Depuis cinq ans, je vous ai racont\u00e9 ma vie. J'ai partag\u00e9 avec vous mes meilleures recettes et mes grands succ\u00e8s. Je n\u2019ai pas non plus l\u00e9sin\u00e9 sur les d\u00e9tails concernant l\u2019\u00e9chec de mon mariage. Je vous ai aussi parl\u00e9 de mes voyages et de l\u2019ordinaire que j\u2019ai endimanch\u00e9 avec mes mots. Je vous ai avou\u00e9 que je cherche encore et toujours le grand amour, m\u00eame dans les agences de rencontre!<\/p>\n
J\u2019ai \u00e9crit sur tout ce que je souhaite compl\u00e9ter avant de m\u2019envoler. Il me reste encore quelques secrets que j\u2019ai pleur\u00e9s tellement de fois. Vous les d\u00e9voilerais-je avant d\u2019accrocher ma plume?<\/p>\n
Toutes ces larmes glac\u00e9es, tous ces horribles mots venant de l\u2019\u00e9poux, me tuaient \u00e0 petit feu. Je n\u2019avais pas trente ans et ma vie tournait uniquement autour de lui, de trois enfants et plusieurs d\u00e9m\u00e9nagements qui nous avaient men\u00e9s ici et l\u00e0 dans des logements bourr\u00e9s de coquerelles. J\u2019avais peur la nuit lorsque le plus jeune se r\u00e9veillait et braillait. Je savais qu\u2019une arm\u00e9e de blattes dansait sur le plancher de la cuisine et j\u2019\u00e9vitais d\u2019allumer une lumi\u00e8re pour ne pas les voir en r\u00e9chauffant le lait pour le biberon.<\/p>\n
Quant \u00e0 l\u2019homme, joueur, danseur et buveur, je m\u2019inqui\u00e9tais lorsqu\u2019il arrivait aux petites heures du matin. Lui resterait-il un peu de force pour transporter les enfants dans leurs lits? Immobile, les yeux ferm\u00e9s, mon corps lui tournant le dos, je feignais de dormir. Je ne pensais qu\u2019\u00e0 m\u2019enfuir de cet affreux mariage qui me privait de ma langue maternelle, de la lecture et de l\u2019\u00e9criture qui me manquaient tant.<\/p>\n
Comme l\u2019homme dormait jusqu\u2019\u00e0 midi, j\u2019habillais et nourrissais les enfants presque en silence, et hop, chaque matin, nous d\u00e9gringolions les trois \u00e9tages miteux de cet affreux triplex avec le tout-petit bien attach\u00e9 dans sa poussette. Mon c\u0153ur en lambeaux et mon \u00e2me aussi vide qu\u2019une \u00e9glise pa\u00efenne, j\u2019essayais de sourire. M\u00eame lorsqu\u2019une voisine me disait bonjour, j\u2019avais juste envie de pleurer tellement mon malheur me pesait.<\/p>\n
Fin septembre, peut-\u00eatre d\u00e9but octobre, mes r\u00e8gles se d\u00e9r\u00e8glent. Je connais les premiers sympt\u00f4mes par c\u0153ur. L\u2019angoissant retard du sang, mes petits seins gonfl\u00e9s et sensibles, les naus\u00e9es, la grande fatigue et mon ventre qui se bombe un tantinet. Je calcule p\u00e9niblement les jours\u00a0: 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33\u2026 J\u2019attends le sang qui n\u2019arrive pas. Comme avant. J\u2019ai mal au c\u0153ur, mal \u00e0 mon corps, et ma t\u00eate \u00e9tourdie se doute qu\u2019une nouvelle vie s\u2019agite en moi. Je ne dis rien \u00e0 ma m\u00e8re ni \u00e0 mon p\u00e8re, et surtout rien \u00e0 ce bon \u00e0 rien qui s\u2019en contrefiche certainement. J\u2019essaie bien de me cacher, mais mes trois petits m\u2019entendent sangloter. \u00ab\u00a0Pourquoi tu pleures, maman?\u00a0\u00bb, me demande ma fillette. Je crains d\u2019\u00eatre enceinte une fois de plus et j\u2019ai juste le go\u00fbt de pleurer. Vais-je en parler \u00e0 l\u2019homme qui ne me regarde jamais? Il entre son arme en moi et me trucide chaque fois.<\/p>\n
J\u2019\u00e9cris ces lignes ce matin et je ressens encore mon d\u00e9sespoir d\u2019autrefois. Pr\u00e9textant une douleur au sein gauche, j\u2019attends le samedi pour que ma belle-s\u0153ur Maria puisse garder les enfants quelques heures. M\u00eame sans paroles, elle sait bien de quoi il s\u2019agit. Elle-m\u00eame s\u2019est rendue au gros h\u00f4pital, et a \u00e9tendu son corps sur une table de m\u00e9tal glac\u00e9.<\/p>\n
