Done

Yesterday I had an abortion. It went like this. 

Picked up my friend, drove to the clinic. There were about ten fundamentalists outside, lined up against the chain-link fence, red tape over their mouths, symbolizing... something, I'm sure. Concerned old man tried to give me pamphlets on the way in, telling me there were safe alternatives to be had, many women had gone in like me, only to leave out the back on a stretcher, etc. etc. I was very nice. I didn't say a word to him, which is out of character for me. Any other day and he would have gotten an earful, but I just wasn't up to it. I was shaking with nerves anyway, and probably wouldn't have been able to muster a decent comeback. 

There was a lot of paperwork, very friendly receptionist, mid-70s decor, and lots of teenagers. For the first hour or so, I was the only adult there. There was one girl, she couldn't have been more than 14. She had a Tweety Bird jacket on. She looked scared to death, and jaded at the same time. Filled out the papers, read the disclaimers, texted with the guy. We chatted about this and that, and he kept me distracted until my name was called. 

Took blood from the elbow, peed in a cup, did more paperwork with the counselor/social worker/intake lady. Opted for the surgical instead of the medicinal procedure, decided on the local as opposed to the general anesthetic, paid my $15 copay. Had to sign a statement indicating that I was there of my own free will. Got a locker for my stuff, gown, hat, booties. Took blood pressure, then went for the ultrasound. I asked to see the image. Not sure why I wanted to do that, but I'm glad I did. Got the local - hurt, but not awful. Six shots to the cervix. I only felt two of them as being really painful. It was a fleeting pain - 30 seconds and it was done. 

Went to the patient waiting room. There was TV. Chatted with a few other patients - we were mostly trading stories and cracking jokes. The other two women I was in there with were both Catholics, which surprised me. It was the second abortion for one of them. Had to wait for around half an hour - was very nervous that the local would wear off before it was my turn. Finally they called my name. The other ladies wished me good luck, and I was off to surgery.

Walked back there, and the nurse helped me position myself on the table. I was shaking by this time, from nerves, the kind of shaking where your arms and legs sort of convulsively jerk and you can't quite control them. There was music playing, some random top 40 radio station. It was nice to have something to listen to. She called for the doctor, and he came in.

He was such a nice man - probably 50, 55 years old, African-American, fatherly. We chatted for a few minutes. He's an OB-GYN, has three daughters of his own. He expressed his desire for me to be comfortable, and to feel good about my decision, and to do what was best for me. He asked if I would like him to explain what he was doing step-by-step. I said yes - my curiosity got the best of me, and forewarned is forearmed, after all. He put my legs up in the stirrups - hanging stirrups, much higher and wider than the standard doctor's office stirrups. They had poles that stuck straight up in the air, with actual loops dangling off of them, and you put your legs around the outside of the poles, and your heels in the loops, just hanging there, unsupported.

He talked me through the steps: dilating the cervix, aligning the uterus and cervix in a straight line, since they naturally lie at a bit of an angle. He quizzed me on antegrade and retrograde uterii - I love trivia. He used a hand-held suction device to suck out the material. Honest to god, it looked like a souped-up bicycle pump. That part hurt. He said I'd feel cramping, like period cramps. It was definitely worse than any period I've ever had, but not as bad as, say, natural childbirth. It lasted about 3 minutes. When he was done, he emptied all the contents out onto a chux pad, like they use in hospitals, and the nurse sort of poked around in it. He said they always check out the contents just to make sure they got everything and that there's no chance I could still be pregnant. "We got it all!" he said when he got the ok from the nurse. 

He thanked me for being a good patient, wished me well, and left. The nurse helped me to sit up, then stand. As soon as I stood, the shaking came back, and I was certain I was either going to pass out or throw up. The cramping was still very intense, and the shakiness in my legs made me need to sit back down. I curled up in the fetal position on the table, and the nurse got me a cold towel and rubbed it on my face, neck, and shoulders. I got very hot suddenly, and she fanned me and sponged me until it passed. Eventually, the dizziness and shaking passed, and I knew I could sit up without passing out or puking. I stood slowly, and she helped me into my sanitary pad (on a belt, no less, like they used back in the day). She wrapped a sheet around me and walked me back to the recovery room. There was a bed for me there, and I lay down on it and curled up in the fetal position again. A nurse brought me ibuprofen and a drink of water. She got me another wet towel, since I was feeling nauseated and light-headed again, and a blanket so I didn't flash my ass to everyone who walked past the door. I lay there for a while, listening to the other girls in recovery. All three of them had gotten the general anesthetic, and while two were fine, if groggy, the third was puking every few minutes and shaking like a leaf. All three were still in high school. They were watching the basketball game. Another nurse came to take my blood pressure - 92/48. I got to lay down til it went back up. 

