From about the age of 19 I knew that if I ever got pregnant
I would have an abortion. This decision,
this knowledge never made me sad or uncomfortable. I never felt as if I needed forgiveness or
counseling. I never spent time considering that others might
approve or disapprove. This had nothing
to do with others. Even back then I knew that I didn’t want
children. I considered that the effort

and cost of procreation was not worth my time or money. I recognized that my life was fulfilling
enough without the need for offspring dependency. I never approached a doctor about
sterilization, however, because in the back of my mind I considered those
nay-sayers who tried to convince me that I “just haven’t met the right man” or
that I would “change my mind once the biological clock starts ticking”.

I’m now 39 and I have yet to feel one single yen for a child
of my own. Please don’t misinterpret me
as a stuffy old biddy; an olden days spinster with a disapproving glare for
children who were heard rather than seen.
I like kids just fine. I have
been told I was a great Auntie. I was
the kind of Aunt who played hide and seek at dusk, snuck in chocolate at
bedtime and bought mammoth sized squirt guns for their birthdays. We would dance in our pajamas while singing
songs into hair brushes or rent b rated horror films just to throw popcorn at
the screen. I took nephews to concerts,
I decorated prepubescent girl tummies with henna designs and was a refuge when
the parents became too much. I like kids. I also like giving them back to their parents
and going home to my adult life. I got
all the fun and left all the work to those who chose that life.

Outside of my friends’ and family’s kids my life consists of
varying activities and goals. I
continued my education and opened up my own business in a second more rewarding career. I love travel and do so as often as finances
allow. I am always looking for my next
creative writing project, and spend time supporting friends’ art and music
efforts. I am in a satisfying
relationship and consider my life full, sometimes too full.

Four years ago, however, at the ripe old age of 35 I got
pregnant. After 18 years of sexual
activity, 18 years of responsibility and dedication to birth control, 18 years
of never having to face the pre-decided decision, a bladder infection sent me
into the emergency room. A bladder infection
while on vacation made me answer the question, “Are you or could you be
pregnant?” I looked at the ER nurse,
who took my info and answered,

“I suppose I ‘could’ be pregnant but I doubt it.”

“Well, we’ll do the test anyway because if you are pregnant we
can’t give you the Peridium.”

I gave blood for the pregnancy test, peed into the cup to
prove yet again I know what a bladder infection feels like and sat with my boyfriend
in the waiting room. An hour of
discomfort later I was called back in and handed a findings sheet and a prescription
for antibiotics. I started to ask for
the second prescription when a phrase on the findings sheet caught my eye…‘you
are pregnant…’. I must have re-read
those words 20 times willing them to change and searching the page for the
misplaced “not”.

I started to laugh. I
don’t know why. It wasn’t funny. I made it though 18 sexually active years of
my life and now I’m pregnant. No, no,
no, no, no, oh shit.

I walked back into the waiting room and handed the findings sheet
to my boyfriend. He looked at me and I
silently mouth, “I’m pregnant”.

We had already discussed what I would do if we found
ourselves in this situation. I always
have that discussion within a new relationship.
I don’t believe in surprises of that sort. I like everything out and upfront. We already knew what was to happen next, but
he asked me anyway,

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Like we discussed, I’m going to terminate the pregnancy”.

“Are you sure?”

“Um, yeah, why would we have had the discussion about this
very thing if I wasn’t sure?”

“Are you okay?”, he asked me.

“Well other than the fact that they won’t give me any
Peridium because I’m pregnant, so I get to feel like I’ve got to urgently pee
until the medicine kicks in, yeah, I’m doing just great, Justin (named changed, of course).”

We headed to the nearest pharmacy and I randomly wandered
over to the card section while waiting for the prescription to be filled. I scanned through the “sorry I missed your
birthday” cards, “single girl” birthday cards, “getting old” cards, “congratulations
on your promotion” cards, “congratulations
on your graduation”, “congratulations on your engagement”, “congratulations on
your wedding”, “baby shower”, “it’s a boy”, “it’s a girl”... Nice, that’s fucking nice. Why are there no “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR
SUCCESSFUL ABORTION, WE APPRICIATE YOUR EFFORT IN NOT OVER POPULATING THE EARTH”
cards? Huh, huh? Where the hell are the greeting cards that
say, “CHIN UP ON YOUR DECISION AND FOLLOW THOUGH ON THE ABORTION, OLD GAL. NOW GO GET YOURSELF A MARGARITA. YOU’RE DRINKING FOR ONE AGAIN”?

I made this decision.
It’s mine. I own it. I made it a long time ago, I made it each
time I heard a friend was pregnant. I
made it all over again each time I discussed pregnancy with a new boyfriend and
I had to make the decision again that day.
I don’t have doubt about it. I
don’t question my morals. I don’t
feeling guilt. I just want to know why
there are no greeting cards that address this.
Why is this all so hush, hush?

