In 2010 I found myself pregnant. I will not get into the mundane (or not so mundane) mechanics of it except to say that I was devastatingly unprepared, in more ways than one, and terrified out of my wits. There was something in me that knew I was pregnant before the one friend I felt comfortable enough to tell, convinced me to do the test. I had done one before but it was too early. Despite that initial negative, I knew.
I remember it like it was yesterday. We planned a time when neither of us had classes, from the night before. The next day we met and walked to the university health centre; my heart beating at unhealthy rates. When we got there she did the dirty work for me. She purchased the test and took the mandatory talk by the nurse while I waited outside, trying desperately to calm my overworked nerves. She came out several minutes later and we walked to the bathroom to get it over with.
I took several deep breaths before I entered that dreadful corner stall. I stood there looking at it, willing myself not to get an anxiety attack while simultaneously willing the little white stick not to get two lines when I peed on it. I eventually got around to doing it and left the stall to await my fate. The longest three minutes of my life. I gave it to my friend to break the news, being too nervous to look at it myself. She never said yes or no. Just a nod. I was officially pregnant.
Confirmation is a bitch. I felt dizzy. I wanted to cry but the tears wouldn’t come. I needed to be calm to keep that impending anxiety attack at bay and I think I did it by stepping outside of myself. Suddenly I was calm. I could hear my friend telling me it was going to be ok and trying to explore my options with me. I knew it was going on but it no longer felt like it was happening to me.
We walked back to the centre of campus. My next class was in less than 15 minutes. The rest of that day dragged on and on with me just going through the motions. It didn’t hit me until I got home that night. I was pregnant and I had no fucking clue what I was going to do. I cried myself to sleep that night and several nights after that. I had never felt so alone in my entire life.
I started feeling sick every day. No, not just in the morning, all the fucking time. At first, I couldn’t eat at all without throwing up. Then I couldn’t have enough to eat. Then all I wanted was god-forsaken St. Mary’s banana chips and 7-up all damn day. My hormones were out of kilter, I cried at the drop of a hat and I just could not deal.
I realized that I could not deal with the changes my body was going through much less to handle and throw myself headfirst into motherhood. I was in no place financially or emotionally to care for a child. I began despising the thing inside me that was causing me all this anguish but mostly l hated myself for the way things were. I found everything to blame myself for. It was easier to deal with the disgust I felt for myself than to face the real problem. That I was pregnant and I didn’t want to be.
Now I had always been pro-choice. I strongly felt that a woman’s body belonged to her and therefore the decision to keep or not keep a foetus inside that body was solely hers. It was not so black and white when I was in a position where I had to choose. I felt extremely guilty about wanting to abort. I struggled with the decision for a very long time.
My position had not really changed. I still believed that only women could decide this for themselves. While in the position however, I could not isolate myself from the cultural context I grew up in and was surrounded by. Suddenly I was aware that every taxi or bus I ended up on was playing one of the many vitriolic songs that vilified women for exercising their sexual and reproductive health rights. Every ‘dash weh belly’ and ‘walking cemetery’ song felt like a personal attack. I was even more confused. Maybe I am a bad person for wanting to do this. Perhaps I am indeed being selfish.
After class one day I went to my lecturer, whom I trusted and had somewhat developed a relationship with, and asked about her position on abortions. As expected, she said she was pro-choice. We had a brief (and general) conversation about it and I started to feel better. Somebody understood; even if it was in a vacuum. Not long after that I told her I was pregnant, that I didn’t know what to do and she was supportive. This became the only solace for me. I stopped going to school and classes except when I had her classes. Even when we didn’t talk, seeing her was enough to remind me that I had someone on my side who wasn’t judging me.
