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.