Fate of a foetus

Fate of a foetus

Is it the fate of the foetus or just sheer luck that we are born who we are?


Who will we be when we are born? That is the question. The UNICEF estimates that an average of 353,000 babies are born each day around the world. Our current world population is approximately 7.2 billion and growing. It passed the 7 billion mark in 2011, and according to statistics It is expected to reach between 8 to 10 billion by 2050. With such extraordinary numbers it’s hard to imagine what so many people like that would actually look like. But who are these people, and what are their stories? And was it predetermined existence or merely just luck that they grew to be who they are.

So with that being said, what kind of life does a new born baby have to expect upon their arrival? Are we all born equal? Are we all afforded the same childhood and upbringing? Or is it simply a vagina lottery? Does the kind of existence and upbringing you have come down to what vagina your little head pops randomly out from?

So picture the scene, cuddled in the warmth of the mother’s womb, the unborn foetus lays peacefully idly in the safe haven of love, protected from the enduring hurt and danger dangling from the society it will soon become a part of. Unaware that when it wakes from delicate slumber, the suffering and tragedy of life is about to awaken its innocent eyes.

fetus-black-and-white

But what vagina will the newly born baby appear out of crying and smudged in blood? As the Doctor snipes away at the umbilical cord what will life bring to this unassuming child?

Will it elegantly slide out of the vagina of a white middle class woman that comes nicely attached with loyal and adoring daddy with a Managing Director job, complete with Lamborghini and a white picketed fence life to look forward to? Will it drop out of the vagina of a fleeing Romanian migrant torn from war and disaster, now forced to sleep amongst urine and feces and beg for spare change in her empty rattling tin can? Or will it burst out of the vagina from a 17-year council estate girl living a life on benefits and puffing on cigarettes while perched on her settee. Catching up on the latest Jeremy Kyle episode from the comfort of her one-bedroom bedsit overlooking the local playground scattered with fag ash and syringe needles while her whining baby gulps on her left breast.

Will it grow into prosperity and surrounded by the luxuries of afternoon tea in South Kensington or will it be riding stolen bikes congregating outside Chicken Cottage with the local ‘’Mandem’’?  Could the innocuous foetus awake to the sound of police sirens on a crime plagued estate where the sight of gangs, knifes and body bags is a vision it will only ever know?

Or will that fortunate foetus be lucky enough to be raised amongst class and nobility in a picturesque country manner surrounded by greenly and prosperity? Where they are more likely to shop at Waitrose as opposed to the £1 shop. Will the babies first words be ‘’Mummy dearest’’ or will they rudely utter ‘’fuck off’’ while mimicking their parents after another blazing row? Worlds apart yet only miles away, will it spend its childhood chasing dreams or dodging the bullets of guns?

Is its destiny to be a poor child raised by an unemployed mum of three while the drug fuelled and alcoholic father dodges responsibility and is nowhere to be seen? With towering council flats dangling over its tiny little head, living on the scarps of state secondary school education and conveyor belted out to be a prized shelf stacker, placing cans of baked beans in order of sell by date in the local budget supermarket as rude and obnoxious customers look down upon them and sneer.

Or is it to be brought up amongst class and nobility and lavished with expensive gifts while living on a private plot of beautiful countryside land in a historic manor? Where it gains entry into the finest educational establishments only money can buy, travelling the world in first class private jets and venturing into another high end corporate job overlooking the vibrant city of London.

I wonder if the foetus, all snug and cosy in the warmth of the womb would voluntarily put themselves up for abortion? If they knew that they would be waking up at 7am every morning to tiredly travel in a congested tube, brimming with people to stand behind a till and take orders of Big Macs and Fries at McDonalds. Would they want to leave that womb alive or strangle themselves to death with the umbilical cord knowing that they faced a life time of poverty low wages and uniforms and name badges.

The path of a foetus is a road long travelled, but is its fate predetermined or is it just a case of a lucky vagina?

Michael Lee
Most things about Michael are hard to explain, like how he is mostly delusional and lives in a half-imaginary world but is also a realist to the core. A weird bunch of contradictions with an obsessive love and passion for writing, normally from a misanthropic and melancholy prospective.

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