Le mari toujours endormi, je me pr\u00e9pare \u00e0 pas de souris. Je m\u2019assure d\u2019avoir en main ma carte d\u2019assurance maladie et d\u2019\u00eatre \u00e0 jeun 8\u00a0heures avant le rendez-vous fatidique. Je bourre une grosse sacoche de v\u00eatements amples et un haut \u00e0 manches courtes pour la piq\u00fbre au bras. J\u2019apporte aussi trois ou quatre grosses serviettes hygi\u00e9niques et un paquet de vieilles guenilles propres.<\/p>\n
Lorsque je quitte le triplex, je verse toutes les larmes de mon corps. J\u2019ai presque envie de changer d\u2019id\u00e9e, mais lorsque je touche le trottoir, je marche courageusement jusqu\u2019\u00e0 l\u2019arr\u00eat d\u2019autobus. Arriv\u00e9e \u00e0 l\u2019h\u00f4pital, une infirmi\u00e8re m\u2019installe dans une petite chambre et me demande de remplir un long questionnaire sur mon \u00e9tat de sant\u00e9. Lorsque la femme revient, elle me fait une prise de sang ainsi qu\u2019une \u00e9chographie pour \u00e9valuer le stade de la grossesse, puis elle m\u2019explique le d\u00e9roulement de l\u2019intervention. J\u2019ai d\u00e9j\u00e0 subi un avortement, en Gr\u00e8ce, \u00e0 peine un mois apr\u00e8s avoir donn\u00e9 naissance \u00e0 mon plus jeune fils. Le vieux m\u00e9decin qui avait effectu\u00e9 mon examen de suivi d\u2019accouchement avait d\u00e9voil\u00e9 ma grossesse au mari et, de connivence avec lui, m\u2019avait endormie pour m'avorter. Cet embryon avait \u00e9t\u00e9 retir\u00e9 sans mon consentement.<\/p>\n
Cette fois, j\u2019ai pleinement conscience de ma d\u00e9cision. Elle torture autant mon esprit que mon c\u0153ur. L\u2019infirmi\u00e8re \u00e9coute mes pr\u00e9occupations et r\u00e9pond \u00e0 mes questions. Je pleure, j\u2019ai honte, je veux m\u2019enfuir, je veux mourir, mais comment pourrais-je abandonner mes trois petits? J\u2019enfouis ma t\u00eate sous l\u2019oreiller et j\u2019arr\u00eate de respirer.<\/p>\n
Lorsqu\u2019une nouvelle infirmi\u00e8re arrive et m\u2019informe qu\u2019elle doit prendre mes signes vitaux, elle m\u2019installe un petit tube dans une veine. Elle m\u2019explique qu\u2019elle m\u2019injectera des m\u00e9dicaments contre la douleur et un calmant; elle me conforte et m\u2019informe que je ne serai pas endormie, juste un peu \u00ab\u00a0gaz\u00e9e\u00a0\u00bb.<\/p>\n
J\u2019ai soudainement tr\u00e8s peur lorsqu\u2019un homme tout de blanc v\u00eatu, un m\u00e9decin, je suppose, entre dans la pi\u00e8ce. Il s\u2019approche de mon corps. L\u2019infirmi\u00e8re m\u2019explique que le m\u00e9decin va geler le col de l\u2019ut\u00e9rus, ce passage par o\u00f9 le b\u00e9b\u00e9 sort normalement au moment de l\u2019accouchement.<\/p>\n
Je sais trop bien que ma situation n\u2019est pas id\u00e9ale pour mettre un autre enfant au monde. Je sais aussi, ma belle-s\u0153ur me l\u2019a dit, que le m\u00e9decin sp\u00e9cialiste introduira un petit tube de plastique qui ressemble \u00e0 une paille pour aspirer le contenu de mon ut\u00e9rus. Je pleure, j\u2019ai peur, je m\u2019en veux d\u2019avoir peut-\u00eatre oubli\u00e9 la petite pilule que je devais avaler chaque matin.<\/p>\n
\u00c0 peine la proc\u00e9dure termin\u00e9e, on me transf\u00e8re dans la salle de r\u00e9veil pour une petite heure. Une infirmi\u00e8re v\u00e9rifie mon rythme cardiaque, ma pression, mes saignements et si l\u2019effet des calmants et des m\u00e9dicaments antidouleurs pouvant diminuer mes r\u00e9flexes et ma concentration s\u2019est att\u00e9nu\u00e9. On me sugg\u00e8re fortement d\u2019\u00eatre raccompagn\u00e9e \u00e0 la maison. Moi, je surveille l\u2019horloge et j\u2019angoisse \u00e0 l\u2019id\u00e9e du trafic et des autobus bond\u00e9s en fin d\u2019apr\u00e8s-midi et du mari qui cherche peut-\u00eatre o\u00f9 je suis. M\u00eame s\u2019il ne se soucie aucunement de moi, il remarquerait mon absence. Je m\u2019habille lentement, mettant dans ma culotte deux serviettes hygi\u00e9niques et une guenille.<\/p>\n
Toute seule, je descends lentement le grand escalier de l\u2019h\u00f4pital. Je sors et je marche \u00e0 petits pas jusqu\u2019\u00e0 l\u2019arr\u00eat d\u2019autobus. Comme je dois lui sembler un peu fatigu\u00e9e, une jeune fille m\u2019offre son si\u00e8ge. Durant le trajet, je passe par toute la gamme des \u00e9motions. Arriv\u00e9e devant le triplex, je manque de courage, je m\u2019effondre. Mais je dois me ressaisir avant que quelqu\u2019un ne me remarque, ou pire, que le mari s\u2019en aper\u00e7oive.<\/p>\n
