The Fall of the Great Jamaican Female

Most of you may know by now that I’m working at Spanish Town Hospital (STH) as an intern. I’ve had the pleasure of being posted to Obstetrics and Gynaecology for three months. I see a lot of females. I would call them women but the truth is, quite a few just don’t fall in that category.

Being the intern, I get to hear the life stories, I get to hear the truths (dem can lie!) and I get to see the stupidity. On a duty night it is a norm for me to see two or three incomplete miscarriages (we do not like the term abortions anymore). Some may have attempted to rid themselves of the foetus before and failed and some are just honest miscarriages. The majority are under 30 years of age with a few being over 40 and an alarming number being under 21 years. The shocking nature of the problem is best understood in short anecdotes.

1. Age 16 Problem: Incomplete miscarriage

Alarming feature (AF): Asketh the stupid doctor (me) “What’s the name
of the partner (baby father)?” A dumb stare then a mumbled ‘Zingy’. I sigh and drop the pen. “What’s his real name?” She looks at me then turns to her mother for help. A quiet and distressing (for me) half a minute passes. The mother asks me to wait while she goes outside to ascertain the man’s name.

Yes, you understood correctly. She does not even know this man’s name! She has been offering him her young body and his name she does not know. He is at least 30. He comes of as intelligent. He refuses to give his name since he is unsure that he is the father and was actually scheduling a paternity test. I shake my head, say ok and leave him be. I’m not interested in this foolishness. I counsel the child and mother.

2. Age 14 Problem: Incomplete miscarriage

AF: Well, clearly you have already seen it. This is carnal abuse and as such requires police intervention. After explaining to patient and aunt the problem and the solution, I ask if they have any questions. Their sole question in this situation of a teenage pregnancy is: “Do you have to involve the police?” I check the docket and inform them that the police was already involved.

I wonder where the mother was and find out that the mother, who is 29, is at home feeling unwell – pregnant herself. I counsel aunt and child.

3. Age 25 Problem: Incomplete miscarriage

AF: At least she is older. So any questions I ask. “When can I start having sex?”

I have to wonder at this woman. She is about to have her womb scraped out to remove the products of a pregnancy she did not want or plan for and all she wants to know is how soon can she start screwing again.

I could go on but I think you get the point. The situation is no less grim on the obstetric side. There are many pregnant teenagers with their soon to be 30 year old grandmothers. There are many women on their fifth or more pregnancy and desirous of more – cause di man wan’ more. A few HIV positive mothers NOT in their first pregnancy (one was in her ninth). And I am amused. For in the last hours they are all screaming and calling to God for help. One even asking what she did to deserve this! But never once have I heard any of them scream: ‘Never again. Ah doan want no more.’

When did our women become receptacles, dumping grounds for men’s sperms? When was it legalised for us to insult our bodies with effluence? When did we decide it was ‘ok’ for us to torture our flowers at young ages with penises too brutal and babies too big? When did men rule our bodies? How is it that what they want is gospel even if it means our death?

We have become dependent on things that don’t love or respect us. Things that laugh at us and bet their friends on how long it takes to ‘fuck har’. Things that don’t even make a visit to the hospital when you have lost their spawn. And I do not exaggerate when I say that only 1 in 20 adult female has a job. They are mostly all unemployed, as are their partners. Unemployed but defensively stating that the child .will be taken cared of’.

They live in tenement yards where they must buy water, where they use pit latrines. But they seek no upward mobility. They all have cell phones but can’t afford an ultrasound. They all have false hair and false nails but pause to remember the name of their man. (Or are they choosing one?)

How can we not think of ourselves as jewels worthy of great things? Have we been so traumatised that we have forgotten how great we are? We are raisers of a nation. Guardians of all things good, strong and beautiful. When did we forget? Where did we stumble?

We are falling.

Falling.