“Men suck, huh?” said the woman next to me in the abortion clinic recovery room.
No, I thought. I suck –for getting myself in this position in the first place.
I was sitting alone in an abortion clinic waiting my turn. I remember waking up at 5am or so to get to the clinic by 6:30am for a 7am appointment. That turned into a 9am appointment. Let me tell you something. I’ve had very few humbling experiences like that one. I looked around the waiting room and recognized the look on so many of the women’s faces. Most of them were there alone, like me. They had this expression on their face that I will never forget.
Shame.
Their eyes all looked empty. Their mouths were tight. They avoided any and all eye contact. But I still could read their minds. They, and I, were thinking, “What wrong turn did I make to end up here? How did it get that bad?”
I made the decision to terminate my pregnancy quite easily. In fact, looking back on it, I’m alarmed at how easy that decision was. It was never a question. I was completely detached. The father did what a lot of men in his situation do and denied it was his, claiming I was lying and making it up. I can remember him coming over my apartment and giving me $150 dollars, not saying a word, turning and walking away. He wouldn’t even look at me. I went in for my first appointment and was told to come back because I wasn’t far enough along. Yes, I went through the first part, the blood tests, the waiting, the watching women walk in and out of the waiting room with this vacant look in their eyes not once, but twice.
I had two weeks before they could do the procedure. In that time, I did everything I could to avoid thinking that their was a small, peanut sized person growing inside me. It wasn’t until the day before I went in for the second appointment that I found myself talking to him. Yes, I had this gut feeling it was a boy. I asked him to understand why I was doing what I was doing. That I wasn’t ready, couldn’t provide for him, blah blah blah. I gave him a few pat excuses. The real reason, at least this is what I told myself, was that I just didn’t want him. It’s quite easy to convince yourself of certainly realities and truths isn’t it?
The morning before I went in, I remember looking at this picture of my Mother I have hung on my wall over my bed. That’s when it really hit me. Here I was acknowledging a connection that I never really experienced or acknowledged as I was about to terminate another one. I said one final prayer to my Mom and asked her to take care of William for me. That was his name. It came to me so easily as I prayed, too. As if it had been there all along. The only person, other than Karen and the father, who knew was my uncle, a Franciscan priest. He wanted so badly to come with me that day, but for obvious reasons couldn’t. Read the rest of this entry »
