I was twenty-two years old and about to graduate from college. On my way back to the midwest from visiting graduate schools I stopped to visit my boyfriend, who lived in New York. I'd only been off the pill for a few days and was still having my period, so I never dreamed I could get pregnant.

A little while later, I was walking into walls, bursting into tears at the drop of a hat, losing my hair at an alarming rate, and of course two weeks late. I finally took an home pregnancy test and freaked out. It was especially terrifying because I knew that technically I was an adult and older than my mother, my aunt, my grandmother had been when they had their first children -- but I wanted to go to grad school, I didn't want to get married at 22, and I didn't know how two parents with bachelor degrees in a fairly useless field could support a child. I also knew that if I carried a baby to full term, there was no way in hell I could ever give it up for adoption.

My boyfriend drove over as soon as he could and said he would be there, for "marriage or miscarriage." (I always hated him a little for trying to be clever at that moment.) I had been looking through a lot of websites (including INS.net) and searching my heart to make sure I was doing the right thing. We scraped together some money, called a clinic in Cleveland, and went the next weekend. There was a journal in the waiting room where people wrote down their stories and feelings. The stories were largely sad and regretful, but would have been so much more tragic if that clinic hadn't been an option. So many of the girls there were so young, and so poor, many already raising two or three children.

To my surprise, I was already seven weeks pregnant, just within the safe limits of medical abortion. I took the pill, and the inserts at home. I had no idea how much pain I would go through for the next twelve hours. Vomiting, blacking out -- I was so lucky to have my boyfriend (and heating pad) at my side. I stumbled through the house trying to tell my roommates I had the flu. Finally in desperation I called a nurse, who said, it'll stop soon, honey. It did.

My boyfriend and I broke up six months later, though we've remained close. I got my Master's degree and am a so-called professional now, barely scraping by but making a living doing what I love. It's amazing the difference three years can make. I feel stable and ready for many things that terrified and overwhelmed me at 22. Last night I dreamed for the first time of the baby I might have had. It was a happy dream. There are probably regrets in any result of an unwanted pregnancy, but I know I made the best choice possible and I am so grateful to have had a safe and legal option. I only pray that the choice will remain open to others.