Abortion itself is a difficult word to swallow. I’ve been on this blog many times. I even memorized the name so I wouldn’t forget. A safe place. I found the notion of the word kinda useless to me a year ago but nevertheless, I continue. I’ve been staring at my phone screen several minutes wondering if I’m ready to become vulnerable all over again.
March 18. UWI Carnival.
I was drunk, had sex and became pregnant some weeks after.
Still can’t fully remember what happened the night but the consequences will remain forever. My period never came. Many pregnancy tests later confirmed my pregnancy. I told my best friend and the father of the child I was ballistic but I eventually calmed down. Then everything got ten folds worse when my best friend told me she lost her mother to a botched abortion. So I decided the best choice was to have the child in that moment.
It was the first time after the death of my father’s mother I heard my father cry. The situation was already devastating and being an only child made it even worse. My mother’s silence was deafening. No words of confidence or disappointment. Nothing.
The day after, I went to the doctors with my best friend and my boyfriend. The night before was long but this day was even longer. The doctor confirmed what I knew but didn’t want to be true and she asked me how could’ve she be of assistance. Long story short, she gave me a doctor’s number to get the abortion done.
When I left her office, I just told me best friend and boyfriend I wasn’t pregnant and it was just a hormonal issue to make them feel better because no one deserved to go through the journey I’m about to. I wanted to keep it as long as I could’ve to delay the inevitable. Few weeks passed when I came to terms with what I needed to do. So now that I had accumulated the money the doctor had told me he was unable to carry out the abortion because I was 11 weeks and 5 days which is basically coming to the end of the first trimester after which the complication would have drastically increased. He gave me another doctor who he said would have the facility to carry out a later termed abortion. I went to them on Monday and he said he will try his best.
Skipping through the earlier parts– Finally, I reached on the operating table. I was given anaesthetics. I felt my legs open and the clamps reaching inside me. I vomited. It wasn’t the pain that made me feel sick. It was a different kinda upset that ‘till this day I can’t describe. Then I blacked out.
The operation was over. He helped me up I put on my pad and the rest of my clothes signed the rest of the documents left and went back home. The after pain was like an extremely difficult period. My lips were blue. I was cold and I was lifeless. I just lay there. The thought of suicide pierced my mind for a while, but eventually, I shook it off.
That semester I failed all my exams, which was expected. But nevertheless, I pushed on. Over a year has now passed and I still feel like it happened some weeks ago.
I talk about it in therapy but as a miscarriage, not an abortion because I didn’t want the judgment and critical reasoning. I just wanted someone to help me not to tip over on the dark side because that’s where I was going through.
I’m getting better, I think. Now and again I feel worthless like I should never be able to conceive after doing what I did. Maybe one day it won’t be as crippling and I could think about it and not fall into a depressive episode for days or even weeks. One day I just want to believe that it wasn’t the right time or place, and just be content enough with that reason. But for now, I’m fighting to stay sane and alive one day at a time.
Thanks for the platform.