Paper Covered Table 

I got pregnant on the pill. I know I'm not special and that these things happen all the time, but for me it felt like betrayal. Betrayal by the doctors and healthcare professionals who swore that pumping my body full of chemicals and hormones that, sure, would change me physically and chemically, but would protect me from the babies I never wanted to have. And by society who puts all the pressure on women to protect themselves (but really just the men) from unplanned pregnancies.

I had just turned 24 and was recently engaged. From the outside it would have seemed like a "blessing" just a little out of order from the way things are "supposed" to go, especially to my (very religious) family. But in reality, I was just a child myself, trying to find my way in this crazy world. I was at work when I found out, one of the two jobs I had at the time. I smelled a familiar smell that usually brought me joy, but that morning made me nauseous. In that instant I knew. I don't know how I knew, or why that's where my brain went. I was on the pill, after all. I had done everything right. That shouldn't even be an option. But I knew. A home pregnancy test later that day confirmed my greatest fear. I texted my fiancé immediately. "We need to talk," was all it said. Some friends of ours had recently announced they were expecting and told the story of how she texted him the same thing when she found out. He knew instantly, perhaps hoped I was joking.

I knew what I was going to do, but being raised the way that I was I felt I did not have permission to make a decision like this without consulting the man. While we never said it, we both came to the same conclusion. And that was the end of it. He and I never spoke about it again, from that day forward. I scrambled to rearrange my work schedules to be able to make an appointment. I was able to confide in my manager (and good friend) at one of my jobs about what was going on, and she was incredibly supportive. But still, I had to hide it (despite morning sickness and extreme emotions).

One of my co-workers and her husband had been trying for months to have a baby of their own. They had undergone testing, and procedures, and IVF and scheduling sexy-time for the exact right moment...only to be devastated when her period came each month.

How could I tell her that I was "blessed" with viable cells, and was going to terminate them without a second thought? My appointment came, and I went by myself. They did the initial consult and then confirmed the pregnancy via ultrasound. Per some hideous and ridiculous law, they forced me to listen to the clump of cells beat for a few moments and then asked me if I still wanted to go through with my decision.

I was not going to back down. Never mind that I was too young to be a mother, I didn't WANT to be a mother. But what if I cared more about other people's opinions, or how the religion I was raised in believed that abortion was murder and murderers go to hell? Or how my mother would later tell me that I "killed her grandbaby" (a baby that was never born, and therefore never existed)? Or what if my partner was abusive and would physically harm me, or worse, for aborting his seed?

What if in those few moments of listening to a monitor beat with a stick shoved uncomfortably inside me on a paper-covered table in a doctor's office with no one but the ultrasound technician with me...I decided to change my decision? A decision I knew was best for me and ultimately the best decision for the clump of cells that decided to form inside of me, despite me "doing everything right"?

After climbing off the table and cleaning myself up, I scheduled my follow-up appointment (per another hideous and ridiculous law requiring a waiting period). I had opted for the "medical" abortion (aka abortion pills). I am forever grateful that I had options to choose from, and was able to make the one that felt right for me. Despite me never wavering in my decision, my body was still undergoing physical and hormonal changes. I was emotional. I was scared. And I was alone. Again I scrambled to rearrange my work schedule so that I could go back to the clinic to take the first pill in the witness of the doctor, and then be able to take the second pill from the safety and comfort of my own home some hours later. I listed the reason for taking off as "personal" for my second job. My boss pressed for the reason why. I had shown up for work diligently for the past few weeks, despite being exhausted and nauseous. I didn't owe him a reason.

I walked to the clinic, alone. I sat in the waiting room, alone. I again was asked if I wanted to go through with it, and understood the decision I was making. I took the first pill and was given the second with clear instructions on how to take it and what to expect after. I returned to work the next morning, as I didn't need to take the second pill until later that day and couldn't afford to take anymore time off. I had an abortion to pay for, after all. One my fiancé, who had just has much responsibility in this situation, did not offer to help pay for.

Later that evening I took the second pill. It can take a couple hours for things to start happening, so I went to bed. I woke up a few hours later in excruciating pain. I spent the next several hours moving from the bathroom to the couch (I decided not to return to bed, so as to not disturb my fiancé), doubled over in pain as I walked and curled in the fetal position as I laid. Not once, over the next 24 hours (or prior, or beyond) did my fiancé ask how I was doing or if I needed anything. Not once did he say he was sorry I had to go through this.

Why did I need to forfeit my own bodily autonomy and allow this clump of cells to grow in order to deserve the love and support from the person who was supposed to be my partner? Would he even have been more supportive if I had decided to have the baby? Some years later, my sister suffered a miscarriage. She lost the possibility of a baby she and her family truly wanted.

She explained to me how it happened and I listened, pretending not to understand at least a fraction of what she was going through. After all, I too had suffered a miscarriage, but one I had chosen to have. My sister and I took very different paths in our adult life, but it was that moment that put the biggest wedge between us. I never told my sister about my abortion, because I knew she would be hurt and disappointed. I was fine keeping this secret from her. In the wake of the Supreme Court's decision, I have chosen to be quiet no more.

Sister,

I hope you can understand that I made the decision I had to for myself, and that we can begin to repair our broken relationship. I love you. You are my only sister and my forever best friend.

Fast forward 7 years, and I am happily divorced (shocker), another decision I am very grateful I was able to make. I have thought about my abortion many times over the past several years, and never once regretted it or took it for granted.