I lay there for at least another half hour, and the ibuprofen kicked in, the cramping stopped, and I was able to sit up and chat with everyone and read a magazine. The nurse asked if I felt ready to go home, and I was definitely ready. I had to go to the bathroom and check my bleeding and report back to her before she would sign me out. I went - I wasn't bleeding at all. Not even a drop. I reported back, got my antibiotics and after-care instructions, and then a nurse took me back to my locker. 

I fished all my stuff out and threw away the gown and booties. I had taken off all my jewelry, and I was missing an earring when I pulled them back out. It was very tiny - it must have fallen down a crack. I was really pissed to have lost it. It's so hard to find six matching earrings that meet all the right criteria. Got dressed, and the nurse escorted me out the back door, where my friend was waiting with my car. It was an absolutely gorgeous day outside.

Women's Day

Wouldn't it be nice if every day was a Woman's Day? I just learned from a friend that today is International Women's Day. I find it telling that in the 21st century we still need a day set aside to remind us to celebrate women - as though we remain an afterthought for the other 364 days of the year. 

So much of what happens in our lives remains hidden, deemed unimportant, unworthy, or inappropriate by the powers that be. The stories we have to tell are not the stories society wants to hear. They are not pretty, or simple. They do not have happy, tidy endings. They do not reinforce the myths that our society perpetuates. And yet, as a community of women, as sisters, mothers, daughters, friends, we crave these stories. What woman doesn't want to tell her story, to have others listen to her, validate her experience, tell her that her words matter, that her life matters? And it is only among women that we can find this sisterhood, this solidarity, these similarities that we seek. Young or old, rich or poor, educated or not, Christian, pagan, Muslim, Jew, there are threads that bind us together, and when we recognize and embrace these threads, when we draw them closer, we find solace. 

If I could find one other woman in my circle who has walked this path before me, who knows what I fear, one other woman who has dared what I will dare, who mourns what I will mourn, I would feel less alone. 

What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?

The world would split open.

I am here. I am telling the truth about my life. I will not keep silent because it's the expected thing to do. 

And if the world splits open? So much the better. 

Support

Went to brunch with my oldest girlfriend today. Twenty years now we've been friends. I told her, and she immediately volunteered to go with me. Her exact words were, "I'll pack an overnight bag and stay with you all weekend." She didn't even hesitate. 

I spoke with the father on the phone just before I met with her. He had looked into plane tickets to fly out here to be with me for the procedure, but they were fairly expensive at the last minute. I told him I could find someone else to go with me. He offered to come out in a few weeks to be with me for a bit. I think that's nice, and under ordinary circumstances I would kill for him to visit me - I visited him last, so now it's his turn. If he was offering to visit just because he wanted to see me, I'd be thrilled, but now I'm afraid he's just doing it because it's the "right" thing to do, out of some sense of obligation toward me. And that's the last thing I want. Empathy, yes. Support, yes. Pity? Never. 

What I want is for him to say that money is no object. That it's worth whatever cost for him to be with me when I go through this. That it's the least he could do under the circumstances. That he cares, in whatever way, for me. 

I suppose I'll have to take what I can get, and be grateful that my girlfriends, at least, are unfailingly supportive.

In other random news, I ordered the breakfast sandwich that was my standard during my first pregnancy - scrambled egg, cheddar cheese, and a sausage patty on a toasted english muffin. I made two of those puppies a day the whole time I was pregnant with my eldest. Ordered one this morning, and could barely get half of it down before the eggs made me queasy. It was such a disappointment to me - I had such fond memories of that damn sandwich. 

Accepting

I know that my fantasy was just that, but at the same time, I can't help feeling a little jealous of those who go through this experience with a boyfriend or partner by their side. And a little more sympathetic toward those who go it alone. It's harder than it looks. 

I have brunch plans with an old friend tomorrow morning. I think I'm going to ask her to come to the clinic with me, since I know he won't be coming. 

I wish I knew how to say the words that would get him on a plane and out here to hold my hand for this. 

Surrounded

I am surrounded by pregnant people. At work, there are at least four other pregnant people that I know of. They're all happy about it. Everyone knows. I can't tell anyone. So many of my friends are pregnant right now, sharing stories, commiserating, planning for the future...

It's really hard to watch. I've been that girl - telling pregnancy stories, offering advice, daydreaming about the future. Three times I've been there. And now, I have to sit quietly by, hiding my pregnancy, pretending that everything is normal, that nothing has changed. 

