Sunday, August 30, 2009

Bit Of Prose

So I read somewhere that a BNP ex-minister said that rape was like force-feeding a woman chocolate cake. Here's my response to that. Fair warning, the following is graphic.

Mango sorbet is wonderful. Or it used to be. I haven't had it in a while. Used to take great pleasure in sharing a cone, or a bowl, with my boyfriend. After we broke up I spent a few evenings eating sorbet with people I knew as acquaintances. It still tasted great, even though the atmosphere was different. Still melted on my tongue and made me coo with pleasure.

Then one night at a party I slipped up. Someone offered me lime sorbet and I turned it down. It's not as good, you see. Not to me anyway. I only said I didn't like lime flavour so I should have been clearer.

I wish I'd been clearer.

A few drinks later I woke up in a room with the Icecream Man and a few of his friends. I can't count how many. One had a scoop out and was smearing mango sorbet over my mouth. The cold made my teeth ache, my brain ache. It wrapped around me like a wet blanket and constricted. They were all so big standing around the bed. I couldn't talk because my lips were frozen. I couldn't tell them I was scared, that it hurt my teeth because it was so cold. Frozen.

One shoved a cone of sorbet into my mouth. It splintered, sharp little edges biting into my gums to make me bleed. He wouldn't stop. I choked on it as the scratches oozed blood. Oh god, oh god. My eyes stung with tears as I fought to breathe past my icy windpipe. It felt like I'd inhaled a whole scoop of sorbet which clung to the inside of my lungs. So cold.

My lips split, one gouged by a further shove of the cone when it was struck by a metal scoop. And struck again as they packed more sorbet into me. I couldn't taste the mango through the blood any more.

The Icecream Man and his friends took turns to force more sorbet into me. It was all I could do to swallow rather than choke. I just wanted them to empty the tub and be done.

I vomited most of it up afterwards, cones, blood and all. I was so ashamed. Why didn't I just say no? Scream it? Fight?

The next day saw me go through an entire tube of toothpaste and half a bottle of mouthwash. It hurt, but it helped. Somewhat. I could still taste the residue no matter how much I scrubbed or garbled and spat. It clung to my teeth like glue, and it felt like my whole head was on fire. It wouldn't go away.

Two years on and I can't stomach mango sorbet. My chest goes tight every time I smell it, or see someone eating it. Please don't feed me again.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

An Epiphany

It's a very strange feeling when one realises what one wishes to do as a job. Even as a calling if you so wish to call it that. I suppose there'd better be a bit of background before the event.

If you read this blog you'll know I'm a feminist. I don't think I could hide that with a fuckton of paint and brain implants. I'm not sure how many of you know my background in science but it's rather strong thanks to parents and family culture. And school, really.

The two fields have been drawing ever closer in my mind of late with some very nasty occurrences to friends which made me wish to rend a dickhead or two open and possibly brand "rapist" into a forehead but that's not my story to tell. Feminist readings around Teh Intarwebz have continued the trend including a lot of background research into rape, women's issues and most importantly abortion.

Thus we come to the point. I've decided that I wish to be an abortion doctor, whether in Australia or overseas. It's something that I feel I can do to really make a difference. I'll be going for post-grad Ob/Gyn training because nothing short of a fucking miracle would get me the marks to go into undergrad med school. And then there's the wondrous issue of cost but that's a rant for another time, sadly.

I can see this decision coming up against a lot of resistance in my family. Catholic parents aren't usually positive about this kind of thing and my mother is definitely not a fan. However, screw them for a lark in the face of my Feminist Drive. Other factors which may try to go against me are friends and acquaintances who don't agree with the practice. Not surprisingly, I have few of those. At present there's also the tragic risk of getting shot or blown up but I suspect that's more in the US.

Perhaps in the future I will be able to save a few of you readers, or your sisters, cousins, aunts, friends etc from all the horror and pain of unwanted pregnancy. The pro-lifers can go stick their heads in lead paint.