My name is Meg, I’m 15 and I’m writing the experience while it’s fresh in my mind, it just happened this morning.
I sort of knew I was pregnant, I was three weeks late and nauseous, but when the pregnancy stick says “PREGNANT” in big bold letters, it’s still a shock. I remember walking out of the bathroom in CVS teary eyed to see my boyfriend sitting on a crate with his head in his hands. When my eyes fell on him he jumped up and looked me in the eyes, more nervous then I’ve ever seen him, and I cried. He held me in his arms and comforted me, but when showed him the stick and he trembled all over. The “PREGNANT” must have had the same effect on him. He rubbed my back told me it was all right and that we’d make it through this and I’d be fine.
We tried scheduling the appointment the next day but most offices were so booked up that the only available appointment would be more than 9 weeks after my last period, and illegal. I remember freaking out thinking it was too late, that I’d ruined my life, that I’d ruined Rob’s life, that it was hopeless. (I am morally against adoption and would never consider it.) It was the first time I’d ever seen my boyfriend cry, it wasn’t an intense sob like mine, but I saw silent tears streak his cheeks; It made me feel like all hope was lost, but we kept trying. We called every place we could and we finally found an opening in New Rochelle for the 8th. The week of waiting was filled with pure anxiety, What if something bad happens? What if my mom finds out? What if they tell me they won’t perform the abortion on me? I found out how misleading the term “morning sickness” was, when the symptoms carried on far past the morning; some times all day, sometimes tauntingly stopping at noon only to start again around 5.
I decided I wanted my child to have a name. Although it wasn’t yet “a child” it did have the potential to be so I decided it was more than a clump of cells, it was my baby, and it deserved a name. I called it Keeran, “little dark one,” the name made me a bit more attached but I felt it was worth it to honor the loss of my baby. At times I pictured Rob sitting bouncing Keeran on his knee then looking up at me with a face of pure love and unabridged joy. But I’m a realist, I could realize that small image of happiness I sometimes dwelled on was not a microcosm on our relationship with the baby as a whole. I was 15, he was almost 18, not ready for kids, financially or mentally, not able to provide a good life for the baby. With my strong beliefs in reincarnation I felt I was depriving Keeran at a chance for a loving happy and successful life.
We got to the center and I waited with Rob and his older brother in the waiting room for about 2 hours. From there I was taken alone to get an ultra sound where I was told the fetus was 7 months 5 days old. After that I was faced with a 2 ½ hour wait, without my boyfriend in a separate waiting room. The women around me seemed tense, but nonetheless I was calm and collected, until I saw the first women leave from the surgical area, sobbing hysterically and screaming “My baby, my baby, I’ve killed my baby!” From there I lost my nerve. I was taken to a secluded room and given brief counseling form an older woman who explained my procedure in full detail. The term “injection of a needle into the cervix” terrified me, and the thought of possible “extreme menstrual cramps” from the dilatation of the opening in my uterus was also unnerving. I was sent back to the waiting room and about ½ an hour later I was called to surgery.
I was given an IV filled with a sedation medication of some kind, I’m not exaggerating when I say it took effect immediately. The 10 minute procedure didn’t seem to last more than 30 seconds and I felt no main just a strange pressure and mild discomfort. From there I was escorted to the recovery room where I vaguely remember crying softly thinking “I’ve killed little Keeran” and wishing Rob was there to comfort me; I also remember having a nurse rub my arm and offer me a lollipop and some ginger ale. Time seemed to go fast, each time I looked away from the clock and back 10 minutes had gone by although it seemed to be seconds, more effects of the medication I suppose. But once it wore of time went back to normal, all the guilt I felt was washed away. I once again was back to my realistic perspective of life, realizing I did the right thing I felt relief. A nurse gave me a bag filled with antibiotics to prevent infection, pills to keep bleeding in check, and a free pack of the birth control pill. She recommended a follow up appointment to make sure all was well and an emergency number in case I was in extreme pain later that night. There were no complications, the staff there was very nice, and I was able to eat at Taco Bell right after the surgery.
All went well and I’m not sorry, I made the best decision for myself, my boyfriend, and my unborn child.
