13+ – Klara's Blog

I have such... Such a nasty, awful pain in the stomach. Almost like having a chain saw inside, sawing around. Could it be the period! Is it time now?

Klara Antonsson, 14 years, soon to be a human being who uses sanitary towels and tampons! Soon to be someone, no longer a little child, but rather a young woman with fallopian tubes that just flush out the female stuff. Hope it is the period! I shall check the panties now!

No period. No blood at all in the panties. Not the slightest of blood shocks. Only a complete shock of dryness. But my stomach is shocked. I can no longer stand upright, nor sit down, everything really hurts. Mum is worried. Dad is worried. I'm worried, and think if I'm dying? Die before I reach womanhood. Just like that. Lord how baffling. That close to the goal post, and then suddenly just to die. We are going to hospital now. Perhaps I shall be put down now.

Yeah. This is where I have to lie. In a small hospital room for two patients. But there's only me and dad. My stomach continues to saw on, and it feels totally empty in there. Precisely, how it is, too. Zero food. Still not hungry though, only empty. Dad is full up since he only recently had lunch. I suffer from appendicitis. A tiny, blind gut that keeps sabotaging me deep inside. An appendix. I can see it in front of me. How it's groping around in the dark and just nibbles inside me, bites into everything, that's how it feels. I'm going to have surgery this afternoon.

To be put to sleep. Think if I'm getting my period during surgery?! Since of course the appendix is situated under there somewhere. Am I allowed to wear panties? Think if I'm meant to be lying there with my pussy up in the air with everyone watching and laughing. Only because mine is so childish, and not at all like that of an ordinary fjortis. (Swedish word for a young girl or boy who is stuck up and stupid). Perhaps they take pictures and have them published on the web? Under the caption naked rat. And then, I'll get my period of course, in the middle of everything. Blood is just squirting over all the doctors and nurses, they have to cover themselves up with gloves and towels, and I'm just lying there fast asleep, squirting blood around me. A blood fountain from the naked rat. Now, a nurse, I'll continue later!

PS 1: When I was sitting there by the doctor with my painful stomach, he asked me if I had made my debut! What debut? Written a novel or something? No, sexually. The doctor thought I was pregnant. As for me, I dont even have hair on my pussy! I, who have only kissed one and a half blokes. That's too cool. I looked like someone who had done it. But there was no baby, it was just an appendix.

PS 2: Nice guy in the waiting room. He looked a bit sad. He had all the cool clothes and all that, but he was holding his mothers hand. I like that!

The nurse has left now. I dont think they'll take pictures of my naked rat and have them published on the web. The nurse explained exactly what they have in mind. It would involve putting down cords on the chest (embarassing! My breasts can hardly be seen, and, yes, I wouldnt want anyone to see them. I hardly dare to look at them myself), peace and quiet and drip bottles, and in the case of any piercing it should be removed (yes, that is very hypothetical, as I may not have any piercing, mum). They wash my body precisely where I'm going to be operated on, and I'm allowed to wear panties and an ugly Lucia dress as well. Without having to ask first ( I wouldn't have dared to even), the nurse said that they are operating on people everyday and that they have seen it all and that they haven't got the slightest interest in breasts and bums, but only in the operation itself. Fine. But still. Dad is with me. I don't want him to see my almost non-existent breasts. He doesn't care of course, but I do. I must say to the nurse that dad isn't to be allowed to attend when those leads are put on. Now, there's knocking on the door!

I've had a word with the nurse, who has talked to dad. He is not allowed into the operation. I don't want that. Also, when I was alone with the nurse, I actually dared to ask about the other stuff. But she behaved like a nurse who always knows best. She doesn't know me, and we'll probabably never see each other again. Therefore, it was just a question of asking her, and she promised that she has seen and heard everything already, and that nothing I asked about would give her a shock. It was true in fact. She said she'd seen many fjortisar without hair on their pussies. Many with the worst Afro down there. It's as interesting for her to look at an elbow as it is a pair of titties. The body is a body, and it looks different on different people, and I was fully convinced that they were completely uninterested in me as a body. They only wanted to operate. Good. They were not interested in anything else. And that they wouldn't put me down. They were very careful with all the liquids and they double checked everything to be sure. And in case the period started squirting, the nurse promised to handle it with the greatest prudence. That makes me ready then. Dad looked a bit worried, I noticed. He should also have a chat with the nurses to put him ease, poor man. He is sitting in the waiting room now (or else he's sitting in the cafe getting stuffed with buns and pizza while his daughter is starving up here).

