#6 - Untitled

I was about 17 when I got pregnant. I was scared. I knew I didn’t want a child I think perhaps because the would-be father was no kinda father figure and I was young. I told my close friends because I didn’t know how to terminate the pregnancy but one of them had another friend who’d had one done before and said the doctor would give me pills but it would cost $15000. I didn’t have that much money so the plan was to ask my friends to pool funds so I could get it done the only problem was all of them happened to be broke all at the same time. It was summer no one had school so no one was getting an allowance.

I’m still not sure how my parents found out but they did. I was about 2 months at the time. They called me into their room one morning and asked about it. I just remembered my mom yelling at me to tell her what happened and my dad stood quietly there. I couldn’t speak. She took me to her gynaecologist who examined my cervix and confirmed that I was in fact pregnant. The whole time I was hoping he would say I wasn’t even though I had taken 2 home tests myself and they were positive each time.

My mom asked about options to terminate he said he couldn’t do it but referred her to someone who could. When I went to that other doctor we were sitting in his office and he asked what was wrong. My mom looked at me told me to tell him and I did. After that, it was a mini-lecture on why I shouldn’t be having sex and using protection etc. I just remember feeling so guilty. But I had used protection both the condom and the morning after failed (what are the odds?). They didn’t ask me about any of that, of course, they just assumed I was stupid and reckless.

They took me into the operating room which was really dark and old looking. The nurse told me to undress from the bottom down and get on the bed. They gave me an anaesthetic. I was told it would put me out and I wouldn’t remember anything. The problem was I wasn’t totally unconscious before they started and I don’t think I was completely sedated and all because I could hear and feel everything. I felt them spreading my legs. I felt the cold metals and the piercing and the tugging and the pulling and the scraping. My eyes were heavy and my limbs were weak. I’m sure I could open my eyes and move but I didn’t. I didn’t want to see what they were doing to me. I was groaning in pain and telling them it hurt hoping they would stop but they ignored me. At some point, I must have eventually passed out maybe from the pain or maybe the anaesthetics had finally kicked in. Idk the next thing I remember was the nurse rushing me to put my clothes on. She put a pad in my panties, helped me put my pants on and led me to see my mom. When I saw her I burst into tears. I told her how sorry I was. We never spoke about it again. I never told her how bad it hurt we didn’t talk the entire way home.

I don’t regret doing it but I hate that I felt like I didn’t have the emotional support to walk me through all of it. I hate that I felt so much shame about it. So much so, that I think this is probably the only time I talked about other than when I told my therapist. It felt like it was written on my face. I kept wondering if people knew and what they would think of me. It took a while to get over the shame. I feel like everybody including my parents looked at me differently.

It happened 8 years ago. I’d like to think I’m over it. I wished it had gone differently. It is what it is though. Shit happens and then you move on.

#5 - My Rebirth through Abortion

A couple of people know I did an abortion, but not many know the real story behind the smiles and facades of strength. 

Because I do want to keep it short, I won’t tell you of my insecure childhood- growing up experiencing two households dedicated to indulging me in physical and mental abuse.

I won’t elaborate on the fact that the women who should have mattered the most failed me almost as much as I failed their standards. 

Nor the rape, nor the molestation, nor the constant demon in my head saying it could be worse. 

I come from Upper St. Andrew. I have a pool in my backyard. I have space in my house that I forget exists. I am privileged. This is my penance.

I’ll take you instead to 2013 when I started UWI doing a degree that was expected of me. My “family” had gone into near bankruptcy and I was a loose cannon at school. I had the freedom to do as I felt, men noticed me. I was easy. I loved the sex, the money and the drugs. My grades were garbage with a GPA of 0.1 From 2013-2016 I was in school inconsistently due to financial issues. I decided to quit completely in May 2016.

