Other relatives of the girl came up to her saying: “What’s wrong with you? I thought we had agreed on everything last night. Quit crying and go on in there. You’re too young to ruin your life like this.”
Even a hospital assistant offered a few words to the girl: “You can’t be like that. Why are you crying? You better dry those tears. You have to study, because we blacks have to study so that the white people can’t come along and kick us to the curb. So you go in there now, don’t be crying. You’re going to spread those little legs like you did when you got in this mess. You just breathe deeply and you won’t feel anything.”
Convinced, she went back into the room.
The mother then announced: “Tomorrow I’m going to give you a good beating. All you are is a big headache.
“Poor thing,” I then said to her. “She’s just going through a bad time.” But I stopped immediately when I saw the mother’s pain in her eyes. Then she said, “I went through a bad time too. I’ve spent my working life. I’ve given everything and look at how they pay me.”
I entered the room and the doctor plunged his fingers inside of me: “How far along are you?” he asked jarringly. When I explained that I was there for a biopsy his demeanor changed, he became kinder, less anxious.
He gave me a shot, and then I didn’t feel anything.
Oh yeah, that feeling of empowerment just coursed through me as I read that moving account. Women's power, yeah baby!
