I was in the bathroom at work one lovely May afternoon expecting a period that never came when it first occurred to me that I might be pregnant. Three weeks previously I’d slept with an old friend and sometime-boyfriend of mine; we had been occasionally sleeping together since October or November. Though he was not my boyfriend, we did have a loving and respectful relationship, and we had always been great friends. We’d used a condom, but there was a slight question of whether it had slipped off during or just after sex. A VERY slight question. I suppose in hindsight, the morning after pill might have been a good idea, but at the time I figured that even if our latex buddy had indeed sabotaged us, the chances of pregnancy were microscopic with that one isolated incident. So naïve.

I went out to dinner with my friend that evening, and mentioned casually that my period was late, but we both laughed and talked about all the times we’d been paranoid in the past and thought we were pregnant, even when using birth control diligently. I went home and counted up the days between all of my periods in the last year, and realized that I was currently at 35 days from my last period. I had, at other times, reached 37 days. I decided to wait and see.

My birthday was coming up on Saturday, and on Friday night after a happy hour with friends, I decided I had to take a pregnancy test and get it over with. I told my friend I’d let her know what happened and that I’d need a drink after taking the test either way, science be damned. We were still joking, laughing, and I just knew that I would take that test, see a negative result, and have a bottle of Chardonnay with friends and a secret but huge relief in my heart.

It didn’t turn out quite as I envisioned. The result popped up almost immediately, and was glaringly positive. Heart pounding, I left the room for the recommended three minutes, now thinking that it was probably just an immediate false positive. When I came back, the answer was clear. I cried hysterically in my quiet apartment for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes and thought my options over. I’ve never been the maternal kind, and I’ve never been sure if I EVER want children … I certainly didn’t plan on having one at 23. I would have to put everything on hold. I’d been looking to buy a home, and my real estate interests would have to shift from trendy loft-style condos in up-and-coming neighborhoods to charming little homes on quiet suburban streets in good school districts. The father of this little surprise was not my official boyfriend, and only a few people knew I was casually seeing him; to further complicate that situation, we had gotten in a huge fight a few days previously and weren’t even on speaking terms. After about five minutes I knew what I wanted to do, and I went on the Planned Parenthood site to read up on abortion.

I called my friend on the morning of my 23rd birthday and awkwardly broke the news. I never thought I would have to say the words “I’m pregnant” out loud, or at least not until I was happily married and in my 30s, and yet there it was. She was shocked, but so supportive … together we talked through the process of abortion and looked up all the appropriate phone numbers. It was a Saturday, and so I could not even talk to anyone at Planned Parenthood. Instead, I got up, forced myself to stop crying, got in the shower, and celebrated my birthday with a positive pregnancy test in the bottom of my trash can.

What’s funny is that I had a truly great birthday. We went shopping, we had drinks, bought fancy cheese at an open-air market, watched a movie, and then went out to a festival and a few bars later. I managed to be completely distracted for most of the day, and I think that’s exactly what I needed. Every so often I’d see a pregnant woman or a baby, and I would think about the fact that there was a tiny little clump of cells inside of me and that I was having a beer, pretty well ignoring the whole situation. It was odd, but I still felt already that I’d made the right decision. There wasn’t any question in my mind. The only rough part was when the guy I had been seeing called me late in the evening. Luckily, we played phone tag and never touched base; I had decided earlier that day that I didn’t want to tell him about my pregnancy at all, and sobbing drunkenly over the phone was certainly not the way to break the news if I was going to do so. My friend talked me through it, and I managed to get myself off to bed that night without any unceremonious announcements. I did, however, tell one other friend who was out for my birthday, and she was also amazingly supportive. I went to sleep thinking of what incredible friends I had, and how I would get through this abortion safely and with more love than I imagined I had at my fingertips.

I finally got in touch with Planned Parenthood and scheduled my consultation and my abortion. There was much time spent sitting around in the waiting room reading, and I was amazed at the variety of women there. There were a few very young women with parents in tow; there were young women like myself sitting alone and distracting themselves; there were young couples, and a few women who were what I would call middle-aged, two with wedding bands on. People of all races and ages had come to this place for help, and we were all receiving it in a safe, confidential, and relatively inexpensive manner. It is one of the few times when I can say I have felt entirely proud to live in America.

Being rather squeamish about anything in the reproductive region (one more reason for me not to have a baby), I opted for medical abortion rather than surgical. Everyone I interacted with at the clinic was polite and friendly, and I felt as comfortable as I think I could have under the circumstances. I cried a little when I had a consultation with a nurse and she began asking me questions about how the situation had come to be, and I think she hit the nail on the head when she said, “Sometimes being in situations like this causes us to reevaluate ourselves.” In fact, I am crying now, as I write this. I am STILL reevaluating myself. I hope I always will be, even though it is such a painful thing; I had never really been forced to think about who I was as a person until that moment. I was crying in that consultation room for my parents and the fact that I was depriving them of a grandchild they’d never even know about. Crying because I felt foolish for having ever wondered how my aunt so stupidly got pregnant when she was in high school. Crying because the father was someone I actually could see myself having children with in the future, and because I wondered what color eyes the baby would have if I chose to let this tiny little grey sac become a person. Crying because I am a smart, talented, and in-control woman, and I never, ever thought I would be in this situation. But I realized sitting there that when I stopped worrying about what everyone else might think if they knew and focused on what was going to make me happy and help me to live my life to the fullest, ending the pregnancy always felt like the right choice.

A few days before I took the first pill, the guy I had been seeing called to apologize for whatever it was that had caused us to fight. He told me how wonderful he thought I was, and that he didn’t want to waste any more time; he knew he wanted to be with me even though it would be difficult. I broke down and told him about my pregnancy. He was, of course, surprised and overwhelmed; he heard within five minutes that he was going to be a father and then that he was not, after all. He wound up driving over to my place in the middle of the night and just being there with me. We didn’t talk much about it, we just stared at the ceiling and held onto each other, and while I don’t know exactly what he was thinking, I was thinking of how lucky I felt to have him on my side and how lucky I was to have the options I did.

The abortion itself was not as bad as I expected. I took the first pill at the clinic, and the next day I took the next dose. The two friends who knew came over and spent the evening with me; I took my Tylenol 3 and got a little loopy, and they ate pizza and drank wine. When I started to feel particularly crampy and uncomfortable at around 10:00 PM, I retired to my room, and they checked on me every now and then, bringing me water and ibuprofen. The cramping was nothing I’d like to experience again, but I’m sure it was much less painful than childbirth, and the worst of it was over within three of four hours. The bleeding wasn’t even that terrible, and within 24 hours, I felt more or less like myself again.

Thinking about my abortion is a very emotional thing. I had always been pro-choice, but never imagined that I would be exercising my right to choose. I feel lucky, and I feel that I will remember this experience always, and with all its implications. I will feel the anxiety, pain, and fear of being pregnant when I did not wish to be, and that is not a pleasant memory; however, I will also remember the steadfast love and support of my friends and boyfriend, and perhaps most importantly of all, I will always have the knowledge that I made a brave and wise choice for myself. Safe and legal abortion gives women a chance to do that every single day, and I am very thankful.

To split yourself in two
is the most radical thing you can do
so girl, if that shit ain’t up to you
then you simply are not free

‘cause from the sunlight on my hair
to which eggs I grow to term
all I really own is me

Ani DiFranco, “Reprieve”