I hated my major and I moved out. My boyfriend was doing very well academically and pleaded with me, I’d resigned myself that this was another punishment for not being ‘the perfect child’. On January 10, 2017, after weeks of terrible abdominal pain, I went to the emergency room with my father (he picked me up as I was in so much pain I had to call him). A greasy Indian doctor saw me- “Congrats” you’re pregnant.

I’ve always been pro-choice, pro-abortion, pro-sex, pro-woman. But an abortion? Not me, no. I was on the pill. 

The last time I had sex was on my period. Impossible. My best friend bought me six pregnancy tests. All positive. She told me about a doctor-brave faced “yeah totally” this is what I want.

My boyfriend was supportive of either keeping or aborting. It was my choice and I hated him even more for it.

I saw the doctor the next day. Paid the money and he stuffed me with pills to induce my baby’s early departure. I was in pain, but still, my baby stayed.

On the 19th of January, I went back to the doctor to find out how much it would cost for a D&C - A surgical removal since my baby wouldn’t come out. This was the first time I had a scan of my uterus to see the baby. I told him I didn’t want the printout and I’ve regretted it every day since. The doctor told me there is no baby. It is a blighted ovum. An empty sac. Turns out I couldn’t even conceive properly. He stuck in more pills and I passed my sin in the toilet that night holding my lover’s hand.

I move after the bleeding stops, which is almost a month full of fevers, cold sweats and extreme confusion. I move countries without telling anyone. To a place, I know no one. I work under the table jobs that affords just enough because of my Jamaican stinginess. I develop discipline. I fast. I do not think of my baby. I’m in a constant state of brilliant mania. I decide to switch degrees and go back to school. I decide to come back. I come back when school starts and my anxiety rears up. I go back to see a therapist- You have Bipolar II, take this pill.

I take the pills. My family-which is back on its feet- relationship cracks. I have more rage than I have ever felt. We walk around with plastered smiles. I tell my lover how much I hate them. January 2018, I kill them all in my mind and speak to only my father. I go to school. My lover and I break up. I find new friends who are a wholesome, focused set. I get a job. I work and do school. My GPA is 3.5. I’m set to graduate at the end of the year. My lover just finished his Masters. We are back and he tells me constantly how proud he is of me.

My abortion was a reality check. 

It gave me the discipline and confidence to make a better me. I’m not perfect. I suffer from constant guilt, anxiety and self-doubt. My abortion gave me a chance to restart and rewrite myself on my own terms. It gave me a chance to cast away my past. I have hope now. I make it clear what I want and will not stand. My abortion showed me that my body is mine.

I just want to be better for when my baby comes back.

#4 - Untitled

The first one was probably the only “unexpected” pregnancy.

I don’t know how it happened because we always used condoms. I was about 20, in university and working part-time, and he was older.

 When I realised I was pregnant I painted a scenario for him to gauge his reaction - “What would you do if I got pregnant?” His response was swift- “It couldn’t be mine”. I knew he had a daughter who he never saw, who was being raised by grandparents in another parish, so having a baby -having his baby- wasn’t an option for me.

I grew up dirt poor, would have no support from family, and obviously would have issues with the father, so the decision was a no-brainer.

My sister had done an abortion earlier, and I went to the same provider in St Catherine. He used sedation - a general anaesthetic- so I never felt a thing during the suction. It was done at night - I went in at 7pm, was out by 9pm.  There was no judgement from him, or the nurses, or even from the taxi driver that drove me home afterwards, who had to know what women would have been doing at that doctor’s office at night. The nurses called the cab and he drove me to Kingston, me groggy and dazed.

I had no issues afterwards. Bleeding and some cramping, which was expected, but the doctor gave me antibiotics. I was back to my usual self the next day.

Numbers two and three happened overseas. I was admittedly not being serious about birth control and was using Plan B too often until it failed. The pill made me nauseous, depo made me bleed for months, and so condoms, occasionally, were the choice.

Number two was done with no pain relief at all. Number three was done with just Demerol. 

They did an ultrasound before and gave me the picture. I almost backed out.

In all these cases I felt that it was something I had to do, as I didn’t want to be a single mother battling it out with deadbeat men.

