Saturday October 22nd 2016

A true story, which I share in hopes of healing and spreading awareness.

On Saturday October 22nd of 2016 I had an abortion. I am ashamed. I am ashamed that I got pregnant. When I realized I was pregnant, I wanted to throw myself into oncoming traffic. When I told my boyfriend, I sobbed into his shoulder on a train platform. I wondered to myself if he would miss me if I took the easy way out. A man I intended to spend the rest of my life with, who I knew did not want children; who knew that I did not want children. I wondered aloud to him, and he cried with me. 

I was never ashamed of the abortion. I walked into that room with my head held high, and paid for it myself out of pocket. He had offered to pay for it, but my pride would not suffer another blow. I didn't want to chance my mother seeing it charged to the insurance, so I took what was left of my meager savings and paid for the rest on a credit card. My family could not know I had been so careless to have gotten pregnant at 18. 

I knew I was making the right decision, but when I was in the waiting room and they were giving the women and girls fake names I realized there are so many who do not see it that way. When the nurses needed my attention they would call for "Montana" to protect my identity from any unwanted listeners. They did the same for "Dakota" "Texas" and "Tennessee" before me. It was only after our paperwork was filled out and the procedure was paid for that they led us into the back rooms through a windowless locked door that they used our real names. 

I was led to a changing room with lockers, given a cloth gown and told to strip all the way down before putting on the gown. I left the room wide eyed and nervous after changing. A rough, off white blanket was given to me, but I couldn't figure out why. Maybe for warmth, but it wasn't especially cold. Or comfort, but it felt like a heavy dish rag. Perhaps modesty, but I've never had much of that; so I kept it on my lap. 

They drew blood, collected urine samples, took blood pressure. But unless you were asked a question, no one was talking. The staff talked to one another, it was another day for them. However half a dozen women sat next to each other in silence. At one point a doctor came in and said "Good morning ladies." A nonchalant greeting in passing, but every one of us perked up a little and said "Good morning" in return. 

My only thought was to retain my dignity. Whether they were putting an ultrasound wand inside of me, or prepping me with anesthetic for the procedure. Even with my ankles in stirrups above my head as I laid down on the operating table, my thoughts running wild as the nurse covered me with the same type of wee wee pad that I put down for my sister's dogs when they were puppies. Even then, as a light shone between my legs, and a nurse asked me for the record what procedure I was expecting, and I replied "Um... An abortion" because my first instinct was that it was a trick question; even then I was determined to stay strong. I was determined to stay dignified.

I had no idea how I would react to the anesthetic, having never had any sort of procedure requiring it before. But my choices were limited. I was told to call someone to pick me up, bring me home safely. But that wasn't an option for me, I had requested my boyfriend go to work because I was fine alone and I was an adult who should be able to handle herself. The staff made me promise to call a cab, but I knew before I spoke that I would be lying. I'm from the city, we take the subway. 

Waking up afterwards was confusing; a new room with different lights and curtains and a hospital bed and my blanket that I thought I had left on the floor of the operating room. I tried to sit up but the nurse easily stopped me in my groggy state. She told me one of my eyes was red, I felt it sting and put my hand up to feel tears on my cheek. I still do not know why I was crying. I did not feel sad, just a strange nothingness. Like it hadn't even happened, but it had. And the doctor came over to me, asked how I was feeling. Did I need anything? He asked about my name and I recited the story my parents had told me about it's origins. It felt so natural that it wasn't until after the conversation I remembered that he had just stuck a tube inside my unconscious body to suction out the contents of my uterus. At my request. But it wasn't his first of the day, and wouldn't be his last. 

When I left it was just after 2 pm. I took a spacey train ride home and bought myself some chicken soup from one of the bodegas on my block. I wanted to feel regret, or guilt. That would be simpler than the strange exhaustion, the morbid curiosity asking what the 9 week old fetal tissue looked like as it left my body. The voice in my head still telling me it would've been easier to jump in front of a car. Easier for me at least. But I have no regrets.

Author's Note

A lot of it is run on sentences, I know and that's okay. My concerns are that my vocabulary is sophisticated and appropriate, and the story is comprehensible.