I'm now lying down in the operating room. And by now I'm aware of every procedure. I feel fully prepared, bring me a scalpel, and I'll pull my own appendix out!! They got the worst TV series here. People with masks dressed in green, and sometimes with their faces fully protected. They have asked me at least a thousand times if I'm who I am, so as to avoid any possible mistakes. So that they don't operate on my arm instead, and have the nice guy's appendix taken out. I'm getting leads on my chest. It doesn't feel that embarrassing. A bit naked perhaps, but not worse than that. I'm able to sleep now. Nice. Actually. Since my pain in the stomach is so awful a little sleep wouldn't do any harm in fact. It feels liberating. I also get ice creams sometime after I've woken up. The biggest toddler thing ever, but I am longing for a piggelin (type of Swedish ice-lolly). Not food, but piggelin.

Shit how stiff I feel. And I feel sick. Could it be the period? Or, could it be that I've just had my stomach ripped apart and had a bit taken out? My mouth feels dry. Dizzy. Ready to vomit. Dad. Dad is looking pleased. He is smiling as broadly as if I were newly born and is seeing me for the very first time. Soon he'll start rocking me and giving me the bottle. The feeding bottle. Water. Nice.

I feel rather rough. I'm dreaming about food, but I feel a bit strange in the stomach. Is it the appendix? Is it the period? Or, is it perhaps Ossi? He arrived back on the ward last night. I had sent dad home, and I was lying alone listening. How he was whispering quietly, quietly to his mum, how she was lying next to him, reading. I could only hear his heavy, sleepy sighs and her turning of the pages. He was breathing all right. When the mother had finished turning the pages she switched the light off and had also started breathing, I drew the curtain open slightly. By the light of the lights outside, I saw his handsome face. The dark eye lashes resting against his cheeks. Are the lashes that long, or, were they perhaps shadows? They were probably shadows. Nobody has lashes down to their cheeks. Except Ossi perhaps. At breakfast this morning, we spoke. We were lying there, each with a tray on the stomach, we peeped at each other and talked a little. I don't remember what about. Strange, it was just recently. But I don't remember anything. I can only remember his fine mouth, moving back and forth, and those eye lashes, and that I in my excitement kept asking him about everything, terrified that it would get painfully silent. Oh hell how my stomach is rumbling by the way.

In two hours I'm going home. Shit. Don't want to. Want to stay here beside Ossi. He's in the bathroom now, but a moment ago he sat beside me checking out Die Hard 2 on DVD. His mum was out for a walk, my dad was at work and I was checking out a few lousy action movies that Dad had picked up on his way here. Ossi was lying in his bed sending text messages and then I heard myself asking if he didn't want to check out the movie. I had meant for him to stay in his bed, but that we would still be able to watch the movie, like. But he just said yes and jumped out of his bed and sat beside me. But it was as if he changed his mind, so he moved to the edge of my bed. So he nearly fell off. Sweet, He smells nice. He feels soft. When he giggles he closes his eyes. It's such a simple feeling. But how can it be so difficult to just give him my number?

Ossi's mum brought him a hamburger. I was given some sour old hospital broccoli gratin and I couldn't get one little bit down. My stomach is aching. And my heart. Ossi asked if I wanted half his hamburger. I could have said yes just to get to eat something he had eaten from. Like a kiss. But at a distance. But I said no, thank you. Like I said, my stomach is aching.

I wrote down my number quickly on a piece of paper. Didn't know what to do with the piece. So I just threw it. How strange. I threw it at him like a little ball. I heard myself saying, Here's my number, call me if you want to check out Die Hard 3. Not too bad, really. He actually looked quite happy. Smiled so broadly that he closed his eyes a little. Then he stood there stuttering for a while and at last he managed to say that he hadn't seen Die Hard 3 and that would be fun. Yes!

A new patient has moved into the room. A girl. A rather small girl. She probably doesn't want to see Die Hard 2 and, anyway, I want to be left alone. And think of Ossi. But hell, my stomach is really rumbling!

MY PERIOD! I've got my period!!! Yes, yes, YES! Life here I come! And Ossi has sent me a text message. I don't give a damn about Die Hard 3, but I'd love to see you. As soon as you're up to it. Yes, yes, YES! Love here I come! Period + Ossi = my new life.

We've got scars. One scar on the tummy and one on the arm. But our hearts are fine, without scars. And now we know what the other person's lips taste like. Klara tastes of raspberry and Ossi tastes of snuff. Strange that snuff can taste so good. And strange that an operation can put so many things right. Not only what is broken, but it can sort out love as well. Love, love, love! Ossi and Klara forever.