\u00c9puis\u00e9e et m\u2019agrippant \u00e0 la rampe, je gravis une par une les marches qui m\u00e8nent \u00e0 l\u2019appartement. J\u2019appelle ma belle-s\u0153ur pour l\u2019aviser que je suis de retour et qu\u2019elle peut me ramener mes enfants. Je prends une grande respiration et j\u2019avale ma douleur. J\u2019enferme cette journ\u00e9e dans un tiroir de ma m\u00e9moire; un tiroir que j\u2019ouvre peu puisqu\u2019un atroce grincement de souffrance se fait entendre chaque fois.<\/p>\n
Cora
\n\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Depuis cinq ans, je vous ai racont\u00e9 ma vie. J'ai partag\u00e9 avec […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":63411,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-63410","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"During the last five years, I\u2019ve recounted my life story. I\u2019ve shared my best recipes and my successes. I didn\u2019t skimp on details about my failed marriage. I\u2019ve told you about my travels and everyday life that I\u2019ve embellished with my words. I\u2019ve admitted that I\u2019m still searching for the love of my life, having even tried my luck with a matchmaking agency!\r\n\r\nI\u2019ve written about what I wish to complete before flying away. I still have a few secrets over which I have spilled many tears. Will I reveal them to you before I put down my pen for the last time?\r\n\r\nAll the frozen tears and all the horrible words that came from Husband\u2019s mouth were slowly killing me. I wasn\u2019t 30 yet and my entire life revolved around him and the three children, moving from here to there, to another cockroach-infested apartment. I was afraid each time the baby woke up at night crying and hungry. I didn\u2019t switch the lights on when I heated the milk bottle so I didn\u2019t have to see the cockroaches dancing on the kitchen floor.\r\n\r\nAs for Husband, the gambler, dancer and drinker, I\u2019d worry when he came home in the wee hours of the morning. Did he still have enough strength in him to carry the children back to their beds? Motionless, with my eyes closed, I kept my back to him and pretended to be sound asleep. All I thought about was escaping an awful marriage that had deprived me of my native language and kept me from reading and writing, which I missed terribly.\r\n\r\nSince he\u2019d sleep until noon, I\u2019d dress and feed the kids, almost in silence, and then we\u2019d tumble down the three flights of the dreadful triplex\u2019s dilapidated stairs with the littlest one strapped securely in his baby carriage. I\u2019d try to smile, even with my heart in shreds and my soul as empty as a pagan church. When a neighbour would say hello, I simply felt like crying, crumbling under the weight of my misfortune.\r\n\r\nLate in September, maybe early October, my period seemed to be off. I know the first symptoms well. The dread of being late, my small breasts swollen and sensitive, the nausea, fatigue and a belly growing a little rounder. I painfully count the days: 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33\u2026 I wait for the blood that never comes. Just like before. My heart aches, my body aches and my dizzy head suspects that a new life is moving inside me. I don\u2019t say anything to my mom and dad, and certainly not a word to good-for-nothing Husband, who doesn\u2019t care anyways. I try to hide, but the three children hear me sob. My daughter asks, \u201cWhy are you crying, Mommy?\u201d I\u2019m worried I\u2019m pregnant again, and all I want to do is cry. Will I talk about it with the man who never looks at me? He puts his weapon inside me and butchers me every time.\r\n\r\nI\u2019m writing these lines this morning and I can still feel the despair from those days. Pretending to have a pain in my left breast, I waited for Saturday so that Maria, my sister-in-law, could babysit the children for a few hours. Even without words, she knew what I was up to. She\u2019d also been to the same big hospital and stretched her body on a cold metal table.