By this time however, I had isolated myself from my friends, who were my main source of support. I was unreachable to all the people I cared about and who cared about me. Perhaps it was my own doing but I was so alone that it hurt physically. There were times when I had anxiety attacks because I felt unloved. Why was nobody there? I didn’t feel that I could talk to anyone about it. About how hard it was physically and mentally. How I often thought death was the only way out. I was depressed and doing poorly in school which brought on even more feelings of hopelessness.
In all the back and forth with my conscience and dealing with the everyday task of getting out of bed, I had not been taking time into consideration. One day while walking from class an acquaintance joked that I looked fat. The hysteria that gripped my soul after this encounter cannot be explained. This was happening and I needed to make a decision fast. I then found out from my very good friend Google that I was further along in medical terms than I thought because it is checked from your last period. Full-blown panic. What if it was too late and I was forced to carry this foetus to full term? I was devastated.
In my heightened state of hysteria, I turned to my lecturer who found a trustworthy doctor for me to go to. Did I mention that I was broke? Oh yes, I was. I had a fairly expensive phone and I sold it. I scheduled my appointment and was told I could come in that afternoon.
My heart and mouth were in the same place as I listened for my name in that tiny waiting area. I looked at all the other patients suspiciously. I wondered if they knew why I was there. If it was written on my forehead. When it was my turn to see the doctor I walked slowly inside and to stop myself from freezing up I blurted “I think I’m pregnant and I’m not sure I want it.” At this point, I knew I didn’t. My mind was made up but I couldn’t bring myself to say the word abortion. I also didn’t want him to think I was flippant. I needed him to know that I struggled with the decision. I mentioned school and other activities I was involved in to convince him that I wasn’t careless. Perhaps I was trying to convince myself too.
After a routine check up we agreed on the next morning to do the procedure. I was relieved.
But the next morning came and I could not go. I just wasn’t able to. I was emotionally drained and wasn’t able to face it. I did not get out of bed that day. I cried until I just couldn’t cry anymore. That night I looked in the mirror and spoke to myself and the foetus. I told her (I imagined it to be a girl) that I liked her but she couldn’t be inside me anymore. I told her that I had things to do, dreams to fulfil, places to see and growing up to do before I could do a good job of taking care of her. I didn’t know I had gotten so attached and it was heartbreaking.
The next morning I got up and went for the procedure sans thoughts.
The waiting time was long, which threatened to give me cold feet but I stuck it out. I did paperwork (read: fake and code stuff because this was illegal). In the operating room, after prepping, I was given anaesthesia and asked to count to five. The last thing I remember was saying three….
A couple hours later when I woke up groggy, it was quite fitting that the island was placed on hurricane watch. I felt like the after effects of a hurricane for several months after. The bigger half of me was relieved but a slightly smaller half was sad and regretful. It took me a long time to understand that I did the best with what I had and needed to forgive myself.
Today I am ok with the decision I made. It was the best decision for me at the time and I am at peace. Yes, there are still moments when I try to envision what could’ve been or something triggers a bad memory but I am no longer regretful.
Up to this point I have avoided any serious contemplation and reflection on this part of my past because it is unpleasant and rakes up old wounds. It rests greatly on me how many women, and especially young girls, go through this alone. So as I come out to and for myself, I also come out for all those women who think they are facing it alone and that they’ll never survive. It gets better.
We often blame and shame women for making these decisions but do we take the time to understand in a nuanced way? I have met many women who have terminated pregnancies and it is never easy. The moral debate will possibly rage on into eternity but in the meantime can we support women so they can continue to be healthy and productive citizens? There is a perception that it is careless women who access abortion services but we’d be surprised at the people around us who’ve had to terminate pregnancies for whatever reason.
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Addendum: I wrote this 5 years ago when I contemplated publishing it in the newspapers. I ultimately decided not to. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the kinda 'fame’ that would inevitably come with it. There’s also no statute of limitations on abortions and mi nuh think jail would a fit mi.
Anyhow, I now have a toddler. When I found out I was pregnant this time, I felt ready enough - especially emotionally and financially. We are doing well. No regrets.