Sep 062010

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I don’t remember the date of my abortion. I know it was sometime in March or April of 2000. The only reason that I remember that was because I turned 21 right after the abortion. I never regret my decision. I had moved out of my home state a few years earlier. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I was wasting time before I went back to college, as I was always expected to. After spending New Years back home, I was considering moving back in the fall to go back to university.

I had a “friends with benefits” situation with a guy from my work for well over a year. I never really loved him, but I was lonely away from home. Somehow being involved with someone made me feel I belonged there. He was a dead-end street, I wanted to help him. He had a daughter from when he was in high school. I helped him reconnect with her. He was divorced and ex-military. I helped him get back in school. I was the stability in his life, which was pretty sad since I was unstable.

I told him I was considering moving back home. Not long after one of his condoms broke. He told me that he had gotten a vasectomy when he was married and not to worry. I was stupid enough to believe him. Even after the abortion he stuck by that story. I truly believe he was trying to trap me there. You always hear about girls trapping guys, but I felt trapped. I don’t blame him though; it was my stupidly to trust him and his broken condoms and fake vasectomy. I regret not getting a day after pill, but I do not regret having an abortion.

I never took a home pregnancy test. I just knew. I am a clockwork type of girl. I start the same time of day every 28 days. I knew the morning of my skipped period that I was pregnant. The throwing up while brushing my teeth was as good as two pink lines. I had the phonebook out looking for providers by noon. I scheduled for a week afterwards, still hoping in the back of my mind that I would magically start my period.

My friend was supportive, but a rage was boiling inside me. I wanted my body to be purged of him. I wanted to move home. He took me to the clinic. Protesters were outside telling us that god wanted us to keep our babies. I made it inside. I went for the ultrasound. They couldn’t find anything. A slight hope emerged, but once they saw two pink lines on their test it dissipated. They told me that I would have to come back in two weeks. I was angry beyond belief. I wanted it out of me right then. I didn’t want to wait. I didn’t want to come back again I wanted it over with that day.

I ran out of the clinic sobbing, wanting it all over with. I have never cried so hard before or after. The protesters came up to me with happy faces telling my I had made the right decision. They assumed that I had changed my mind about having an abortion. I ran from them, afraid of losing my temper. I was overwhelmed with so many emotions.

I spent the next two weeks waiting for the embryo to develop enough to so they could take it out of me. I couldn’t think. I was just waiting.

Two weeks later I was back at the same clinic. There were no protesters. It was raining. The clinic was full of so many girls and women, all of us different but there for the same reason. I remember one woman more clearly than any other. She was a mother of four and could not afford another child. She had almost had an abortion with her fourth child but had opted out because of protesters.

She went in right before me. As I sat in my gown I could hear her scream as she had her abortion. I started to get scared. The doctor came in. He was an elderly African American doctor. He was soft spoken and kind. He saw the fear in my eyes. He told me that he had delivered all of the woman’s children and the screaming here was nothing compared to when she gave birth.

I was still shaking. They game me something to relax but it did nothing to dull the pain. The first set of cramps was bearable, but when the suction began it did hurt. My tears stopped and pain filled my eyes instead. I looked at the nurse and she told me only ten seconds more. I think my nerves made in worse than it would have been. It was by no means a pleasant experience, but I wasn’t expecting it to be. Everything was removed and blood trickled out. I didn’t care about that, I was just happy that it was over.

I went to the other room for juice and rest. I didn’t feel like sleeping-I wanted to go home. My friend took me to the pharmacy to get the antibiotics. I was still dizzy from the drugs. I threw up the orange juice in the middle of the pharmacy. I started to laugh. It was the first time in three weeks that I had laughed. I’m not sure why. I think it was a combination of relief, realization that I was throwing up because of the drug instead of morning sickness, and the embarrassment of throwing up in front of others.

I moved home a few months later. My friend was hurt. He felt like he had been there for me but I returned it with hatred. He was probably right. I had to take care of myself. I’ve never talked to him again.

Once home it took me a long time to trust men. I never told anyone I was dating about the abortion, but I always made sure that they were pro-choice. Finally about two years ago I met the person I was meant to be with. I feel that fate brought us together, but that is a different story. He does not feel that he needs children of his own. He thinks that we should take care of the children that are already here in the world and wants to adopt older children. He says if it happens we will have one child, but is okay if we adopt all of our children. He makes me be a better person. I would have never found him if I had not returned home.

If the abortion did anything it showed me that I was going down the wrong path and brought me back home. It started the life that I should have been living all along. My abortion was a life changing event, but in a good way. I rarely ever think about it, it seems like a lifetime ago. It was not just a removal of an embryo; it was the death of the life I never should have been living.

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