Grief

Grief

by Orville Lloyd Douglas

I woke up this morning wishing I was dead, except I'm not. I should of
died
last night since I consumed too much medication but I am unfortunately
still
here. I live in the real world where there are difficulties and daily
struggles. I look
outside my bedroom window as the rain pours fiercely on to the city
below. Lightning
crackles like a whip across the sky. People are running frantically
across the sidewalk
for the bus shelter while automobiles and taxi cabs splash water on to
the sidewalks. I
just shake my head as the unpredictable weather causes havoc for the
city.

It's time for my morning fix of heroin. I grab a needle from my desk
drawer and wrap my black belt around my right arm tightly. I carefully
jab the fine point of the
syringe in a vein and then stab the needle right inside. I close my
eyes as the sensations
trickles through my body. It's an incredible feeling like a wave of
fire has engulfed
me. There is no need for speak, move, or think, it is simply
time
to relax and enjoy the high.

Today is Monday, the start of another week, that has the possibilities
of being
either dreadful or hopeful. I have no faith right now, as I grab my
stomach and rub it
slowly. I'm three months pregnant and my body is changing before my
eyes.

I am only twenty one years old yet I have varicose veins and gained
thirty pounds
especially on my hips and thighs. Becoming a mother was never a goal
of mine and
unfortunately it's my duty. I loathe the fact for the next nine months
my body must
be held prisoner to this disgusting fetus that is emerging within me. I
often find it
ludicrous that I am somehow a bad person since I want to terminate my
pregnancy.

There is so much grief and unresolved feelings I've been going through.
One minute I think I am doing the right thing and the next I become
despondent.
Sometimes I have feelings of sadness one minute and madness the next.
It is the
alternating emotions that enrage me. Why am I pregnant with this child?
I can't deal with
this shit much longer. I deserve better then this !

I slowly rise from the white sheets and saunter into the bathroom to
brush my
teeth. As I look into the mirror, I don't even recognize myself
anymore. My face is
warped and bloated like a beach ball. My cheeks were once full of life
but now they
are deflated and gaunt. There is so much bitterness in my almost
comatose bloodshot
eyes since I haven't been able to sleep in over a week. There is so
much I had to live for but I'll never accomplish this now.

Who am I? I was once Justine Bradshaw, an aspiring anthropology
student. I am now a nobody. I've become my worst nightmare, just
another statistic. I had ambition to be a productive member of society
and now I require welfare assistance. The other day a friend of mine
she told me that being pregnant should be one of the happiest moments
in my life. How can this possibly be true? I am living in a foreign
city in Toronto all alone with no one to talk to. My family is back
home in Halifax while I suffer in silence.

Staring into the mirror curiously at my reflection I noticed creases
on my
forehead and wrinkles around my sagging eyes. I've been crying a lot
lately
the past few months praying that something good can come out of this
grief. I had to
visit the hospital yesterday due to the infection I had in my right
arm. It's inflamed yet I don't care about the constant pain I
endure.

Today's my first hit since last week Thursday. I've been shaking and
trembling
uncontrollably due to the heroin. I had no choice but to succumb to the
demons within
me and satisfy my addiction . I splash the cold water on my face this
gives me a jolt and
I feel alert . I remove my blue nightgown and turn on the faucet. The
water is luke
warm. I grab the soap and I start to rub it all over my body.

The cleansing does nothing to change the impurity in my life since I am
a dirty whore.
There is so much sadness and misery that has engulfed me. I am a
prisoner in my own
apartment.

At the hospital last week my doctor said there is a chance my unborn
child
may become infected with HIV since I am HIV positive. I go to bed every
night and I
try to find comfort sleeping to only scream in agony that I am carrying
a child that may
not have a future and die from Aids. I don't want my child to go
through the suffering
I've had to endure.

My life is an example of Aids the world chooses to ignore. The
prevailing stereotype of people dying from Aids are middle class gay
white men. The truth is many people of color are dying especially a
disproportionate amount of black women. If a stranger stared at me he
or she would think I am healthy. However, I am
not since I have to be constantly taking powerful drugs like AZT that
has side effects. I occasionally wake up in the morning and vomit right
on the hard wood floor. Other
times I sleep for long hours and I wake up still fatigued. The stress
of the medication
could potentially have an affect on the fetus. I can't help wondering
what is happening to
the unborn child?

