Julule is kneeled down in the dirt of her backyard, crouched over her blood stained hands. Scared. Too afraid to call her depressed husband. All she can do is cry and remember what the doctor promised. Julule and her husband Shamaul had sat in the cramped waiting room overwhelmed with joy and hope. Shamaul had performed all of India’s standard rituals and had prayed for a healthy baby. The waiting room was crowded with pregnant women, but Julule was next after already waiting for over an hour. Before she knew it she was in the doctor’s office which was merely a room, practically bare except for a bed, chair and a strange looking machine.
It was obvious from when the doctor introduced himself that he was blunt and to the point, which was typical of India’s pediatricians. He simply introduced himself as doctor Kevorkian and immediately began the procedure, like a secret agent on a mission. Doctor Kevorkian prepared the machine while Julule tried to relax on the bed, which she found rather hard to do with her heart racing faster than Ian Thorpe in the fifty-meter freestyle. Once Julule seemed a bit more relaxed the doctor applied the conductive gel and began scanning. After what seemed to be an eternity to Julule doctor Kevorkian said in an emotionless tone, “It’s a healthy baby girl.” Instantly Julule broke into tears and sobbed the words “Oh, no. It’s just not fair! Now Shamaul is going to force me to abort her.” This last remark seemed to impress doctor Kevorkian who was only thinking about the money, but he did his best to hide his priority. In a very cold voice he asked, “Would you like to keep her or do you want a dose of opium to abort the pregnancy?” “What do you mean would I like to keep her? Of course I want to keep her.
The Essay on Surgery Nurse Room Waiting
Surgery My stomach and throat seemed to be playing ping pong with my heart as I entered the hospital's waiting room. All week I had been playing it cool telling everyone that the surgery was not that big of a deal, and that I was enthused about all the attention I would be receiving. But today reality had hit me. I had never been through anything like this before. The waiting room was sparsely ...
But, but… my husband,” Julule cut out in the middle of the sentence as if too weak to continue. As if she just regained her strength she whispered, “No, I’ll try to convince him.” “Okay, suit yourself,” replied doctor Kevorkian in a surprised tone, “It is unheard of for wives to disagree with their husbands in these parts of India!” Julule stormed out the office without even saying a word. She carried a very disappointed look on her face, and prepared for the bombardment of questions, and orders that awaited her from her husband. Shamaul instantly knew Julule was carrying a girl. During the entire bus trip back to the small village, Julule and Shamaul did not say a word to each other.
However as soon as they arrived home Shamaul went from being as passive as a budgie to being as aggressive as a bold eagle in desperate need for food. “It’s a girl isn’t it? I knew it, this is all your fault!” yelled Shamaul. Julule began to cry, “I’m sorry,” wailed Julule, “I’m sorry, but it’s not the end of the world is it?” “What do you mean it’s not the end of the world!” screamed Shamaul, “Without a son I have no-one to hand my fortune down to and the family name will not be passed on to future generations. Instead I have to give my fortune to my daughter’s husband.” Julule had never seen Shamaul in such rage before, but luckily for her Shamaul was not a violent man toward women. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to raise a daughter? We will be poverty-stricken by the time she is seventeen!” “But we can always have a son in the future,” proclaimed Julule. “That still does not make us any richer because we still would have a daughter to take care of,” yelled Shamaul who was very annoyed with Julule’s protective ignorance.
The Essay on My Ex Husband
In the poem “My Ex-Husband” by Gabriel Spera the main character displays hate for her husband, which in time reveals her love for him. The hateful tone in the poem contributes to the fact that she dislikes her husband, but at the same time she is stuck in the past, which keeps her from moving on. The first two lines of the poem introduce us to the a picture of her ex husband: “Thats my ex-husband ...
“If we abort this child that it will simply be murder,” said Julule who had tried to reason with Shamaul’s conscience. “I don’t care! If you don’t abort this child I will throw you out of home and divorce you. Do you want to be a part of the lowest class in society?” asked Shamaul with contempt. Julule was trapped; she had no choice in these parts of India. It is better for a woman to be dead than to be divorced. Julule completely broke-down and headed for the backyard, where she was to do the worst thing she would ever do in her life.
She mixed up some of the herbs and poisonous plants in a small jug of water to create a potion harmful to the fetus but not herself. Julule took a brief glance at the back door where her husband was standing hesitated for a couple of minutes and drank the cocktail of poison. Julule sat there in the dirt of the backyard the whole night as she suffered from stomach cramps and vomited several times. In the early hours of the morning the fetus was aborted from her body. Julule dared not to look. She finally found the strength to look.
The expression on her face grew horrific. She cradled the male fetus covered in blood and screamed hysterically, “What have I done?”.