\r\n\r\nWith Husband still asleep, I tiptoed as I got ready. I made sure I had my health card in hand. My stomach was empty, as I had to stop eating at least 8 hours before the fateful appointment. I stuffed a large bag with a change of loose-fitting clothes and a shirt with short sleeves for the needle that would be injected into my arm. I also pack three or four large sanitary pads and a bunch of clean rags.\r\n\r\nAs I left the triplex, I released all the tears my body had been withholding. I almost changed my mind, but when my feet touched the sidewalk, I found the courage to walk to the bus stop. Once at the hospital, a nurse took me to a small room and asked me to fill out a long questionnaire about my health. When she returned, she took my blood and did an ultrasound to evaluate the stage of the pregnancy. She then explained how the procedure would go. I\u2019d already had an abortion, in Greece, barely a month after giving birth to my youngest son. The old doctor who had performed my postnatal exam had informed Husband that I had become pregnant again. They colluded to give me an abortion. The old doctor put me under and removed the embryo without my consent.\r\n\r\nThis time around, I was fully aware of my decision. It tortured my mind and my heart. The nurse listened to my concerns and answered my questions. I cried, I was ashamed, I wanted to run away and die, but how could I abandon my three little ones? I put my head under the pillow and stopped breathing.\r\n\r\nA second nurse came in and informed me she had to check my vital signs. She inserted a small tube into my vein. She explained that I would be given a painkiller and sedative. She comforted me and told me I wasn\u2019t going to be asleep, just a bit \u201cout of it.\u201d\r\n\r\nI was seized with fear when a man entirely dressed in white walked into the room. The doctor, I presumed. He approached my body. The nurse explained to me that the doctor was going to freeze my cervix, the passageway through which a baby emerges at birth.\r\n\r\nI was well aware that I wasn\u2019t in any situation to bring another child into the world. I also knew, because my sister-in-law told me, that the doctor would insert a small straw-like plastic tube into me to draw out the contents of my uterus. I cried some more, I was afraid and I blamed myself; maybe I\u2019d forgotten to take the small pill I was supposed to swallow every morning.\r\n\r\nMoments after the procedure was over, I was transferred to the recovery room where I stayed for an hour. A nurse checked my pulse, my heart rate and whether the bleeding had lessened. I couldn\u2019t leave until the sedative and painkillers, which had weakened my reflexes and concentration, had worn off. They strongly recommended that someone accompany me home. I watched the clock and became anxious thinking about being stuck in the late-afternoon traffic on a bus full of passengers, and that Husband might wonder where I was. Even if he didn\u2019t care a shred about me, he\u2019d notice if I were absent. I got dressed slowly, thickening my underwear with two sanitary pads and a rag.\r\n\r\nAll alone, I slowly descended the hospital\u2019s big staircase. Once outside, I made my way to the bus stop with small steps. I must have looked a bit tired because a young girl offered me her seat. On the way home, I went through the full range of emotions. In front of the triplex, courage failed me and I collapsed. I had to get back on my feet quickly before someone saw me, or worse, before Husband caught sight of me.\r\n\r\nExhausted, I climbed the stairs to the apartment step by step, holding onto the rail. I called my sister-in-law to let her know I was home and that she could bring the kids back. I took a deep breath and swallowed my pain. I locked this day away in a drawer in my memory. A drawer I rarely open because of the terrible wailing that is audible each time.\r\n\r\nCora\r\n\u2764\ufe0f"},"yoast_head":"\n