Issue Three: Resistance Isn’t Futile

 The centre was just 15 minutes away. Walking was good for her osteoporosis, so she opted not to take the car. On her way she remarked on the proliferation of lost uterus signs on utility poles and hoardings lining the sidewalks. Many had ultrasound photos. ‘Have you seen this uterus? Call 511-678-2317’ said one. The black and white picture was grainy. How would she be able to tell her uterus from anyone else’s? She took a photo of the sign anyway—who knew—maybe they looked different in person. 

When she arrived at the centre it was full. 

Apparently, she wasn’t alone. The Centre for Lost and Stolen Uteri (she was unused to the plural form) was full, mostly with women, and most of them well past menopause. Her husband would be pleased to see they had all made an effort, Susan thought. She took a number and took a seat beside a woman who looked to be about her own age, wearing striking red lipstick. 

‘I like your lipstick,’ she said. 

‘I’m hoping my uterus sees it and comes back,’ whispered the woman, smiling. The possessive pronoun was risky given they were in public, but women their age often made this mistake. 

‘You think it ran away?’ Susan asked, surprised. It hadn’t occurred to her that her own uterus might have done so. 

‘That’s what my husband said,’ the woman answered, then leant towards Susan conspiratorially and whispered: ‘He said it was because I had an abortion, back before the Claim.’ 

‘Shhh,’ said Susan, noticing the woman’s lipstick had spread to her teeth. ‘You got a little smudge there,’ she said, pointing to the woman’s mouth. If calling a uterus your own was risky, confessing to having had an abortion was even worse. The woman pulled a compact out of her purse and checked, rubbed at the stain on her front tooth with her finger. 

‘Thanks,’ she said. 

‘We’re in this together,’ said Susan. “My name’s Susan.” 

‘Wendy,’ said the woman. 

The receptionist, a woman in her early 20s, called out a number and Wendy rose. 

‘Off to make a report,’ she said. 

‘Good luck!’ said Susan. 

‘Good luck to you too,’ said Wendy. Susan felt a pang of empathy as she noted Wendy’s limp as she left through the door marked Missing. It was all she could do not to limp sometimes herself. Her right hip had been killing her for over a year now, but a hip replacement was out of the question. The pain was nothing compared to the mess the house would be in if she was immobilized for six weeks. Good housekeeping was requisite for women who had aged out of making babies. 

It was another hour before Susan’s number was called. First the ultrasound to verify that her uterus was in fact missing. The technician was not allowed to give the results even though Susan could clearly see the blank space where it had once been. And so, she had been ushered into the room where the doctor had confirmed the results and told her she probably didn’t need her uterus anyway. And then back out into the waiting room where she sat now. 

To her surprise a man in his early fifties took the empty seat beside her, ticket in hand. 

‘I’m here for my wife,’  he said, catching her stare. ‘She says she doesn’t care. But she hasn’t been the same.’

 The receptionist called out another number and it was hers. 

The missing reports desk was manned by a female police officer who looked to be exhausted. No spring chicken either, noted Susan. The woman’s frown lines made her look perpetually angry. 

‘You Susan Belanger?’ said the officer, barely glancing up from her computer screen. 

‘Yes,’ said Susan, reaching into her purse and producing her health card and driver’s license for inspection. 

‘Uterus gone missing?’ said the officer. 

‘Yes - am I not in the right place?’ Susan wondered. 

‘Yes, no—just have to check,’ said the officer, appearing irritated. ‘How long?’ 

‘I don’t know.’ 

‘That’s going to be a problem.’

‘That’s what the doctor said,’ answered Susan. 

‘Last time you saw it?’ asked the officer. 

‘I had a cyst a few years ago,’ said Susan. 

‘Alright. Fill this out and put it in the slot outside the door,’ said the officer, handing her a piece of paper. 

Susan took the paper and rose. 

‘What do you think the chances of finding it are?’ 

The officer looked up. Her skin appeared grey in the flickering fluorescent light. 

‘I’m not supposed to say this, but my guess is your chances are about zero.’ 

*** 

Where would her uterus go? wondered Susan as she walked home. She was feeling defeated. Even if she didn’t need it anymore, even if the doctor was right, it wasn’t like she didn’t feel some sort of attachment to it. Her uterus had, after all, played an important role in her life. They hadn’t been on good terms for some time after the Claim but she had eventually come to terms 

with that. Her uterus was a part of her, cysts and all, but where had it gone? If it had left her, why? 

Lost in her thoughts, Susan didn’t notice she’d already passed her house. She just couldn’t face her husband right now. Not with the news that her uterus might have left her. What if her husband decided to do the same, or worse, admonish her for their remaining years together for having been so careless? That would definitely be worse. 

Susan turned into a small park at the corner of her street and sat on a bench next to an elm whose leaves were turning yellow. The air was crisp and Susan was glad she had thought to wear layers. 

The sound of chirping drew her eyes upwards. In the branch above her perched her uterus. It was a perfectly normal uterus. She thought it looked like a ram’s head with pigtails (where the ovaries were). And she knew it was hers immediately. 

Her uterus did not, however, appear to take notice of her. There it perched, happily chirping. Susan remained motionless. She didn’t want to scare it off. To her amazement it was soon joined by another. Two uteruses, and then another joined as well. It looked like a whole flock of them was gathering. Soon the tree branches were full of them and Susan could see, yes, in fact they were distinguishable one from the other. In colour, size, shape. Every single one, different. Every single one chirping and apparently happy to be free … 

Susan rose and the uteri startled and flapped their ovaries in unison. She turned to see a woman in leggings and an oversized poncho approaching, 

‘They’re going to Mexico,’ said a woman. She was carrying a paper lunch bag. ‘Chocolate?’ she asked, holding the bag under Susan’s nose. 

‘Thank you,’ said Susan reaching into the bag. 

‘Is yours here?’ asked the woman. 

‘They don’t belong to us,’ said Susan, munching and looking around for police officers. 

‘Right, well the one I was responsible for is over there,’ said the woman, pointing to the small brownish one on the branch next to Susan’s. She rattled the bag and the uterus dropped from the branch to alight next to her feet. The woman scattered some of the contents of her bag on the ground in front of it and the rest of the flock dropped as well – Susan estimated there were about 20 of them. She marvelled as she watched her former ward use its fallopian tubes like hands, grasping the candies and then stuffing them up what she imagined used to be the part that had connected with her vagina. 

‘They’re much happier now that they’re free,’ said the woman. 

‘Are they really going to Mexico?’

‘I hear it’s better for them there, especially in the winter,’ said the woman. 

The woman’s bag was empty now and the uteri began to rise to the tree branches again. 

‘They’ll be leaving soon.’ 

Susan gazed up at the flock above her. Who could blame them? She would not pursue hers any longer than was necessary for appearances. She waved at her uterus and blew it a kiss. She was gratified when it flapped an ovary at her. 

‘They like chocolate if you ever want to come back and feed them, but they probably won’t be here for much longer,’ said the woman. 

Susan nodded. She felt much better knowing her uterus was off to better things. It would be free and so would she, of the unwanted burden of someone else’s property. 

Susan left the park and returned home. 

‘Did you file the report?’ asked her husband, who was eating lunch at the kitchen island. 

‘Oh yes. They say they’re sure to find it,’ said Susan, picking up the travel section of the newspaper from the kitchen table. Mexico would be perfect this winter.