I picked up my prescription and we walked back to the
boat. I spent the next 4 hours in the bathroom,
(oops, sorry Justin) the head of the boat.
Let me tell you, that was a fun day.
Let’s take one raging bladder infection, one brand new positive pregnancy
result, one freaked out boyfriend and cram it all onto a 34’ boat where I’m
stuck in the head while we cross the Puget Sound. Oh, and let’s not forget our three friends
along for the ride. Good times.

I called my girlfriend the next day and asked her for the
name of the clinic she used. I
immediately made an appointment. I sat
in the waiting room and read the literature.
I scanned a letter from a catholic parish telling me that they do not
judge me for my decision and if I need to talk their doors are open. Christ.

Perhaps they could conjure up a Magdalene Sister for
me. With all that’s going on in the catholic
church they honestly think I’m worried what they think of me? Yeah, about as much as I’m concerned that Jim
Morrison might rise from the dead, hover above my couch one Sunday night while
I’m watching a rerun of “Charmed”, enjoying a glass of wine and point his finger
to condemn me for being an alcoholic and having poor, poor taste in my viewing
selections.

I sat in the informational procedure session and listened to
my options. I was offered additional counseling
if I needed it. I told her I was
good. I decided on the surgical
procedure. After the exam I found out I
was too early for the surgical procedure and had to reschedule for two weeks
from then. I just wanted this whole
thing to be done with. I didn’t want to
feel nauseous for two more weeks. Crap.

A week and a half passed and my boyfriend was unusually quiet
one evening. I asked him if he needed to
talk. After another moment of silence
and a look of indecision he sighed and said,

“I don’t know. It
seems weird to me that you’re not more freaked out by this. Why isn’t this upsetting to you? Why aren’t you needing me? Why aren’t you crying? Why aren’t you struggling?”

Time stopped or at least slowed down. I could hear buzzing, like from a silent
speaker. It was interesting. At that moment, I was faced with verbalizing
my decision. I was on stage without note
cards and nothing memorized. I was
charged with explaining all of my morphing rationalization throughout the years. I was called upon to defend myself and that
made me mad.

“Why should I cry, Justin?
Why would I need you to get through this? Don’t get me wrong, you’re a part of this and
I’m glad you’re here, but why should this cause me to struggle? A breakdown would infer that I believed that
what I was doing was wrong. I think many
women who have this procedure may do so believing that they are killing a child
or terminating potential. With that
belief system in their hearts, of course this would be a battle, a struggle of
the mind and soul. However, I don’t
believe I’m killing. I don’t think that
there is a soul attached to the collection of cells inside me. I don’t believe that life starts at
conception and I don’t believe the soul enters into a life until much later
into the pregnancy or maybe even not until birth. I have studied, I have researched and read
and soul searched and I am secure in my beliefs. I am certain in my convictions. I am having a surgical procedure to terminate
a pregnancy. I am removing a zygote. I’m scheduled to have an abortion, Justin. That’s what we decided together. We agreed upon it. WE, Justin. I’m okay with it. Why would I break down?

I am not now nor have I ever been interested in having a
child, you know that, Justin. I am happy with my life the way
it is. Babies are a lot of work and I
think that way too many people have them without being fully prepared for how
much work it is. Don’t you remember? I’m the girl who thinks you should have to
successfully complete parenting classes before you’re allowed to take you’re
baby home. I’m the one who thinks China’s one
child per couple is a great thing.

Anyway, I haven’t broken down because I don’t need to break
down. I’m not struggling with this
decision because it’s not a new decision.
I’ve thought about this for 18 years and am good with it. I don’t feel any guilt over this, but I do
feel nervous. I don’t feel sorrow, but I
do feel irritated that I have to go through this at all. I don’t feel a need to cry, but I do feel
angry that I have had to spend two additional weeks in constant nausea. So Justin, I don’t need to lean on your
shoulder but I may need you to give me room to rant. I don’t need you to hold me up but I may need
you to give me the space to just be. I
am not going to feel bad for not feeling bad, okay?

And, now that I’m thinking about it, Justin, I find it
incredibly insulting that you agree with and support my decision to terminate
this pregnancy but your questions infer that you believe I should suffer for it
in some way. You don’t want the
responsibility of a child either but you’re obviously bothered by the fact that
this isn’t destroying me. I don’t think
your question is about me. I think you
need to reconcile your belief systems surrounding this. It’s not my job to absolve you for your
decision to support and participate in this abortion. If you are having guilt then you deal with
your guilt. If you are feeling like you
are doing something wrong then you’ve got to process that all on your own. I may be the one having the procedure but WE
got pregnant. WE are both involved in
this decision and WE are both responsible for the outcome. You are not disconnected from the abortion
just because you don’t have to lie on the exam table with your feet in stirrups. Perhaps you are the one who needs to freak
out and if so I’ll be here to listen, but I’m not going to play out your issues
for you.”

