Female Kinds; That’s About All We Have In Common
May 24th, 2007
I’m not normally in the habit of posting personal experiences on this blog, but for reasons which I hope will become clear in the body of this writing, I have decided to post this here. I’m sorry that the first thing I’ve posted in four weeks has to be such serious business, but I’m sure the four week absence will be best explained with the post itself.
Wednesday morning, May 23rd, 2007, I had an abortion.
It isn’t something women talk a lot about. We whisper about it to each other when a friend is faced with a difficult choice, and maybe we speak out about it from the safe, anonymous lofts of the internet forum, but for many reasons, we rarely mention it in casual conversation, even amongst friends. Surely it is a private affair. But I’m afraid that abortion is not only private, but secret. And the secrecy makes it feel wicked. And it makes it hard to talk about. And it makes it, and us, vulnerable. So I’m choosing to speak openly about my abortion, because I want other women to know they can do the same, that so many of us endure it, and so many of us have experiences and advice and comfort to offer. The women at the clinic I visited said 1 in 3 women have had abortions by the age 45. If the women I know are any indication, that number is much too low. I personally know more women who have had abortions than haven’t.
But you’d never know it, because no one says anything.
I wanted to have the surgical abortion rather than the medical abortion because, frankly, I knew it would hurt less. I’ve given birth to two children, both via natural childbirth, so I knew I could stand the pain. But suffering pain to bring forth life was a spiritual quest I wanted to endure; this didn’t seem to qualify. So while the idea of lying on a table with my feet in stirrups quite frankly terrified me, I knew it was the way I had to go.
I arrived at the clinic early, unable to find ways to occupy my time or my mind. There were a few other women in the waiting room, from college age to about mid-forties. Everyone had an escort—everyone but me. I chose to go alone, feeling strongly but inexplicably like this was something I had to do on my own. I didn’t think I could have sat in that room and made small talk with anyone while I waited for them to call my name. Yet being there alone made me feel vulnerable, and maybe a little bit pitiful.
My appointment was for 10:15, and by 11:00 they had done all the sonograms, paperwork, blood pressure tests, etc. that I needed done. I’d done the counseling, blood work, and sonogram the previous week. In fact, I was originally scheduled to have the abortion the previous week. But when the nurse looked at my sonogram, she deemed the gestational sac just a wee bit small, and recommended that I wait another week to ensure they didn’t miss it and have to repeat the procedure anyway.
At 11:00 they called me into my room, where I got undressed and waited for the anesthesiologist to come administer my IV. I did my research beforehand, and I knew that the cocktail used in the IV was a combination of Nubain, a narcotic pain med and sedative, and Versed, a sedative with hypnotic and amnestic properties. I was told that I would likely remember very little of the procedure, which would prove true.
The doctor came in with the anesthesiologist after what seemed like an eternity but was probably about 10 minutes. She was very kind, but very chatty. I don’t like to chat when I’m in situations like that. When I gave birth to my kids I didn’t want anyone talking to me, and I didn’t want anyone in the room even to talk to each other. But I breathed deeply, and forced a smile. While the anesthesiologist hooked up my IV, the doctor thumbed through my chart. Holding up the picture from my earlier sonogram, she clucked her tongue and said, “Oh, honey. I’m sorry, I could have done this last week. I would have worked with this.”
I sighed. “Don’t tell me that. That would have saved me a lot of morning sickness and time off work!” The doctor patted me. The anesthesiologist hrmmed and said, “I don’t think your IV is in right,” presumably because I was talking coherently and not totally zonked out. She fiddled with the needle and in about fifteen seconds, if that, I just got really dizzy and lay down. She smiled. “That’s more like it.”
That’s about where my memory ends. I very vaguely remember the doctor saying something about a yeast infection (“Really?” “Yes, it’s not bothering you?” “No” “Well, good. Women get them all the time, we just don’t know about it because mostly they don’t bother us.” “Really?” “Yes” “Fascinating” “We’ll give you some meds to clear it up if you want” “Okay”.) That she was rooting around in my nether parts must mean that my legs were in the stirrups at this point. I have no recollection of this.
When she administered the Lidocaine, she said something like, “You might feel a pinch.” I didn’t. I didn’t feel much of anything during the abortion. I vaguely recall feeling some pressure, like someone was pressing down on the inside of my uterus. And I vaguely remember thinking, “What’s she doing now? Oh, oh! That must be the actual abortion.” But it’s very surreal. And then I remember the anesthesiologist and the nurse trying to get me to sit up.
“It’s over?”
They smile at me. “Yes, it’s over.”