Number four happened in Jamaica. I had used an app to calculate safe days and that failed. I went back to the same doctor in St Catherine, and he performed the procedure at his office in Kingston, again under general anaesthesia.

This one almost killed me. It’s the one I regret most because the father is now my husband and would have been by my side.

I bled only slightly at first, then had cramps only for a few weeks. The antibiotics prescribed was too harsh, and I spent weeks doubled over in pain. This pain was so severe that I felt like I was passing out.  My period returned 10 weeks later, so heavy that I couldn’t leave the bathroom.

I suspect that something went wrong with the last abortion.  This was done at about five weeks. All the other abortions were done between six and nine weeks.

I am now married. I got pregnant last year, but the baby was not developing and I was diagnosed with a blighted ovum. I did a medical abortion- Cytotec - administered by a gyno, and when that didn’t work, I had to follow up with a dilation and curettage (D&C).

I haven’t been able to get pregnant since, even with fertility drugs.

#3 - I Took a Pregnancy Test as a Joke. It Laughed Back.

I found out I was pregnant on a Saturday afternoon while I was cleaning my apartment. I found an old pregnancy test under the bed and laughed to myself and set it aside while I continued sweeping. An hour later, I felt the urge to pee and thought it would be funny to do the pregnancy test. I set it on the side of the bathtub and scrolled through Twitter while I sat on the toilet. I glanced at it. Two lines, as expected.

Wait, what?

Two lines means pregnant, right? Okay, not what I was expecting. I knew work had been crazy and I had missed a couple pills but the pregnancy test was old. Probably a false positive. Obviously. But I knew false positives were rare. I sent a photo of the test to my friend.

Her response: the fuck? Do it again.

So I did. I went to the pharmacy and bought three more tests. One expensive, brand name one and two cheaper ones. Came home and did all three. So now I had four positive tests. Double lines and plus signs everywhere. My immediate thought was how do I get rid of it. My next thought was, should I tell the father?

The father and I had a huge fight just two nights before. We argued on the phone and I got so upset that I threw my phone at the wall and the screen shattered. I had blocked him. And I meant it that time. He was blocked forever. But now I had to unblock him.

But not yet. First, I told another friend and asked her if she knew where I could get an abortion. She gave me the details for a gynaecologist who had done the procedure for a friend of a friend. I called the number. The office was closed on Saturdays.

I sighed and unblocked the father. I told him about the tests, that it was his and that I was looking into getting an abortion. He was surprised, said he supported my decision and offered to pay for it. He asked about my mental wellbeing and we talked for a bit.

I began searching online. Frantic googling. I found a website that sent abortion pills to women in countries where abortions are illegal. I was skeptical, but all my research checked out. It really seemed legit. The site sends the pills to you for a donation. You give whatever you can, even if that’s $0. I signed up and spent the $0, just in case my trip to the doctor didn’t work out.

The following Monday, I called and scheduled an appointment with the doctor. I was wondering how to bring it up to her, seeing as it’s illegal and all. I felt like I was buying drugs, having to be covert and overt at the same time. When she asked what brings me here today, I told her that I’m pregnant. She clapped her hands. “Congratulations!” I chuckled nervously and didn’t respond.

I did another test. The fifth one. Positive again.

Her: Okay, we’ve confirmed that you’re pregnant. Will we be looking into prenatal care?
Me: Not exactly… I wanted to know what my options are. It’s not a good time for me to have a child. I don’t even really want to be a mother.
Her: I see. What does the father think?
Me: He feels the same.
Her: I understand. Before we can talk about your options, let’s see what’s going on down there.

She told me to get in the other room and undress from the waist down to do an ultrasound. I never imagined that I would be doing one of those. I couldn’t see much on the screen. It just looked like blobs. Or a Rorschach test. She told me I was at seven weeks. I put my clothes back on and we went back to the other room to talk.

