeded in
delivering her bouncing, fifteen-week old Teratoma.

It wriggled and writhed in Jims' hands, and as quickly as possible he
wrapped it in a towel, its masses of hair sticky with blood and other
fluids, and passed it to Shelly. Tired as she was, she took her
offspring and brought it to her breast, where it clamped itself
painfully to her nipple and began to suckle hungrily. Shelly looked up
at Jim. And smiled.

"Sorry", she said, "I know we hadn't planned on having another, but
look how young Dermott has turned out." Jim thought of his "son"
Dermott with pride. "He" was now three years old, big as a beach-ball,
and rolled around the house like a thing possessed. "He" was a lovely
cyst. And now they had a "daughter", Terri. He looked on his new cyst,
still feeding ravenously at his wife's breast, and smiled; the proud
father.