It seems unreal. I don’t understand what’s happening. The doctor asks me a question; I don’t know what she’s saying. The anesthesiologist looks to the doctor. “I think she’s still a bit stunned that it’s over.” I hear chuckling. The doctor says, “It’s all over, honey. I think you fell asleep. No, you did fall asleep.”
I process this a moment. “I’m not pregnant anymore?”
And now everyone flat out laughs. The doctor shakes her head, smiling. “No, you’re not pregnant anymore!” I laugh, relieved. I went to sleep pregnant. I woke up not pregnant. It feels like magic.
The nurse is helping me into my pants. I’m still on the table. I can’t move very well; I’m totally drugged. I wiggle into my jeans. She helps me off the table, into my shoes. I pick up my purse. She guides me toward the recovery room and asks, “Was that a gift from someone? You don’t seem like the kind of person who would buy a Coach bag for herself.”
I have to laugh at this. We only just met today; she doesn’t know what kind of person I am at all, except that I’m the kind of person that would have an abortion. And what kind of person has an abortion? Female kinds. That’s about all we have in common.
“I can’t be fit into any one box,” I say to her.
In recovery, I ate a bagful of pretzels and drank some very sweet lemonade. I noticed immediately that my nausea was gone. I felt good. I felt euphoric, actually. I sat on the bed and talked to one of the other nurse counselors, the one that did my counseling the week before. She took my blood pressure; it was sky high. (Something terrifying like 180 over 100). She looked up at me, frowning. “You need to lie down.”
I phoned my husband to come get me, and lay on the bed for a while. They take my blood pressure again. 120 over 80. Normal.
I talked to the counselors in the recovery room. No, talked is the wrong word. I babbled incessantly. I have no idea what I talked about. I was loopy. I know I asked about volunteering; the whole experience made me realize how valuable abortion care is, and that I have to do more than give lip-service to being pro-choice. This right isn’t secure, and we have to fight every day to keep abortion legal and safe.
I fell asleep when I got home, and slept for several hours. Later I got up and made the kids some dinner. I had strong cramps that night, and took three Tylenol. I slept through the night without too much trouble. I had no cramping or bleeding at all the next day.
What I experienced that day was life changing. It saved me from a future I didn’t want. It saved me for my children, for my husband, for the future that I have planned for and worked for. It gave me back my body. That was one of the first things I realized—how happy I was to have my body back, for myself. I had felt a hostage in my skin the week before, constantly sick, and irritable, and tired, and miserable. But the abortion made me normal again. It let me get back to living my life.
Since I made the decision to have an abortion, many of my friends and acquaintances have come to me with their own stories of trial, of victory, of shame, of pride. I’ve heard several women talk about having abortions “where they might not necessarily be warranted.” And I want to state for the record, as the mother of two amazing little people, that the ONLY reason to have a child is because you want to have a child.
Not because you can afford to.
Not because you’re married and it would work out okay.
Not because you would make a good mother.
You should only have a child if it is what you want to do. Because to have a child is to go through life forever with your heart walking around outside of your body. And if you don’t want that, you shouldn’t do it. And no woman should feel guilty for recognizing the very basic reality of that fact.
The pro-life faction has such pretty rhetoric, such an idyllic, pastoral understanding of the nature of life and living. But truly, it isn’t as simple as “choosing life”. It’s a question of navigating a vast web of interconnected outcomes, and figuring out which path is the path we want to travel. Neither having an abortion nor having a child is without its consequences. If a woman chooses to have an abortion she is not, contrary to so much rhetoric, absolving herself of the consequences of sex. (The presumptions of which are, I’m afraid, going to have to be subject of an entirely different post). Bearing out the pregnancy might be the “natural” course of things (and even that requires some unpacking), but humans have been gifted with the ability to choose our futures quite outside the natural order of things. That’s why we have vaccinations, and surgeries, and adoptive families, and schooling, and government. We make conscious decisions all the time to go against the grain of what the natural world would dictate for us. Because we have the capacity to imagine, to see a future for ourselves that is better, brighter, more meaningful than the future nature would give. And it has never been a fault of humanity to build bridges toward that future. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone say it is the fault of women to build similar bridges for themselves.
Making a choice that defies nature isn’t shrugging off consequences. It’s being human.
There’s so much still to say, so much I feel I’ve left unsaid. But perhaps this is enough for now. Perhaps this is enough to lead with. If other feel compelled to share their stories, to voice their opinions, this is the place to do it. I hope that what I’ve said here falls upon fertile ground. I hope I could provide someone with some insight, some light, some comfort.
I think you’re right — abortion, like rape, suffers from statistical warping. “Anecdotal evidence” (i.e. people you know) implies rather higher numbers than get quoted.
I’m so sorry you had to deal with that, but I am glad you preserved yourself, your family, and your future on your terms. I wish you continued strength and bright days.
