Serenita
A short, speculative story on the future of pregnancy by Marjolein Pijnappels
‘All wombs were supposed to be picked up at three!’ A worn out Pio Uy snapped at the attendant who called him over his earbuds right as he was about to board the monorail to join the commute home of external workers like himself. Most of his friends were comfortably working from their home offices, scattered all over the world. Still he didn’t regret choosing a vocation that forced him out of his house, and into the hospital. He liked it there. But not so much after the impossible long working hours. Today’s shift included the transfer of foetuses to their families, and it had been a particularly exhausting one.
‘Well, that womb is still here’, sounded the agitated voice of the attendant. ‘And frankly, we’re at a loss what to do with it.’
‘Is Doctor Benitez not in yet?’ Pio asked, mournfully watching the monorail leaving the station without him.
‘She is not’, the attendant replied curtly. ‘She is in surgery, and cannot be disturbed. She made that very explicit.’
Pio suppressed a moan and doubled back to Pasig Reproductive and Maternity Hospital where for six days a week he was the Senior Gestatiologist and responsible for the incubating foetuses in their artificial wombs. Right up until twelve weeks, after which their families would take care of them at home.
Most were very excited to take the foetuses home, as it meant fewer visits to hospital for tactile treatment and connection therapy, which could take place just as easily at home. The family was responsible for attaching the nutrient units, but, just as importantly, establishing a prenatal emotional and physical connection with the growing foetus. Growing babies in artificial wombs, although still a fringe endeavour in the 2040s, was becoming increasingly popular. Deemed safer to mothers and, moreover, enabling extended family members to create intimate and lasting bonds with the new baby before it was even born.
Impatiently Pio entered the prenatal nursery and out of habit began to scan the translucent womb unit and its contents for any irregularities. The foetus, 12 weeks old now, was floating around happily (can foetuses experience joy, he wondered privately) in amniotic fluid. Into his earpod he spoke the command ‘call the Reyes family’ and while he heard a soft confirmation that the pod should be ringing on the other side, it wasn’t picked up and the connected video projection on the wall remained empty.
‘We tried to get a hold of them for the past hour’, the attendant told him, while she frowned and studied Pio’s face for the next step.
‘I had a bad feeling about this family’, Pio confided in her. They were so adamant that we did that prenatal screening that is on the forbidden list, they probably made a runner.’
‘Can they dó that? Surely there must be a way of tracking them down?’
There was, and it wasn’t that difficult. But Pio also knew that families who didn’t have faith in their foetuses, had a bad track record of keeping them alive. It shouldn’t bother him, because they terminated pregnancies up to 14 weeks all the time, but he had developed a fondness for this particular foetus. Even secretly called her a name. Sirenita, little mermaid.
‘Well, she can’t very well stay here,’ he told the attendant who watched him expectantly. ‘A new batch is coming in and we’ll need all the units.’
He rubbed his temple, the emerging headache was now inevitable. ‘Pack up the travel placenta and prepare the womb.’
‘For what?’ the attendant asked quizzically.
‘For me. I’m taking her home for the night.’
When Pio entered the apartment one awkward monorail ride later, he felt oddly unsettled. He had taken care of foetuses like this one for over two decades, but now the doctor felt uneasy, uncertain even. He knew the protocol that followed now, and he also knew that it would cross a boundary he had respected for his whole career.
He unfolded the tripod, connected the wire and carefully hung the womb on it. He adjusted the travel placenta and made sure the heating device was connected to the wireless electric system of his apartment. Now it was time for tactility and establishing an audio-connection. He started touching and stroking the womb’s surface and softly speaking to the foetus inside. For the time being it felt like she was his, that he was the father to this child-in-the-making, and that tomorrow he wouldn’t have to break his head on finding a solution for this being left behind by her biological parents. ‘Serenita’, he said tenderly. ‘Welcome home.’