She told me that since I wasn’t very far along, I could do a surgical abortion. She said that I had a few weeks to think about it, but try not to pass 13 weeks. I told her I didn’t need any time and asked for the next available appointment. It was the following Wednesday. She told me the procedure would cost $50,000.

I told my boss I would need Wednesday and Thursday off. I was pretty close to her. She was worried and kept asking if I was alright and what I needed the time for. Like, she was perfectly okay with me taking the time but she was concerned that something was wrong. I ended up telling her. She was supportive.

On Wednesday, I wore a dress that I now refer to as “the abortion dress” in my head whenever I wear it. A friend came with me, though we are no longer friends. People drift apart. That’s okay. I saw a girl who looked about 17 in the waiting room. She was there with her mom. I wondered if she was there for the same reason I was.

I got called into a room, but my friend wasn’t allowed to come with me. I removed my underwear, pulled the dress up to my waist and put my feet in the stirrups. The doctor sat in front of me and a nurse was to my side. I was told that my cervix would need to be injected and that it wouldn’t hurt. It did hurt. Next, she inserted the vacuum tube inside me and turned it on. I began crying. It was physically painful and emotionally overwhelming. The nurse hugged me. The whole thing lasted less than a minute, I think. When it was done, I asked if they could call my friend. She held me while I cried.

By this point, I was in excruciating pain. My uterus was contracting. It had expanded to hold the tiny fetus and now it was contracting. It subsided, but there was still a dull cramp. I finally got up and put my underwear back on. Morbidly, I looked in the sink and the trash can to see if I could see I’m not sure what.

It was over and I was glad. In pain, but glad. In all $78,000 was spent. $8000 for the initial visit, $50,000 for the procedure, $8000 for a follow-up visit and $12000 for medication - painkillers and antibiotics.

I found out I was pregnant on a Saturday and by the Wednesday, I wasn’t anymore. Those four days were the longest of my life. I felt like a parasite was inside me. I went about my days as normal while an existential crisis took place in my head. I have never felt anything but gratitude about my procedure. Gratitude because it was safe and accessible and that I had a choice. Gratitude because I had support. Gratitude because I was able to be in control of my destiny.

A week after the procedure, I received a package. It was a book. I opened the book and in between cut out pages was a tiny plastic bag filled with pills.

#2 - The Day Of Love

I’ve always loved our intimate sessions. I can’t say I truly loved having sex with him but I think I just loved hearing him being pleased.

We always went back and forth, and later down in the relationship, I learnt he had a “complicated” relationship and a baby on the way, who then became an actual existing figure; a little human.

Again, this wasn’t love…

My period was to start January 24th and is usually pretty accurate. The last time we had sex was in his car outside my apartment complex… needless to say, he came inside and I came out of the car I literally walked with my legs close together to prevent the cum from being visible running down my legs.

I took a Postinor the following morning. Safe.

Until I noticed my breasts started being painfully tender. Not something new to me but it was alarming as to how tender it was. And I was sleeping like crazzzzzzzyyyyy!!!! And I was forever hungry!!!!

It was 1 AM I was in the room and I was like “hey let me see how late I am” as I know the pill can either delay or start your period earlier than expected. It was more than two weeks or about that.
I decided to visit my doc and jokingly told him I wanted to do a pregnancy test.

I did it but I was not worrying. How could I be pregnant by a man who lied to me constantly? And though I was not in love I just felt like I should have been chosen.
I have never ever wanted kids either.

My doc came out and looked at me with the “oh no, I am disappointed in you” look. It’s positive. He said it in disbelief.
I, of course, was laughing my ass off cause again… what? I honestly thought he was joking. Until he showed me the results.

I instantly asked him if he has a number for someone that I can deal with it.

February 14th I found out I was pregnant; February 14th I terminated. Ironic huh? The day of love! 

The first visit was him really just pushing a pill inside my vagina and he gave me two pads for the road and a painkiller and a prescription for some antibiotics and more painkillers. He told me that there would be some spotting at first and I would experience period like cramps.

