Before the abortion, there were the miscarriages, and the daughter I gave birth to and am raising. My husband and I started trying to have a baby when we were 26, married for 3 years. My first pregnancy lasted 10 weeks, at which point an ultrasound showed that the heartbeat – which had been clear only 2 weeks before – had stopped. My doctor gave me cytotec to induce the expulsion of the fetus, and only 4 hours after taking the medication, I found myself holding the fetus in my hands in my bathroom, amazed at just how tiny it was, nothing at all like what anti-choice protesters depict on their placards.
Two more miscarriages later, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder that causes my blood to clot irregularly. In order to carry a pregnancy to term, I would have to give myself injections twice a day to keep my blood thinned out. In addition, I needed surgery to prevent premature labor. A cerclage – basically, a procedure where your cervix is sewn shut – was performed when I was 14 weeks pregnant. After over 560 shots, 40 doctor’s appointments, immeasurable stress, and 18 hours of labor followed by a c-section, my daughter was born, fat and sassy.
Fast forward two and a half years. My daughter was thriving, financially things were great, but my marriage was having serious problems. My husband took a month-long trip overseas to visit his birth family (he was adopted as a toddler from Asia) during the summer, which gave me some much-needed space. I started getting migraines, so my primary care doctor put me on antihistamines, which wreaked havoc on my menstrual cycle and gave me an extra 2 or 3 days of fertile cervical mucus (unbeknownst to me at the time). Upon my husband’s return, we had sex on what we thought was a safe day (based on previous charting) and I got pregnant unexpectedly.
I knew I was pregnant within a week, before a urine test would show a positive. Having had 4 previous pregnancies, I knew exactly how my body reacts to becoming pregnant. A few days later, good old EPT confirmed it for me. My husband told me he would be supportive either way, that since I was the one who would have to bear the burden of everything that he didn’t feel that he should pressure me. That night, I gave myself an injection of heparin, just in case, to buy myself some time to think about it. Sitting there with an ice bag on my stomach, waiting to jab myself, the frustration and stress all came back with a vengeance. I woke up in the middle of the night, completely unable to sleep, and read through the diary I had kept while pregnant with my daughter and the blog I’ve kept since, which chronicled the postpartum depression I went through, and a list I had made previously about why I didn’t want another child.
The more I thought about the reality of what another child meant for me – the physical and emotional strain, not even thinking about finances, I knew I couldn’t do it. In order to maintain my own sanity, and to provide my daughter with the kind of life she deserved, I couldn’t do it. Some people might have felt that I should have had this baby in order to “make up” for one of the ones I lost to miscarriage, but it’s just not that simple. In addition, because I hadn’t been taking the heparin at the time of conception, there was a fairly high chance I was going to lose the pregnancy anyway. I just couldn’t set myself for that kind of emotional roller coaster.
I called my ob/gyn to ask about getting RU486, but to make a long story short, he wasn’t able to get it for me because he hadn’t already signed up with the manufacturer as a dispensing provider. Apparently, there is a whole process you have to go through in order to prescribe it that basically allows the government and drug company to see which doctors are giving it out and in what quantity. I could have gone to Planned Parenthood, but they wanted almost $400, and I have health insurance that would cover the cost of a D&C. I went ahead and scheduled the abortion for later that week.
When I called my mother to tell her I was having an abortion, I prepared to go in to a whole prepared speech about why, and she immediately cut me off, saying, “Sweetie, this is what you feel is right for you. You had an incredibly hard pregnancy to get your daughter here. You don’t have to explain anything to me. Your father and I just want you to be happy and healthy. Just tell me what you need me to do for you.” (I should explain that as a teenager, she had watched her own mother suffer as a result of the illegality of abortion. My grandmother had gotten German Measles while she was pregnant, which causes severe birth defects and fetal death. Grandma, who already had 3 children at the time, was forced to continue the pregnancy until it died in utero and she went in to labor on her own. Needless to say, Grandma is virulently pro-choice, too.)
My abortion was performed at 5.5 weeks, on a Friday morning at the same hospital I had given birth at just 30 months prior. My OB was amazingly supportive, the anesthesiologist was a dream, and I don’t remember a thing from the procedure itself. My recovery was surprisingly easy, I only had some light cramping that day, and some spotting for 2 weeks afterwards.
Less than a month later my husband I separated, for reasons totally unrelated to the abortion. We lived apart for 3 months and worked on our issues and are now back together, trying to make our relationship better. Staying pregnant would not have helped our situation, and would probably have made it unbearable. Sometimes I wish that life was different, that things were easier for me. If a toddler dropped out of the sky and on to my lap, I wouldn’t complain, but the reality of experiencing another pregnancy is not something I ever want to repeat. I’m planning on getting a tubal ligation this spring so I’m never put in this position again. I have no regrets.
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