First, I am glad you gave some sense of validity to “anecdotal evidence” and personal experiences when defending a position. I find myself battling every day with people who believe published statistics are truth set in stone.
I am glad I read this entry. I tend to only hear detailed info when something dreadful happens during the procedure, or something bizarre, like Jesus swooping in through a window and demanding the patient to cease the abortion.
Perhaps congratulating someone on her recent abortion seems a bit morbid, but a person deciding to take her future into her own hands? Just tell me where to send the roses…..
You write with a great deal of boldness and clarity. It is difficult for me to respond, as I feel much differently than you do about abortion. The last thing I would want to do with you is get into a debate. I just wonder - did anyone along the way discuss with you the option of adoption?
Pete, of *course* I know about adoption. And here’s what I know about adoption: I know there is no way in hell I could go through 9 months of carrying a baby in my belly and not want to keep it, even though in my case it would have destroyed my marriage and my family. I don’t want to go into all those details here.
Moreover, I get sick as hell when I’m pregnant. I missed an entire week of work due to morning sickness.I was *miserable*. I wanted to die. My poor kids, ages 8 and almost 5, had to fend for themselves to find food becuase I Was often too sick to cook or even slap together a sandwich. I cried all the time. I was in pain. I was sick. I wanted my life to go back to normal.
And that was at a lousy 6 weeks pregnant. With my other two kids, I was sick until 14 weeks, and I wasn’t working then. There was no way I could have suffered another 8 weeks of that misery and kept my job only to give up the baby at the end of the term.
That was *never* going to happen.
The fact is, adoption isn’t for everyone. And I’m not one of those pro-choicers who gets all “It’s not a baby!!!” when in the heat of an argument. I’ve said it aloud: I ended that baby’s life for the betterment of myself and the family I already have. And it was the right decision, no question. I’m not in denial about what happened. I’m a stark realist. I wish I’d never been in a position like that to start with; that’s my regret. But it was absolutely the right decision.
And, as an important addendum, I think it’s easy to forget that sometimes (hell, often) women don’t choose abortion because they don’t want to have a kid. It’s because they don’t want to be *pregnant*.
I don’t really want any more kids, but if someone dropped a baby off on my doorstep and told me I had to raise it, I’d embrace the baby and make due. I’m maternal like that.
But I do not want to be held hostage again. No, thank you. Pregnancy, the early part, is totally for the birds.
I’m a little confused about why you had an abortion. In one paragraph you write that a baby would have destroyed your marriage and family, but in another section you seem as though you simply didn’t want to be pregnant. Your blog is very well written, but it all seems to be a disguise for someone who is trying to hide behind their decision to have an abortion. Whatever the reason, you should probably consider becoming surgically sterile as it appears that you are using abortion as a method of birth control, which is extremely irresponsible.
It doesn’t matter why I had an abortion. Women have abortions for many reasons, and my personal reason for choosing mine isn’t the point of my story. I put this story here to provide information for other women facing the decision who may be scared or feel alone.
Abortion as birth control? Let’s see: I’m 30, started having sex at 17, and have had exactly one abortion. Mistakes happen, sweetheart. Them’s the breaks. I’d say my track record thus far is actually pretty good, thanks.
Mistakes DO happen. My birthmother was 17 when I was born, and she made two very hard decisions: not have an abortion and to give me up for adoption.
Perhaps you don’t use abortion as birth control, and I hope you never have to go through this situation again. And perhaps your blog will convince other women that it’s not something to be taken lightly.
I’m 29 with one daughter, so I understand the stress of being a mother (emotional, financial, physical, etc.) I don’t know your personal situation…perhaps you truly couldn’t handle one more child in your life. I try not to be judgmental, but it happens to the best of us from time to time on issues that we’re passionate about.
Thanks for your thoughtful insight!
I appreciate your follow-up comment. Civil conversation goes a long way with me. :)
To be honest, I went to the OB last year to ask about getting my tubes tied, because I knew I was done having children. She talked me out of it, convinced me to try an IUD. I used the IUD and bloody hated it. I had it taken out. I should have gone back for the surgery; I just never did.
I hope to never have to do this again, either. I don’t think I will. some lessons you only have to learn once.
Amber, thanks for this telling post. As a man who wrestles daily with his maleness and the discourses around that collective identity, I am pleased you have shared a story that prompts us to stop, listen, understand and leave our cerebral opinions aside.
Hey Aiden, thanks for the kind words, and for listening. That’s all anybody could ask for.
Amber,
I linked to your blog from Aiden’s…
I recently began a blog entitled “see through” with the express purpose of encouraging transparency and integrity in my own life. Privacy and Silence have encouraged a kind of dualism in religion that discourages openness and honest reflection on the real choices people make (in favour of superficial talk about what we “should” do).