When I first met this guy, I did what millions of women do with a new interest - I let myself fantasize about what a future with him would look like. Could I see it? How would it be? In my head, once he had realized how wonderful I was, he embraced my two girls like they were his own, turned into a devoted stepfather, and then realized that he wanted to complete our family with another child. In my fantasy, we got pregnant easily* and he was one of those guys (I know a few) who was totally into the whole pregnancy thing, totally devoted to his baby mama, excited and nervous by turns. 

After a while, I realized that this particular fantasy would never play out in real life, but not before I had named the baby, bought us a condo, found him a new job... 

And then - this. The baby, but without the love, the relationship, the commitment, the new condo... It's not just that the fantasy disappeared. That's happened a million times, and it's never that big a deal. I could handle the end of a fantasy. But this? This is my fantasy turned upside down, my fantasy torn apart and pieced back together like some hideous monster. This is my fantasy out to get me. A nightmare.

*Not unaware of the irony there...

Thankful

I've been doing my research, like a good girl, and as is inevitably the case with the Internet, I got distracted. I've been reading articles, blogs, charts, summaries, you name it. And over and over again, one thought keeps popping into my head. 

I am *so* lucky. 

Don't get me wrong - I would hardly count myself lucky to get pregnant on a weekend fling with a friend of a friend. I would hardly count myself lucky to be the hapless victim of a prophylactic "wardrobe malfunction." But I did, and I am. 

I'm lucky to live in a century when abortion is safe.

I'm lucky to live in a country where abortion is legal.

I'm lucky to live in a state where abortion is readily available.

Millions of women around the world - women in our own country, even - don't have the options that I do. Millions of women give birth to unwanted babies, children they can't raise, who go on to perpetuate the cycle. Millions of women resort to illegal abortion out of fear and desperation. Many of them will die. Millions of women live in places where the services I have are unavailable. Many women don't have the health insurance that I do, or have health insurance that won't cover abortion services. 

I live in a blue state. The nearest abortion clinic is only a bus ride away. My insurance plan actually covers elective abortion* services. I have friends who will hold my hands. I will be okay. 

My life will not end on someone's kitchen table. My children will not be left motherless. My choices will not be decided by others. And I will do everything in my power to help keep abortion safe and legal in the U.S., so that some day, if one of my daughters is faced with a situation like this, she will have options available to her. 

*We're almost positive on this one - verification due Monday.

Yesterday

Yesterday I found out I was pregnant. It wasn't a huge surprise. I was a week late; I've been pregnant before; my body knows these things. I saw this one coming a mile away. 

Even so, the minute the second line showed up on that test, my hands started shaking. 

I spent my lunch break at the Planned Parenthood around the corner from where I work. I talked with the nicest girl, Jordan, who explained all my options to me, gave me pamphlets and brochures, phone numbers and office hours, helpful tips and a nice little pep talk. 

Last night, after the kids went to bed, a much more intimidating task - calling the father. I stood, phone in hand, for a good ten minutes, willing myself not to throw up before I called him.

Really, though, he was very good about it. I told him what had happened, and what I was planning to do about it. He was surprised, like I had been, but he was very supportive, said all the right things, offered to pay for it... I'd say he behaved like a perfect gentleman, except that it sounds odd, given the context. 

I spent the rest of the night comparing and contrasting medical vs. surgical procedures. I had pros and cons for each. Initially I had been leaning toward the pill, rather than the surgical procedure, but by the end of the evening I had switched to favoring the surgical procedure as being quicker, marginally more effective, and having a shorter recuperation period. But then today, after talking with a co-worker and with a counselor over the phone, I scheduled what they call a "medicine" abortion. It kills me, because "medicine" is a noun, not an adjective, and the correct term should be "medical" abortion. But then, all abortions are medical procedures, so I can see where there might be confusion regarding the terminology. 

In the end, I thought that it would be more personal, more private, to go through this in the privacy of my own home rather than in a pair of stirrups in a big, cold, impersonal clinic downtown. The idea of being awake, lying there on a hard table, listening to the sounds, feet in stirrups, staring at the ceiling, is really unappealing to me. I feel like that memory would be a shitty one, and would stick with me for a really long time. With a pill, on the other hand, I can come home, put on sweatpants, watch a movie, have a snack, hang out with a friend, pretend it's a miscarriage... I can choose how to dispose of the inevitable byproducts, I can cry if I want to, listen to sad songs, eat ice cream, sleep... I think it's worth the extra hassle to have that kind of freedom.