Jarry wasn’t the only one who put me in a position to defend
myself. The couple of friends I confided
in immediately got that, “Oh, I’m so sorry, how can I be supportive” look. This made me realize that I must be one of
the few. I must now be a member of a
marginal sect of a marginal sect. I feel
like so much of society tells women that we are damaged if we get
pregnant. In previous decades, if it was
outside of marriage we were outcasts. In
the medical and insurance communities pregnancy is consider an illness
according to placement in their text and hand books. Some medications are denied to those of us in
child bearing years, the part being more important than the whole, I suppose. However, should we terminate the pregnancy society
expects us to mentally and emotionally suffer the “trauma” the “tragedy” of the
procedure; a procedure that was physically less uncomfortable than having a
tooth extracted. This places me as an even
greater abomination. I’m the one who
isn’t destroyed by it. It’s bad enough
that I made this decision, but how dare I not carry it with me for the rest of
my life and condemn myself every time I look in the mirror. A fallen woman should live in shame. But I’m not going to do that. To do that I'd have to pretend. I am not a tragic figure. I did not make a tragic decision. I simply made a decision.

However, I do believe that we are the secret keepers. We are the bearers of the new scarlet letter. We keep the fact that we had an abortion to
ourselves. We keep it alone, solitary,
isolated. We haven’t come that far,
baby. Peers whisper, boyfriends freak,
churches condemn, government debates and in the end it is only me in that room
alone on the table with someone holding my hand to distract while a doctor
penetrates and extracts.

This leads me to another issue, one that I will only touch
on briefly. Why is there more upset at
the woman who terminates a pregnancy rather than over the man or woman who
abandons or harms a child, walks away from or strikes a living, soul filled, personality
developing, living human being. I
believe the child of the latter suffers more.
Where are the pro-life, free child care givers in the work place? Where are the picketers of the deadbeat
parent? Why does our society insert themselves
into the decision to have or not have a child and then walk away to leave that
child most likely poor, usually under uneducated, often abused? Shame on all of you pro-life activists who
aren’t actively employed as a social worker or in the social field. If you want a say in whether a child is born
then you need to make sure that every single child living in your community,
your country and across the world, for that matter, is born into appropriate
housing, medical care, a constant food supply, access to education, safety and stability. Until that is accomplished you are a
hypocrite and you have no right to say anything about what I or any other woman
decides to do regarding her reproductive rights. Let’s make sure every child currently in the
world is cared for, every last little boy and girl already on this earth is
healthy, safe and supported and then and only then do any of us have a right to
consider the good or bad, the moral implications of what others do. I’ll step down from my soap box now.

After the abortion I took a cab home. My boyfriend was at work. I scheduled it that way because I didn’t want
him hovering. I had nausea and horrible
cramping. It was the kind of cramping
that had me curled in a ball on the floor of my bathroom alternately sweating
and shivering. This lasted for about two
hours. I was told that was normal. Then it was done. I could breathe again.

A few months later I was approach by the girlfriend of a friend of Justin's in the bathroom of a Chinese restaurant. We’d had a drink after work and she confessed
that she knew about the abortion, a word she whispered. She said,

“Don’t be mad at Justin.
He was concerned about you and had never dealt with this before and so
he turned to Bill. Bill told me.”

I wasn’t mad. I’m glad Justin is the kind of guy that will talk to his friends about things that weigh
heavy on his heart. I was even okay that
this woman, who I had only met three times, knew something so personal about
me. You see, she’d had an abortion too. Again
the word was whispered. She offered to be
an ear if I needed to talk. Ugh. I told her thank you but that I was
okay. I again explained that I am
completely good with my decision, even if the rest of the world finds that
impossible to believe.

 Justin and I eventually broke up because he could never come to terms with his decision.  He agreed to, paid for and drove me to the appointment, took care of me afterward and then a year later decided that I was a "murderer".  Of course this only came out when he had too much to drink.  He would fall all over himself the next day, once he sobered up, denying he felt that way.  I had to let him go.  Wishy washy at best, hypocrit at worst.  Either way, he had some soul searching and self exploration to work on.  

 I am now in another more grounded, secure relationship.  I'm still happy with my life and the decision I made back then.  I can honestly say I don't feel guilt.  I don't regret the choice.  I occasionally think what a mess my life could have been had I had a child with Justin and that affirms the decision even more.  I know some women do feel guilt or sorrow, and that is their experience to process.  I also know that just as many don't, like me.  We just aren't allowed to talk about it.  Well, I am.  Today.  I am fine.

Meghan