I rub the soap across my abdomen and I smile, turn off the tap and
wrap a a white towel around my body. My morning shower is one of the
few moments I have too myself. A few stolen minutes when I don't have
to worry about the distress that's
been going on in my turbulent life. I wish I could turn on a television
set or a radio to escape for a little while but I can't afford one. I
touch my shoulder and notice that the lesions on my left shoulder blade
are flaring up again. I 've been HIV positive for three years and only
recently have the complications occurred.

I am actually lucky that I have a little bit of time to live. My
ex
boyfriend, Michael has full blown Aids and I am not sure how much
longer he will be
alive. I should see him for often but I would rather not. What is the
point? He's going
to die anyway while I have the responsibility of raising a child that I
resent and don't
want. My life wasn't supposed to turn out like this. Everything was
going smoothly
until I met Michael. He is such a smooth talker the kind of man that I
usually tend to
avoid. At the time I was bored with the rudimentary schedule of going
to school.
I craved excitement and Michael was my excuse my outlet. At first it
was exciting
getting drunk and stoned after a great night of dancing. It was
wonderful to meet
a man that was a real man. Michael was so strong and manly. He has the
husky voice
and the attitude of being in control.

"Hey babe you ever tired snorting up?" Michael asked one night
as we sat in his apartment holding one another.

"Yeah I have sure why not." I responded trying to be strong and

confident. Michael pulled out a plastic bag that had white powder. He
placed it on the
table and simply started snorting. I looked at him. He seemed so
strange crouching over
on his knees and as his nose sucked in the toxic powder. I followed and
as I bent
down as the coke went up my nostrils. It was a surreal bizarre
experience. I was mortified
and terrified at the same time.

Michael and I were destroying one another with our personalities
and
behaviour. When I became pregnant Michael was already sick and frail. I
knew something
was wrong but it wasn't until after six months since we broke up I
learned he was
dying in a hospice.

I've only visited him one. It is devastating to see the man that you
love
die before your eyes. I had hoped he would be able to see his child at
least once. I doubt
he ever will . The last time I saw Michael he was emaciated and
understandably
despondent. The aids has destroyed his immune system and there was
nothing anyone can do to save him. I held his skeletal hand and prayed
that Michael will live a few more months so he will be able to see his
child.

"One important moment occurred and I will never forget what Michael
said to me
just sure our baby will be happy." I grasped his skeletal hand held it
firmly not knowing
what to say. I tried to be strong and supportive. However, inside of me
I know he die will soon. Michael is clinging to life by a thread he can
die at anytime. We both did not cry even though my solemn brown eyes
were swelling up fighting back my anger. When I left Michael I can only
hope it was not the last time I will see him.

I live in a decrepit bachelor apartment above a convenient store on
Jarvis street.
My neighbourhood is filled with desperate lonely people trying to
survive anyway they
can. The prostitutes and drug dealers are hibernating during the day
and they emerge
from the shadows when night falls. I have a job in the afternoon at the
local
supermarket. The money isn't very good and I need something to do with
all of this
misery in my life .My job is the only place where I have some solace
and peace.

I have an appointment at the clinic with Dr.Walker for the abortion.
No matter
what Michael says the final decision is mine. I am the one that cries
myself to sleep since
I am the woman that is carrying a child, I don't want. I saved up a
little bit of money
and hopefully I will recover quickly. Dr. Walker said that the
procedure shouldn't
take too long . quickly put on a loose pair of blue jeans and black
turtleneck sweater on
with my rundown sneakers and catch the streetcar in front of the
apartment. The rain
has subsided a bit but the sky is ominous and overcast as the darkness
blankets the sky.

The streetcar ride to the clinic is relatively fast. I look at my
watch and it is
10:15 am, I have few minutes to spare. At this hour there are no crowds
very few people
are around and I am safe. I calmly walk into the clinic and arrive at
the reception desk.

" Hello my name is Maxine Bradshaw, I have my appointment with
Dr.
Walker at 10:30 am." I said with softly.

" Yes, Ms. Bradshaw Dr. Walker will be with you shortly." The
secretary said.

