I was 19, and I was with a guy [We’ll call him David.] who was 26. He lost a wife and his 4-year-old son in Hurricane Katrina [supposedly] and moved up to Alaska from Louisiana I guess three-four years later for a job opportunity or what have you [supposedly]. He told me he had had a vasectomy [supposedly]. I figured why would someone lie about that? And I assumed it was likely since he had lost his only child.
I’ve been on the pill since I was 16 [about when I became sexually active] and I was always pretty careful. I would have to say I use condoms 80% of the time, and always with a new partner. But seeing as this guy had a vasectomy…and his packaging didn’t like to fit regular condoms, ya know… I figured I was in the safe zone. He even pulled out, but even with that method there’s a 27% chance you’ll get pregnant. I knew my numbers. As unluck would have it, I missed my appointment for my annual pap and the clinic refused to issue me more birth control until I had my appointment. This was in July. – But I had a plane ticket to go see my cousins and family on the west coast that I hadn’t seen in a good 6 years so I couldn’t get in right away for more birth control. I left for two weeks, and when I came back, week later David and I were hanging out and he says, “Speaking of things that are late…?” I was in disbelief. I said, “My period? Well, you had a vasectomy, right?” His response was hesitant. Until he said yes, kind of. Then he accused me of sleeping with someone while I was in the states. Then apologized for it. He was the only soul I had slept with in that time frame. And I was completely confident of that. The sad part was I wasn’t really 100% into him. I stayed with him for the sex mainly after I decided he was kind of full of himself, I figured I’d let him go when I got bored. Too bad it was the other way around.
He kind of spooked me when he mentioned my late period. It hadn’t even dawned on me. My period is always dead on, every 25 days but I can tell just by my body; my breasts hurt, my cramps start a day early, I turn into a bitch. You know, the usual. I don’t even need a calendar. It was about 10 o’clock at night and I drove home, just two miles away, and remembered a friend had left a spare pregnancy test in my center console. I grabbed it, kind of absent mindedly, still not accepting the thoughts that were trying to intrude upon my brain. But when I walked through my door to my house I kind of squeezed my chest with my arms, just to see, I’m not really sure – and my breasts were sore like a bitch. The room spun a little and then I dropped everything and just kind of sprinted to the bathroom, stick in hand.
After I did the urine thing, I set it on the counter and just stared at it, still trying to keep myself in denial so as to not freak myself out. But as the urine went through the stick, I saw the lines appear instantly. I got another rush of lightheaded and about fell off the toilet and into the tub. I had been too concerned to even pull my pants up. Instant panic attack. I wasn’t ready for this. I was still living at home, taking correspondence to try and get my high school diploma that I was already late for! The first person I tried to call was David. I called and called and called. He later informed me that he just knew why I was calling, and that is why he didn’t answer. I called my best friend of 6 years and by this time I was in a full blown panic attack. She was doing her best to tell me it was going to be okay and that I needed to calm down.
I had one more conversation with David after that, and he agreed to pay for my abortion – I did a confirmation test at the doctor’s office and they told me that I was about 4 weeks along. When it came down to abortion day, I could not get a hold of David, and had to cancel. I actually haven’t heard hide or hair of him since. I figured that was it, all my other options were spent, and I decided to have it. I still hadn’t told my family though, since there were doubts in my mind. I wasn’t ready though. I knew I wasn’t, so I made an appointment with Planned Parenthood after I spilled the beans to my sister and she told me that state assistance would pay for it. I was assumed to be 11 weeks. I love my big sister, she would never get an abortion and has two kids of her own, but she knew it was the best option for me and she was still there.
It wasn’t too bad. I had an internal ultrasound [unexpected] and they put a condom around the ultrasound ‘device’ and I decided to lighten the mood by giggling, “Well, at least you use protection.” I’m not sure if the nurse thought it was that funny. I’m not even sure who I was trying to lighten the mood for, either, her or me. She asked me if I would like to know if it was multiple births, I replied yes. [I would have kept them, I’ve always wanted twins!] Then she asked if I would like to see the pictures. No. [But I couldn’t help leaning over her shoulder to see, she was a short Latino woman.] – She gave me two Vicodin and a couple anti-inflammatory and sent me out into the waiting room. She called me in a half hour later and I got set up on the stirrups. My doctor was a sweetheart, I gave him the short story on David, and he just said, “What a douche-bag.” I was just lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, with my sister holding my hand and the nurse with a heat pad on my lower abdomen which helped immensely with the severe cramp feeling. The doc said, “Hand me the #9″. I can’t tell you how much I did not want to know what the #9 was. But as the [short!] procedure progressed, I teared up a little. Not out of sadness either, but out of relief. Sweet relief. I took a nap on the car ride home, as I was all doped up – and the next day it was like nothing had ever happened. I just had some spotting.
I can’t tell you how I feel now, it’s Christmas time, and I’m able to spend my money on my 3 nephews, and my family, rather than worrying about being 5 months pregnant. I’m about to graduate, and it feels great. I’m going to college in the fall, and it’s amazing. It was the right choice for me and I don’t feel guilty about it. Sure, I wonder what s/he might have been like – but I know that they wouldn’t have had the great life I KNOW I’ll be able to offer my children.
Lesson learned.
