Frankie and I have been friends for years. Through a series of events that would be comical if viewed on a movie screen, we were never able to take our relationship any further than this – until the past year. There is only one major problem with this; my best friend in the world is a husband, and he isn’t mine. Once it was realized however, just how miserable he liked to think himself, he began to look to me as a shelter from the storm if you will and loving him deeply (unrequitedly I might add) for all these years, I was more than willing to provide the haven he sought.
We started sleeping together and for several glorious months our affair was unfettered with any problems more demanding than trying to find a place to meet and be alone together. One bitterly cold night my libido got the best of me, and we found ourselves in this cheap, run down, ice cold hotel room staring at a broken condom. We had chanced unprotected sex before, and being an avid follower of my ovulation cycle, I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t at the peak of fertilization. Denial was futile as I discovered at my work Christmas party when I tried to drink a cranberry juice with vodka.
The night the evil pink plus sign appeared on the pee stick was one that every woman envisions, dreads, or looks forward to at least once in her life. Unlike the response I expected (fainting), I was actually very composed and calm. I knew instantly that this could not have come at a worse time, that I wasn’t prepared, and that he certainly wasn’t prepared either for another baby. He has five children biologically; one was placed for adoption at birth, two with his ex, and two with his current wife. I immediately sat down on the laptop and researched clinics in the surrounding areas.
I called the next day to find out pricing, hours of operation, etc., and still had not shed one tear, felt upset, or fearful. As the weeks went on while I was saving up the cash needed for the procedure (of all the insurance companies they contract with, lucky me, mine isn’t included), the only storm cloud in my otherwise calm mental state was that I felt like something was wrong with me because I was fully prepared to end this “human life” without an ounce of remorse. At the same time though, my body was turning against me and I was physically miserable. I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t sleeping, when I did either of the two activities, neither were successful. I became weepy and irritable confusing and hurting many of my friends in the process because I’m such an easy going and calm person. I felt as if this awful parasite was taking over my body like in a movie and I was helpless to stop it until I had the money saved.
Finally, I get the money together and I triumphantly drive the hour away to attend my appointment. I took my younger sister (as a reality check) and one of my good friends (who had been to the same clinic herself) and felt happier than I had in almost two months as I put my payment in the hands of the receptionist and got my receipt that said paid in full. In the state in which I had the abortion, laws mandate that there is a 24 hour waiting period between consultation and procedure, but I believed that I would be getting same day service, as several other people I knew had, including my friend.
I don’t know if I angered the doctor because I was the only woman not weeping or guilt ridden and was cracking jokes with the staff and all smiles when I met her, or perhaps it was because I interrupted her lunch, but either way, she shook my hand and told me she would see me at my next earliest convenience which was NEXT WEEK. I was furious. Then as if to add insult to injury, a large snowstorm hit the area the day before I was scheduled to return causing me to have to reschedule for the following week again.
I determined that I would get back to this town come hell or high water even if I had to hire a dog sled team to get there as another eight inches of snow dropped on my town the night before my third appointment. Miraculously though, it missed the town I was headed towards and I was able to safely drive my car to get there. I finally get prepped for the procedure and my doctor comes in the room and is very amiable and chatty laughing with me the entire time. Perhaps she had already eaten lunch this day, perhaps the nitrous oxide they gave me to relax just made me like her more, but the giddy feelings of relief I had topped any old gas; even though I have made casual inquiries about getting it on the open market.
The pain was moderate, no more uncomfortable than I had already been miserable the past two and a half months anyway. The bleeding was minimal, I simply spotted for about two weeks. The emotional baggage immediately after was very surprising though. I became withdrawn and angry with Frankie for making me go through this without him, not helping me pay for it, not being there for me more emotionally. I started to resent (only momentarily thank God as I love them dearly) his other children for being given his blessing for life, while mine was denied it. These feelings of hostility thankfully only lasted a few days, and once my physical health began to return, my mental state evened back out as well.
I didn’t keep the proffered sonogram picture, I don’t imagine that I’ll be sitting around every February 4th with a lit candle wrapped in a blanket weeping over the loss of my son, even though I did secretly name him. I haven’t a single regret and wouldn’t change anything about my decision except perhaps being put in the position to have to make it in the first place – or not running over the protestor that was hurling obscenities at my head as I left the clinic with my car. Frankie and I are still friends, we still want each other madly, but it was a very sobering experience that neither of us wish to repeat.
His wife is the type of woman that would have conditioned her children to hate and blame me and my child for wrecking a marriage that was already capsized and heading for the rocks anyway. My mother is disabled and slowly but inevitably dying from a terminal illness. Nothing about this child would have been wondrous or happy as I couldn’t comfortably ignore my child in the most important years of his life to care for my mother, nor allowed the hate and condemnation from his soon to be second ex wife to spill into my child’s life as Frankie cared for him while I did nurse my mother. I was raised in a single parent household and always promised myself that any children I may have (as I have never wanted any) would not be forced to suffer the same fate.
I went yesterday for my three week check up and was informed that I am completely healed, back to normal, and am now a perfect candidate for the IUC I have been trying to get for several years but been denied as I have never been pregnant prior to this. So while some people would view this as a bad situation (I know, I’ve lost several friends over my “cavalier” attitude towards it all), I believe it has been a blessing in disguise for all of us. He is taking the necessary steps to leave a volatile and emotionally unstable relationship, I am more at peace with the future of nursing my mother through to the end, and I get long lasting birth control that I don’t have to remember to take, change, administer, or bring with me for the next five years.
I fully expect that in a few months this will all just be a hazy memory in an otherwise full and rich lifetime of good and bad ones. Do I think I’m the norm? No, but nor do I think that I’m a bad person either. It is therefore with a loud and proud voice that I have admitted to any that think to question, that I have had an abortion, I have no regrets, and most importantly of all – I’m not sorry.
