My Story - The Abortion

Very soon after the appointment at the pregnancy clinic, I got the phone book out again, but this time to call an abortion clinic.  I made the soonest appointment that I could manage to work out.  My boyfriend took me to the abortion clinic early on that Saturday morning, April 20th 1985.  I was six weeks pregnant.  They wanted me there by 8:30.  My boyfriend stayed with me the entire day.  We spent the whole day there watching women go in to have abortions, women crying, women not crying; all of us bringing in our urine samples to the counter as we checked in.  There was a young woman that stands out so much in my mind.  I think she told us that she had already had a couple of abortions before this one and she was crying and crying.  She wasn’t that much older than me.  I could not understand how she could be there for the third time and that she had aborted some of her babies far along into her pregnancy.  I remember her telling me how awful the abortion at 6 months had been and about the baby’s violent actions as it died, and about delivering it dead. 
But who was I to judge her; we all do desperate things.  Although, I remember thinking with regards to her, “That is not going to be me!  I’ll get on birth control and be more responsible from now on so this NEVER happens again.”  We waited all day at that stupid clinic.  I had so many hours to rethink my decision and leave without going through with it.  But my fears stood firm and strong and resolute against a wiser decision.   During the wait, I was taken back once to be talked to about birth control.  I was informed about birth control and asked if I wanted birth control pills.  I said yes, and they instructed me on how to use and gave me a prescription or actually gave me pills to bring home with me.  I can’t remember exactly.  I think they provided my pills because in the future I would continue to visit this same clinic for exams and more birth control pills.

A tiny baby at 8 weeks gestation 

or 6 weeks after conception

Finally, it was my turn.  I was the second to the last person to go in before the clinic closed for the day.  I remember walking into that procedure room.  I was scared.  What if the doctor damaged me; would this be the only baby I ever carried in my womb?  I lay on the table as I was instructed by the nurse.  The doctor came in and was so friendly and personable.  He seemed to be trying to soothe my fears.  I think he asked me some questions to make sure this was really what I wanted to do.  He explained how he was going to give me a sedative, and I told him that was good because I wanted to go to sleep and not feel anything.  The sedative immediately took effect, but it was not meant to put me totally asleep, only to relax me.   He then began to ask the nurse for something.  I was so groggy and hated the sound of the words and what they meant.  I wanted to fall asleep completely and not hear what was happening.  The next thing I remember was feeling some awful pain and jerking my body.  The doctor firmly told me that I must be still!  I heard a whirring machine, presumably suctioning my baby out.  Then it was all over, and the doctor left the room. 

After it was over, the nurse was hurrying me along, telling me to go to the bathroom and change back into my clothes.  The problem was that I could not open my eyes and felt terribly sick to my stomach (effects from the sedative).  It turns out that I am terribly sensitive to sedatives.  The nurse kept rushing me, and I kept telling her that I felt awful and could not keep my eyes open.  She helped me to the bathroom and left me there.  I was not capable of doing anything.  I threw up in the toilet and sat there on the floor in front of the toilet.  I hated sitting there on that dirty bathroom floor, but I couldn’t help myself.  I felt unable to get dressed, and the nurse kept knocking and telling me to hurry up.  My boyfriend even knocked on the bathroom door.  My recollection is that the bathroom I was sent to was in the exiting waiting area.  So my boyfriend was there waiting.  He kept asking me if he could come in and help me, but I kept saying no.  I felt totally wretched inside and out.  Somehow, I managed to finally dress myself and walk out into my boyfriend’s arms.  He practically carried me to his car.

My boyfriend drove me home.  I wasn’t settled at home very long before my mom arrived from her day at work.  That was not so good because it was too soon after my arrival, and I looked terrible.  We had to try to explain to her why I looked and felt so awful.  We made up something about me being sick all day.  She was confused.  She checked me for a fever and was confused as to why I looked and felt so bad without having a fever and what could possibly be wrong with me.  My boyfriend stayed with me until in the evening hours when he finally went home.  I immediately went to my room to bed.  I wish I could remember crying or what I felt or thought that night, but that part is blank—probably because of the effects of the sedative.  I must have cried.  I know I didn’t want my boyfriend to leave me and go home.  He was everything I was hanging on to at that moment.  My parents were in the house with me, but I was alone relatively speaking. 

In the three days immediately following the abortion, I wrote three different poems about the baby and what I had done to it.  I will share those in the following posts.  From a couple of diary entries in May of 1985, it is obvious I am quite depressed and sad about the loss of the baby and what I did.  I write:

“Dearest diary, I have been through such things in the past 2 months that I thought I would never in my life have to go through.  I’ve had to make choices that were the most difficult choices that I’ve ever had to make and choices that will forever change me mentally.  Choices that hurt and tore my heart.  This choice was made 2 months ago, and I’m still sitting here crying.  These choices I’m too scared to write for fear of having this read by someone.”

I also write a poem in that entry:

My Choice

Choices…

Things we must all face.

Some choices tear you apart

They rip your heart and soul

And make you hurt so much

That you wonder if

You can take the pain for

What seems so long!

You wish so much

That you could just forget,

Just long enough to rest.

But you can’t.

You will never forget

Because when you think back

You’ll always feel the pain

And always regret

The choice you had to make.

I go on to speak of the approach of the six month dating anniversary of my boyfriend and I, and that he had given me a promise ring for my birthday present.  I state that we are very happy and want to get married in two years.  (Two years later, we were married.) 

When my birthday came around shortly after the abortion, I write that I am quite upset and depressed.  I am upset that my most of my friends have forgotten my birthday.  And I write:

“I feel so depressed!  I am so tired of this!  I’m all alone right now and thinking about everything that’s happened to me.  The only time I’m really happy is when” I’m with my boyfriend… “I don’t have anyone to talk to around.  I’m so bored with everything and I can’t even get a job.  I fill out applications but it doesn’t !@%*#@! matter.  I’m still not freaking working!  !@%*, I’m depressed!...God, I just want to cry!  God, help me please!  I feel so alone when I’m not with” my boyfriend.  “I’m so tired of feeling that way!  So alone.  I don’t know who to call!...DESPERATION, NO DETERMINATION, LONELINESS, SADNESS AND HURT, CHOICES.”

A month later, I have another diary entry.  I’m still stating that I’m aimless and that I look forward to marrying my boyfriend in another year and a half.  He is what I hang onto, probably too tightly.  I continue to speak of feeling depressed.  I reflect on the past year of my life and say:

“…So much, so soon!  I’ve learned a lot really fast, and paid the consequence of it being all very painful to me.  I want to just look forward and forget but the memories are like branded in my brain.  It’s like I’m scarred forever!  I feel like a woman of 30 and I’m only a young woman of 17.  I don’t have a job yet!  I’m just a bum!  I need to be working but as seen, I’m not.  I wish the sun would come out! I haven’t gotten my license yet either!  Wonderful me, uh?”

The diary/journal entries won’t express anything more about the abortion or my feelings about it for years to come...

Next post: Poem – I Will Never Forget

As always, the invitation is open to others who would like to submit their story via email document for posting on this blog.  Anonymous submissions are perfectly fine.