Mother of Life

2013. In the starting of the new womb life

”Sometimes I think I can feel it. Not so much physical. More spiritual. In the sense that I feel it lives inside me. Like talking to me. It immediately told me that something was wrong when I got sick after the surgery. I hardly got used to being at home before I was back in the hospital. Now it’s different. Now it says “I am fine in here. I’m ready for my purpose. We can do wonders, you and I.”

Mom calls it our uterus. The organ that once was hers and who shaped me and my two younger sisters. My first home. Now it’s my uterus. I didn’t know it then, in the early 2013, but the same uterus would also give life to my two children. Having been useless for a woman for over 20 years, it could be given to another woman – her daughter – and be reused to create a fourth and fifth child. One womb – three generations.

On the outside, there is not so much difference. Apart from a scar on the stomach, I look and behave as I did before the transplant. On the inside it is a profound difference. I’ve got my fertility back, the one who was brutally taken away from me 10 years ago. I’m like other women – again. With the same opportunity and chance of having children. A family of my own. I want to shout it out loud from the roof top. But I keep it quiet to myself. As a secret. Just me and my womb who know. We have our own language. Our own alliance.

I have tried to imagine what she looks like. The uterus. Mother of life. The anatomical images do not really make her justice. For me, she is more of a big warm heart that gives the rest of the body a spiritual peace and harmony. Places that were hibernated, thoughts and feelings that were buried – everything is brought back to life again. By this heart. Symbolically, our son was born with a heart in his forehead. A stork bite that fades over time but which will always have a great significance for us.

(In swedish, the word for ”uterus” is ”livmoder”. Directly translated it means ”lifemother”. Many years ago, before transplantation became real, I wrote an article about my story. The editor of the magazine gave it the title Mother of Life. I liked that expression. Carried it with me and wrote it several years later in my diary.)

A winter vacation at home

Our Christmas holiday disappeared in the flu. Which we made up for with an extra week’s winter vacation now in February. Two weeks at home with nothing but stay-at-home-cosiness. It goes surprisingly smoothly.

The first week of vacation starts with a snowstorm, whereupon travel by car is abandon. Instead, we go bobbing one day and plod in the non ploughed city environment to the bowling alley another day. (One thing we never thought we would do. Plod in snow when you don’t have to, that is). The kids play for a while but then think it is more fun to jump up and down on a seat cushion. Unfortunately, the lack of perseverance seems to be a trait inherited from me. My first series goes pretty well, the rest goes less well. That was probably why I ended up with bowling once in a while. I wasn’t good enough in series three and four.

The kids are at Dad’s job one day. Which if you ask them is the most enjoyable thing with any leave. To go loose completely on a lot of instruments. Drum, marimba, chimes – everything that you can bang on is of course highly appreciated. I love that my children get to grow up surrounded by music. And that Vera exclaims “I love music” is of course music in my husband’s ears.

Henry loves to be at home he. But then of course he misses his best friend E. Which we to Henry’s happiness deal with that dad and Henry go home to E and play for a while. Vera and I instead go to the playground and swing, to her happiness. “Higher mother, higher”. To our happiness, the children sleep one hour longer than usual the next day.

We go to the coffee house. Henry wants a brownie with cream instead of his standard, the chocolate ball. Parents of children with selective eating disorder (yep, it’s a real thing), you understand how big this is. That he chooses something else. That he tastes something for him, brand new. And it doesn’t stop there. Before the vacation has come to an end, he has tasted both orange and homemade pizza. I am still completely shocked. But cautiously optimistic. Is it now, the winter vacation 2019, things are beginning to turn?

We relax a lot. Watch movies and play restaurant and shop. Henry plays Mario Kart, Mario Party and Mario Odessey, Vera paints. Tint pens, ink pens, watercolor, acrylic paint. She has a thousand ideas and every idea she performs with equally great dedication and determination. Don’t dare to interrupt her when she is in her flow.

The husband uses the vacation to practises his trumpet little every day. I use it to read books and clear wardrobes, two activities of equal enjoyment. A dentist’s appointment and a eye infection book their way into my winter vacation. And suddenly two weeks have gone by. The snow that lay in drifts on the streets is practically gone and it is almost spring in the air. Very and little can happen in two weeks.

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