12.19.22
Two days until I’m not pregnant. Can I keep the breasts? Though they’re hard to lay on, pushing out under my armpits; awkwardly heavy, super sensitive nipples. When people ask what my holiday plans entail I want to shout “I’m having an abortion!” for shock value. For sympathy. For awareness. Pregnancy is all that’s on my brain right now. Can’t think of anything else other than this condition growing steady and fast no matter the intense wishing away in every moment. We’ve stood on the deck with rolled spliffs mulling ‘What If’, finding relief in Wednesday’s finality. A week feels like a lifetime away since two pink lines confirmed, then the “I need to tell you something” conversation on the front step. Dinking hibiscus tea. Hoping for easy passage.
12.21.22
We sleep in my king on the darkest day of the year before making the six-hour round trip to stop the ‘little dot’ on the sonogram screen from making its way into a human being. Crossing borders because where we live, access is restricted and absurdly expensive. He told me in the beginning that his sperm was high potency. I laughed, saying, “men tell you everything about themselves within the first twenty-four hours,” then swallowed Plan B after our first night together and stopped being careful. He’s twenty years my senior…there’s no way. Three months later, the day after my 39th birthday while on the phone with my best girlfriend, I confirmed my absent period. Strange feelings. Not like it’s not exciting to be able to create a thing that could grow into its own blood and bone soul. Ridding doesn’t make me sad, just constantly contemplate a decision I made before needing to be fixated on the actuality of having to make the decision. I’ve stared at the ceiling a lot. Just wish it was over already; fucking torture making uteruses wait for this procedure. “Brick” rattled in my head all day.
12.22.22
Aborting alone. Stayed wrapped in bed for so long that I made myself sick. Outside, snow-apocalypse for a white Christmas. I’m feeling nauseous in preparation. Don’t know if it’s head or body anticipation. First pill is working, halting progesterone, administered yesterday by a clinic nurse with hot pink talons and a bleached bob, promising halt of ‘crazy’ feelings, reassuring me I’d be fine as I swallowed. Smiling, she said it’s good that I came this early, that I’d be fine. Fifteen-minute appointment with no shame. How little I know about a woman’s existence until I begin to experience it. Things not talked about or shared. Things my mother experienced and never cared to pass. I’m sure if I’d have a baby we’d talk more than my last 39 years. This fetus is five weeks and three days today. At eleven AM, I’ll hold the final dose under my tongue until the pills melt. No water for a half-hour, then waiting for cramping and bleeding. Trying to not fear the pain. I’m good with pain.
-LNS