Lily’s Story

I was 29 years when I became pregnant. I always knew I didn’t want to have kids. I would hear women, friends, colleagues long for children and I could never relate to them. It’s never been a goal or fantasy of mine. I knew that the decision to terminate the pregnancy was right, yet it felt like I was constantly getting tested.

I went to the gynecology office at my health care facility since they had walk in pregnancy tests. I was told to complete a questionnaire before I was allowed to take the test. The questionnaire was simple: Name, phone # where can be reached and if I’d like to schedule prenatal care if the test was positive. I clearly, without hesitation checked the box No. I took a pregnancy test (the 5th one counting all that I took at home) and sure enough it was positive. That was the only positive thing throughout this ordeal.

I was treated badly by the nurse when I handed her the questionnaire. When she told me I was pregnant, she didn’t bother to look at me. As she turned to walk away, she told me someone would call me. I asked her to explain the process (I meant the scheduling process) she abruptly said, “we don’t do that here” and walked away.

That day, in a panic I went to Planned Parenthood. They would not give me a pregnancy test, although it would have been my 6th test, I was in denial—after all I had been on the pill for 9 years. A teenager that worked there explained my options for an abortion and scheduled it for the following week. I was told I needed to bring someone with me as a “driver” since I wouldn’t be able to drive because of the anesthesia.

On the day of my appointment a friend takes a day off of work to take me to the clinic. We struggle to drive into the parking lot of the facility as “Christian” women held signs and shouted “don’t be a murderer.” After about an hour wait and no sign of being checked in, I assure my friend that its ok to leave me as the nurse said she would call her when the procedure was done. The clinic was overcrowded and I sat on the concrete floor outside the clinic door for about 3 1/2 hours.

As I lay with my legs in the stir ups the doctor walked into room, put gloves on and told me to relax. He never introduced himself, or explained anything to me at all. The next thing I knew I experienced the most pain I had ever experienced (so I thought). The doctor shouted at me to keep still and not to move. As tears drenched my face he got up and walked away. A nurse cleaned me up and gave me tissue for my tears.

I went back to work the next day. A few days later, although relieved, I still felt ill. I couldn’t lift so much as a grocery bag without excruciating pain. It turned out that the doctor didn’t fully aspire all of the matter. Exactly a week after my original procedure I was back at the mercy of the same doctor. I didn’t have a driver this time for a couple of reasons 1) I wasn’t going to ask my friend to take yet another day off of work (although she gladly would have obliged) and 2) it hurt so bad the first time (despite all assurances that it would be painless) that I thought it couldn’t hurt that much more without anesthesia than what I had already been through. I was wrong. That was the most pain I have ever felt in my life. I went home after the procedure, and slept.

About a year later I had an ovarian cyst, during an ultrasound, the technician (a very friendly woman) excitedly said, “oh, you have children!” When I told her I didn’t her attitude completely changed and she was no longer friendly.

I am happy and have never doubted my decision. I am not sorry for making a decision that made me happy and hurt no one else. I am not sorry for thinking of me first. I am not sorry for not being sorry.