WHAT A FUCKING LIAR!
My cramps made me think of suicide. When I went back a week after, he pushed a suction thing inside me and scraped my uterus lining to rid anything of the pregnancy. I bled maybe for a month until it got regularized and I started seeing my period.

It was a painful experience. But to be honest, if it affected me emotionally, I can’t say. I have always been lacking in emotions… so I’m not sure if there is an emotion to it that I’m suppressing (which I doubt) but it didn’t affect me mentally

I never once thought what the baby would look like and neither did he know I was pregnant for him for the few weeks that I was.

#1 - Two Times The Charm

I was 16 and in sixth form at a prominent high school. My boyfriend, 17, attended one too and was a star athlete. That same year I applied to university while he fielded scholarships from overseas. We thought we were gonna be married. You know…young love. Anyways, the happily ever after dream turned into a reoccurring panic attack when I found I was pregnant. Luckily this was near the end of CAPE Exams.

He was stressed. I was focused. I couldn’t have this baby. And as easy as I made the decision that I couldn’t have it, it still rested heavily on my shoulders. 

What if I killed this baby and I couldn’t have any more? What if when I achieved all that I’m supposed to achieve and I’m ready for a family with a great husband… Will God punish me by making me barren?

I was the first to go to university in my family. University had already accepted me I was just waiting to turn 17. My whole family was on my back. My boyfriend and I pooled all our savings and I did the D&C. That’s the fancy medical term that they use. Dilation & Cutterage. Dilate your cervix…reach in and scrape out what is in your uterus. The pregnancy was early but I was still devastated. I did the procedure and left as soon as I could. I couldn’t look at the building anymore. I would spend extra taxi fare to avoid that building on any commute.

Three months later I had the worse urinary tract infection of my life. My kidneys were on fire. I was fainting. My boyfriend carried me to the doctor. Our family practitioner, known to my parents from long ago, told me I WAS STILL PREGNANT. I wanted to die. He said he couldn’t do it. Not without my parents’ permission and now it was too far along for him to do it. My parents had to know! He wrote a letter to them for me.

Yeah…of course, I know girls got pregnant at 16 and made it. Figuratively of course. But what quality of life did they have? Even if I was gonna soldier on and deal with my responsibility. The child would have severe birth defects because of the previous (failed) abortion! How would I live with myself having knowingly deformed my own child?

Guess wah now? Another abortion procedure. This time at a hospital-grade private entity. Costing my mother thousands of dollars. 50 or more at the time. This was when $50,000 dollars was a lot of money. I stayed there for 3 days. My mother has never spoken of it since. And I’m thankful that regardless of how disappointed she was, our relationship was balanced enough that I could come clean with her and get help instead of trying to use a hanger to pull it out or throwing myself down a flight of stairs.

Did that first doctor do it on purpose? I don’t know. I know though if it was a less taboo topic I would’ve gone back for a post-procedural checkup as you have to do on any other occasion. I wouldn’t have wanted to so badly forget the day and forget the smell of the drugs that put me to sleep before he started. A standard of care would’ve been guaranteed. 

I figured karma would get me somehow. That the fact that I had to subject myself to that twice told me that God wasn’t pleased with me. Not at all. A close family member said, “ You don’t share this with anybody, go ah yuh grave wid it”. I asked what if I’m married and I can’t have anymore? She reiterated “To yuh grave”. A man will leave you if you can’t have children….even quicker when you let him know it’s your fault why.

Dancehall music was always there to remind me bout the ‘baby duppy dem’ and how much of a  social pariah I was for having “dash weh a belly”. But when I wanted to cry about the whole thing I told myself that both that baby and I would be social pariahs because I wouldn’t be able to take care of him/her.

Was it an easy decision? Fuck no! And fuck anybody who thinks that doing that is an easy way out. I live with my decision every day. Or more so my parents’ decision to trust that I should be given another opportunity to make good on my hopes and dreams. I wish others were given that chance.