August 06, 2003
When I was 17, or 18, I had an abortion.
I was in boarding school and went to [New York City] for the weekend to meet a boy I was dating at the time. We mostly liked to party together, and that weekend, to date, is a blur.
Several weeks later, I noticed my appetite increasing, and waking rather early for breakfast, and taking more than my usual helpings at lunch and dinner. My friends would make fun, and say that I must be having a growth spurt.
Eventually, I began getting very tired around 6 or 7 at night, laying down to take a nap and not waking until the next morning.
This was interfering with my school work and, when finals came around, I had been sleeping so much that I had not studied for a single one. So on the day of my French exam, I went to the infirmary complaining about an upset stomach — mostly biding my time out of the exam.
The nurse felt of my stomach and asked if I could be pregnant. I hadn't thought about it before she asked, and shrugged my shoulders thinking, “Well, maybe.”
I took a pregnancy test, and she let me take a nap until that class period was over — except that I awoke around 5 in the afternoon. I went to her office and said that she must have forgotten that I was back there, and she asked me to shut the door and have a seat.
I was pregnant, she said. And I laughed — not believing her.
After letting it soak in, I of course started to freak out. Called the boy, and he told me that I would have to have an abortion… that it wasn't that big of a deal because his last girlfriend had one.
I freaked out over that too… I hadn't known that he got another girl pregnant.
Later that evening I called my father and told him the news. That was followed by a long silence.
The next day, my father flew up to the school and we all had a meeting together: the headmaster, the dean of students, the head nurse, my dorm parent, my advisor, my counselor, my father, and me all in one tiny room discussing “What I should do.”
My father insisted that “it would all be taken care of.” The head master said that there was no way that I could continue going to school there while pregnant (mind you… this was my entire future and all that I cared about at that time, and I had one semester left before graduation.)
Finally, the head nurse said to me, “What do you want to do?” (No one had asked me that through all their conversation.) I said, “I've had friends who have gotten pregnant, some have had their babies, some have not. I always thought that if this happens to me, I would have an abortion. But now that it's happening, I don't really know what I believe in.”
Again, my father assured everyone that “it will be taken care of.” That I will take my exams, come home for spring break, then return as if nothing had ever happened and graduate on time.
When the meeting was over, I asked my dad if I could please come home and take my exams when I got back — that I could take a medical leave because I was sleeping so much and already feeling a little sick in the mornings. He said, “Absolutely not.”
My parents are divorced, so I went to my mother's instead. My mother's husband is a devout Catholic, and he refused to have me in the house in that condition, and threatened my mother with divorce. He ended up saying that if she participates in any of this, that he would certainly divorce her.
In the mean time, my father was calling each day asking if it was taken care of. I would tell him that I don't know how I feel about this, and I don't know what to do. Briefly, my mother tried explaining finances, the boy came down to be with me, although perpetually uninterested in the whole ordeal.
Finally, one morning, my dad called again, more stern than before and said “I want you to hang up the phone, make an appointment, and the next time I talk to you I want this to be finished — you are losing time.”
Coldly, I did just that — tired of fighting I guess. I walked up the stairs, woke up the boy, and told him that X hour, I would be having it done.
I went into the bathroom and took a bath. I remember being terribly hungry. And this was the first time I had acknowledged that something was in me: I thought, I am not hungry, the baby is hungry — this isn't my hunger I'm feeling. And I laid there in total shock of what was about to take place.
My mother took me to the doctor, and the boy came, too. All of my motions were emotionless. I was cold, unfeeling, and going through the motions of taking blood and whatever else they had to do.
My mother was by my side until the doctor came in. Then she took my hand and said, I can't stay with you for this. And I became angry. I said, “You are my mother, and I need you here with me right now,” and she pleaded for me to understand. So I said, “Send the boy in.” I was given the Demerol and started to fade out. I remember the doctor was an old man, and he never said a word to me. In fact, I don't remember anyone really talking to me at all.
I was out for part of the procedure — because I kept waking up through it all and I remember distinctly the sounds, and squirming, and the boy holding me down.
I remember pain, masked by drugs, and I remember saying “No.” And when it was over, I woke to find a pool of blood beneath me, the boy by my side.
I asked if it was over and he said, “Yes.”
What was amazing, was when I came out of it all and was back at my mother's house, instantly, I didn't have morning sickness, I didn't feel funny, there was no spotting, I had a normal appetite… in short, it was like nothing had ever happened, and that disturbed me more than anything else.
The whole thing in a matter of hours had been erased.
To this day — 10 years later — it has never been discussed by my family.
I have always been angry because I was threatened with my future. The school I loved was telling me I couldn't return, my father was saying that he would not support it, either, emotionally or financially — that I could not come home like that, and many other things I don't want to print here.
The boy was so indifferent it was nausiating and my mother never stepped up to the plate to say, “You can do this if that's what you want.”
I can not forgive that I was made to believe that having a baby would ruin my life. That, I was made to believe I didn't have the capacity to take care of a baby. Women all the time do it on their own, finish their education, and go on to have successful lives. But, somehow, it was thought that I didn't have the strength to pull that off, and I will always resent that, and I will never truly forgive myself for not being stronger.
Afterwards, I had a series of bloody nightmares that I tried talking to my counselor about, and she shrugged it off as “part of it.” And to date, I have to say the effects are subtle, yet monumental:
I ask myself, “How can I have a baby and watch my family be happy about it when they couldn't be happy before?” I know this will make me angry.
And how do I reconcile love for a baby, now that it would be convenient, when I know one was never given a chance?
I question whether or not adoption for my first child will be better because at least then, I will have given one baby a chance, and then can feel ok about having one of my own later — sort of righting the wrong.
The truth of the matter is that having an abortion was not the best thing for me, because I can never forgive myself for it.
I believe in the right to choose. I just believe, in my situation, that I didn't really get to choose, and that, ultimately, I am responsible for that.
But then again, I try to tell myself, that I had all the authority figures that I respected, or loved, telling me what I should do. So, in part, I think, maybe I'm not totally responsible.
But when it comes down to it, I am the one who has to live with “that choice.” What makes it even more bitter is that I did not need a parental consent. I signed the papers myself.
If I have any advice for anyone out there, no matter what the age, but specifically for younger women, it is: follow your gut and if it doesn't feel right, it isn't.
We are all strong enough to finish our educations and achieve our life's dreams, with or without children. No doubt, it may take longer, or may be more difficult, but it isn't impossible. And when the day is finished, you are the one who will have to answer for your choices… make sure they are the ones you want to make, and not ones that have been forced upon you (or strongly recommended).
I'm not saying abortion is wrong — I'm saying that it may be wrong for you, and you are the only one who can know that. More than likely, I have a feeling, the closer you get to having the baby, those family members that are not supportive will soon show themselves buying little clothes and shoes — I've never known anyone to turn away from a baby once it becomes a visible possibility.
* Not her real name