I sat down and grabbed Time magazine and I flipped through the pages. I
kept on
wondering if I am doing the right thing? The child I am having will
have no future.
Michael is dying and I dropped out of university since the tuition was
too high and my expenses for the HIV medication was necessary instead
of paying for university and
buying books. The provincial government has been spending money on big
business
while students are paying the price. My child will be hungry and poor.
I close my eyes
and breathe I know I can do this. I place the magazine on the mahogany
coffee table and
sit patiently.

Fifteen minutes pass as my heartbeat accelerates and the palms of my
hands start
to become sweaty. I am breathing large gulps of air as my forehead
perspires. It is now almost eleven o' clock and I am still waiting. I
glance at the receptionist and stare into her cool blue eyes. She is
probably middle aged as I can see the gray in her brown hair. I wonder
about the woman's personal views about young mothers that have
abortions. I am guessing she is indifferent about the situation since
she works at an abortion clinic.

" Ms. Bradshaw, Dr. Walker is waiting for you in her office." The
receptionist said
in a clear voice.

" Thank you." I reply as I gather my thoughts.

I walk cautiously on the linoleum waxed floor counting my steps as my
legs begin to freeze due my growing fear and anxiety. Dr. Walker's
office is at the end of the hall only a few feet away yet it feels like
an eternity. I already had the consultation to discuss the procedure
and the process for the abortion and today I will terminate the
pregnancy. I reach her office stone faced with a stoic
uneasiness.

" Justine how are you?" Dr. Walker asked as she glanced at me with
sympathy

from her office chair.

" I am ready. I know the consequences." I say.

I sit down in the brown chair across from Dr.Walker's desk.

" I don't want you doing anything you don't want to do." Dr. Walker
says

with empathy.

" I cannot raise this child alone now that Michael is dying at a
hospice what

more can I do?" I said with an exasperated perplexed look on my
face.

" Justine the procedure is fairly routine. I can place you under an
aesthetic

and it will take less then half an hour to complete if there are no
complications."

" I know the circumstances Dr. Walker and I have to go home and think
about

it." I said.

" Justine, everything will be alright." Dr. Walker replied as
she

held my hand for support.

I don't remember much after my discussion with Dr. Walker. I recall
being told to walk to the operating room down the hall and that it the
rest is a blur.

The rain had stopped yet the sky was still black and desolate. I
walked to the bus
stop uncertain about everything as various thoughts and emotions were
unravelling
through my convoluted mind. I will never have to worry about
morning
sickness or feeling guilty if I shot up on drugs. I could smoke weed or
snort coke and
party all night never having to worry about anything except getting
high. My life would
be much easier and I would have less stress. Maybe being pregnant is a
sign that I should
of work harder and make something out of this mess that I call my
life.

There are these moments that are like clouded thoughts trapped in my
memory.
These thoughts are cluttered in boxes that have been scattered across
my mind. Inside
These containers are the ideas the intense painful emotions of
jealously and bitterness
that I have had to deal with. I have pushed and forced these images,
words ,and
sentences below and beyond the point of return. Who would want these
terrifying,
frightening, and melancholy events from the past to reappear?

Part of me wants to unlock the terror while the other subconscious
side wants
to resist through all of the cryptic murkiness.
I riffled through my black purse for a cigarette and grasp the lighter
as I smoke. I
am not perfect and my life is a clear example of this. I am a junkie
and university
dropout. All I want is for my baby to have the opportunity to live and
have a chance.
Maybe I am not the right person to be the mother. There is still the
grief and lose that is hard for me to explain. Shrouded and cloaked
within me is a sense that even though I had the abortion I feel
incomplete. There is no point in me raising a child I don't love and
can never love as my own. What point is there to bring a baby into the
world whose mother resents it so much? I would hate if every morning if
I heard a whaling cry from the baby I would be grief stricken. I
probably
question my motives and the reasons for not having the abortion. But
giving the child up
for an adoption would be the easiest way out for me. I am still not
sure what I am going
to do. All I know is that I will never love or want this baby.
Hopefully someone with
more maturity will one day. The cool black wind passes by me on this
Monday
morning I will have to deal with my decision for the rest of my
life.