I found out that I was pregnant on day 5 of my new life in a new country, while looking for a new home and job and sleeping on a camping mattress at a friend of a friend of a friend’s. A few months before, I’d met a man I felt re ally good with, and we’d decided to use the time we had together (since we knew I’d be leaving soon) to live for the moment… Well, some might a little too much (we were being careful, but…oh yes, there was that one time when we weren’t quite so careful…)
So anyway, there I was with my backpack, had left my man behind, striking out on my own (or so I thought)… And as I was a little paranoid when I noticed my period was late (ach, like every month, get over it…), I decided to do a quick pregnancy test in the toilet of a café where I was killing some time waiting for the estate agent to open (had just found the perfect flat and wanted to be the first in line when they opened!)… And then every just spun and I read the back of the packet again and again, with trembling hands, and I was pretty numb for a couple of minutes until a woman shouted at me for walking in a daze on the cycle lane and I burst into tears…
I had no money, no job, no health insurance, no home, no boyfriend anymore (we’d reluctantly officially “split”, not believing in long-distance relationships), and parents who believe sex before marriage is wrong, and who wouldn’t ever be able to look me in the eyes again… I told myself not to rush the decision, that it’s not simple, but…everything screamed: abortion! I phoned up the doctor to get an appointment just for some advice, but she seemed surprised when I mentioned abortion, being 27, and told me threateningly that I’d have to pay 700 dollars (equivalent) if I wanted a termination. In my country abortion is free, and it hit home what a very basic human right I consider that to be …
A week later I was on a plane home (to my not-my-boyfriend-anymore), and greeted him with an aeroplane vomit bag… Spent the next three weeks in bed, waiting for the first appointment, then the second, eating only ginger biscuits and cornflakes, dehydrating, being nursed, crying a lot but sometimes laughing, and realising that while I didn’t want this man’s baby right now, I wanted him… I also spent a lot of time wondering who I could trust not to judge me; even some of my closest friends found it difficult to feel OK with my decision, but I learned who my sisters really were and how to function in emotional self-preservation mode: I didn’t enough energy for to justify myself or support them to support me – I needed their acceptance and respect – or nothing. It felt like this, and still does: It’s my body and my decision, I’m doing what I think and feel is right. Why is it no one gets upset when you have your period each month and how different is this, actually, 3 more weeks down the line? It only feels so different because of society’s propaganda…. If everyone a round me felt fine with it, would it feel any different than having an appendix removed?
On the day, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to make to the hospital – I’d felt so sick during the night (after the first pill) that I’d vomited ten time s and could hardly move. But amazingly, I woke up feeling fine and my not-my-boyfriend felt horribly sick until we reached the hospital…like so me spooky sharing of the experience. Weird. They gave me the pills and it hurt, but I listened to music and when it came out it was like a heavy period and I felt this huge flood of relief, I felt like me again for the first time in weeks, like my body was mine again, and in 30 minutes I could drink and quench my dehydration like someone let out of a desert! My energy came flowing back over the next few days, I started being able to talk about it, feeling like I’d been through something that had made me stronger and I wanted other people to feel strong too…
A few days later I left again, back to start my new life, long-distance relationship and all (my boyfriend and I decided to stay together after all: the extra time we spent going through that together somehow gave us that extra bit of hope we needed…). Six months later, and I’m branching out here slowly but surely, despite the turbulent beginning. I’ve never regretted it, but I think about it often. It’s a part or me, and I feel proud of myself for doing what I think is right, not what society guilt-trips you into doing. Like a sister of mine said, if there was anything there growing inside me, it was a soul. And a soul is energy, and you can’t destroy energy, you can just transfer it. The energy I decided to keep contained in my own life and not put into a baby (or having to support my parents to not be overwhelmed by shame) is energy I ca n reinvest in whatever feels right, when it feels right. I need that energy for me right now, and the people around me, channelling it into becoming more alive, and it seems like there are lot of possibilities for how the future might turn out…
