Trigger Warning: This piece contains depiction of abortion & related medical procedures.
She held my hand tightly. I clenched hers, as I was sweating profusely from the nerves of what I had signed up for. It hurt my heart, my soul, and everything within me to decide on the possibility of having a second abortion…
My first was with my abusive ex-husband not even a year after having our daughter at seventeen years old. Not to mention, I had the IUD planted within me and I still got pregnant. 99.9% effective—yet nestled inside me was the 1%.
But this pregnancy was unexpected, again PREGNANT ON BIRTH CONTROL!
It was my final year in my undergraduate program and I was living with my parents, after a failed toxic relationship. My partner and I were serious but not THAT serious, meaning I saw a foreseeable future with him, but uncertainty still lingered. There was also the reality of us exploring a polyamorous relationship, and I was dating two other women who held my fancy as much as my male partner.
Without my partner’s knowledge I made the first abortion appointment; this one is usually used as the “scare tactic” they give you all the resources made possible: free contraceptive, a look at your growing fetus for free, jibber-jabber on adoption, and the all-embracing monologue that your choice is what matters. In all the bleak undertones, the workers continue to question your life values and why you are considering this monstrosity, and all the workers try to humanize the process to the best of their ability.
That day still boggles me even after the seven year mark; a week after his birthday and a few days before hers, it was a frosty February morning. I clenched the novel, Illegal, at hand, studying for the Mexican-American Literature course I was taking during my undergrad years. A significant factor to why I needed to have the abortion. Firstly, I was an in-debt college student and I was two years away from graduation. Secondly, I had two cumbersome parenting relationships with men I loathed. Thirdly, I just wanted to enjoy my polyamorous relationships without a second being growing within me, engrossing all the attention I expected.
One of the instructions listed was to ensure we dressed in comfy clothes; preferably pitch dark pants, so that any remnants of bleeding through would be less obvious. The waiting area was half-way illuminated, plug-in candles to add to the scenery and uplift the already dampened mood. The first step was the absorption of the pills, mifepristone, halo white disks that must be left two on each side of your mouth, until further dissolved. The taste is chalky and the nurses stand guard as your jaws fizzle and no residue of capsules is left. I begin to feel as invisible as the medication swallows me up: spirit, creature, and body.