When she turned fifty, Darla chose a bucket uterus for herself. A plastic one. Her barren neighbor, Eloise, needed a replacement, so Darla donated hers. It was as simple as that.
Darla felt too old for a child unless a biblical miracle happened. Pastor Jenkins loved miracles, but he also encouraged women to help other women. He counseled Darla to help Eloise, and that was that. The trade was arranged.
The sample bucket uterus didn’t feel heavy in the doctor’s office. It had a handle for insertion and removal. A plastic surgeon with a plastic uterus, Darla muttered. She was offered other replacements: a pink balloon, Tupperware with a lid, a small safe, a whoopee cushion, and a hot-water bottle like the one her mother hung on the bathroom door. The bucket was only slightly heavier than the silicone breast implants she’d briefly contemplated.
“I’m doing this pro bono,” the doctor reminded them both.
Darla knew that meant she should pick the cheapest option. A bucket did feel like the fun yet practical choice to her. And so it was decided. Consent forms were signed, and a double surgery date was chosen.
Recovery was quick for both women. Eloise’s husband sat between their hospital beds in a red plastic chair. A local news channel interviewed the three of them.
“How did you decide to make this donation?” the reporter asked.
“Because I wanted a baby,” Eloise interjected.
Darla pretended she was tired. The reporter chatted with Eloise, who was wearing a lacy robe and a full face of makeup. Darla suspected Eloise called the news reporter.
After the first day in the hospital, Darla turned her television volume up so she didn’t have to have conversations.
“I’ll bring you my extra zucchini,” Eloise said.
Eloise already gave Darla paper bags full of zucchini.
“It is a body part. A one-time donation. I’m not replacing my intestines with garden hoses even if you bake me zucchini bread,” Darla said.
Eloise went back to cuddling her balding husband. He seemed indifferent. Darla honestly thought he might have preferred Eloise keep her broken uterus.
“I’ll be pregnant before you know it,” Eloise said to no one in particular.
Darla knew Eloise would bake that zucchini loaf and they’d eat it together. She took a deep breath and let Eloise enjoy the gifted uterus, because that’s what good women do when they give gifts. No strings. Joy for the person receiving the gift.
Both women went home to cookie-cutter houses bought from the cookie-cutter catalog of homes, each pressed, cut, and baked to a homeowner’s specification.
Two weeks later, Darla discovered her bucket uterus was the upgraded version when she emptied it out. It had a gold handle and was made of very thick plastic. She fretted for a moment about possible surprise extra charges.
Darla had been given a brief yet thorough set of instructions from the surgeon to keep on her bedside table. She wondered what Eloise’s instructions were. Open the plastic door on your abdomen carefully. Remove the bucket. Dispose of the bucket’s contents in the provided medical hazard bags.
Instead, Darla emptied the bucket over Eloise’s garden after it got dark. She figured she was doing the zucchini a favor. They did grow inexplicably like Jack’s beanstalks. Eloise had once entered them in the state fair contest and won a second-place red ribbon. Darla had entered a quilt and afghan that also won ribbons, but somehow the bread was more important.
The next month when Darla removed the bucket, it was empty. She shook it out and ran her finger around the inside, but not one red drop fell on the vines and yellow-orange blossoms. She put the bucket back behind its little abdomen door after reattaching the plastic tubing.
Eloise was at Darla’s door when the sun came up the next day.
“I have news,” she said.
“It’s six o’clock in the morning, Eloise,” Darla said.
“I’m pregnant,” Eloise blurted. “My cucumbers are doing their best ever, and we’re having a baby!”
“Congratulations,” Darla said.
Darla meant it. For the cucumbers, and for Eloise.
The two women sat down together, one patting a baby bump and the other a bucket bump. They sipped tea and ate sliced zucchini bread off Darla’s delicate, floral china.
After a socially acceptable time of chatting about babies and baby cucumbers and a little bit about yarn and fabric scraps, Eloise walked back home.
Darla took the bucket out of her abdomen for what she thought was the last time. It was still completely empty. She hung it on a hook in her kitchen. She knew Eloise would need it to gather her cucumbers.
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Artwork courtesy of the New York Public Library Digital Collections
