Becoming pregnant was an eye-opener for me. I'd always thought that, eventually, I'd have kids just like everyone else. It was just part of what happens to people as they get older. I grew up on a farm. I never had that starry-eyed Magical Mystery Tour view of pregnancy. Any cow can breed, I tell you, and most of them have.
I hated being pregnant. I hated the mood swings, I hated the soft flabbiness it gave my joints when I tried to do my usual workout. I hated the lack of energy to do my usual routine. For weeks, I wondered what the bloody hell was wrong with me. I knew, I think, but, as they say, Denial is not just a river in Egypt.
Took a home test. Well, actually, I took three of them. Slow learner, I suppose. They were all positive, of course. There was a lot of cursing, I have to admit. Not one of my shining moments. For about a week, I tossed back as much liquor as I could, did hard exercise until I needed to puke, downed herbs and aspirin. You name it, I tried it. Wasn't working, so I finally pulled my head out of my arse and called the Planned Parenthood in my area. Had to go in and be evaluated before they'd give me a recommendation, which wasn't easy, as they were about 90 minutes away.
It's pathetic, really, how the political idiots tried to tie the hands of the poor people who work there. They had to give me a blood test. They had to "counsel me on alternatives."
Finally, I had to tell them, "Look, you're telling me all this because you have to, right? I don't care. I'm not changing my mind, I want a name and an address and I want to go and get my funds together. So give me a doctor and stop wasting my time and yours." They were a bit surprised, I can tell you. Never had someone come in without all the wishy-washy "I want to be a breeder" crap that keeps getting pushed at girls and women these days. Anyway, they put me in contact with a gynecologist who did the abortion. In fact, she's still my gynecologist. I'll drive to see her, not a problem with that. I've got the funds now that I can afford to support her practice – not a lot of people have her kind of moral courage. I got a bit of a surprise later, when my insurance company refunded me for half the procedure. I viewed as a bonus for making the right decision. So, check your insurance policy, that's what I tell the girls now. You might be covered for part of it.
I went for the surgical, rather than the chemical, as it would be over faster and I'd be able to get on with having a life again. It hurt a bit, of course, but no worse than my broken arms have, or, in retrospect, having my IUD inserted. Worth it, though. Absolutely worth it.
They vacuumed it all into this covered glass bell jar. I wish now that I'd had the nerve to ask to see it, but I didn't at the time. I was a bit woozy from the pill she'd had me take before they started, and I wasn't at my best, really. But I wish now that I'd seen it, just to see what all the fuss was about. That $500 (USD) bit of tissue that I hated so much.
And I have to say, I've not regretted it at all. Ever. All I felt, and all I feel now, is this soaring sense of utter relief.
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