I write to simply thank you for your willingness to expose and explore the story that so often is held in shameful secrecy. I hope that many women may be encouraged by your telling. This post may prove to be a helpful resource for those who are struggling…
Thanks!
Barry,
Thanks for reading. Come back and leave me a link to your blog, will you?
you’ll find me at seethrew.blogspot.com
Thank Y ou!! for your story i also have 1 biologigal daughter and 2 adopted! i just recentky found out i was preagnet and my husband and i have choose abortion!! I just feel its right for us i love kids but do not want to,have another baby i have been so sick!! and my last pregnancy was horrifying!! SICK all the time!!! thank you!!
Thank you for sharing your story, but as a feminist who opposes abortion on ethical grounds, I feel I must make a comment.
Tonight I heard a fascinating African American minister, Denise Walker, speak to a roomful of my fellow undergraduates at Winona State University about her experiences with three abortions and post abortion trauma. Denise and her husband run a Christian recovery program for women who have had traumatic experiences of abortion.
While I am not necessarily religious, I was very moved by her talk and the reasons she gave for her opposition to abortion were sound, mostly non-religiously based, and brought up a troubling connection between abortion and eugenics in the African American population.
I don’t judge you for having an abortion. And I do not believe that abortion is a way for women to escape the natural consequences of sex. However, I would urge you to remember that the reason many of us are “pro life” is because we take that belief in each individual’s ability to “choose their future” and apply it to the individuals developing in the womb who are without choice at the time. We speak for them because they cannot for themselves.
Look at it in this light. A mother has a young child. The law of the land says she must put that child through college and pay for it herself. The mother can’t or does not want to, for her own reasons, good as they may be, to pay for her child’s college education. The child is not yet capable of doing college level work. Seemingly without options, she decides the best action is have some one inject something into the child’s blood which will halt his/her natural mental development. Had she not had the child injected, she or he would have grown up normally and she would have been forced to provide for their college education. However, there are many other women and men out there who would have loved to provide for the child’s college education, if she would just pay for the books (i.e. bear the child for nine months).
Unfortunately, the mother did not know about or did not feel able to access these others’ help. As a result, the child was unable to pursue his or her academic potential, which was inherent. Had the mother not felt it necessary to have the child stunted, she or he would have had endless options for the future, and choices of his or her own to make, battles to tackle, books to read, and children to have.
Please don’t think I am making a personal attack on you. But I want people to know that there are feministic women out there who disagree on this position and some who have suffered greatly because of abortion, or who simply want to extend the privileges of life and choices upon all children, regardless of the circumstances of their origin.
Hi Brooke,
Thanks for your comment; I appreciate the time you took to leave your opinion.
Unfortunately, I think that bit about injecting an already born kid with some mentally retarding agent is about the strangest and least compelling comparison I can think of.
I’m not really in the business or debating this topic: I know perfectly well that that isn’t the sort of thing I’m likely to change someone’s mind on.
However, since this is my blog *grin* I’ll say this: in the end, I believe abortion is a problem of conflicting obligations. Societies have obligations to protect its citizens. In this case, the obligation to protect the mother and to protect the unborn are in conflict. The question is, whose rights weight more? For how long? To what degree?
I take great personal issue with anyone saying that my life and accomplishments and relationships and the impact that I have had upon my peers and ultimately my society are in total equal to the mere “aliveness” of a 5 week old collection of human cells. I believe there does come a point where my rights to continue a normal life are superceded by the rights of the fetus to be granted life, period. But not at the outset. The fact that it exists inside me does not make it equal to me, QED. Fuck that.
I, unlike you, am actually not a feminist. I put very little thought or emotion into feminism: I have other stuff to think about. So this isn’t about being a feminist. It’s about being a whole person, and making difficult choices, and realizing that life isn’t neat or pretty. It’s competetive, and sometimes mothers and babies compete. Sometimes babies lose.
Amber,
Thank you so much for your story. It is giving me strength right now when I need it most. You see my husband and I have 4 kids and were using the Nuva ring for birth control and found out we are pregnant on it. I am devestatingly upset as he does not want a 5th kid and is threatening to leave us if we don’t get rid of it. I have been through 2 weeks of hell with him and betwen the nausea and vomiting which I get real bad and usually lasts the whole 9 mos. I have been beating myself up over what to do. I am scared to go through with an abortion. I feel so guilty. I also work with pregnant women everyday in my profession how am I going to keep on doing that and being happy for them? I am not making this choice for myself but my husband is forcing me into it. I have always been a prochoice supporter for the ppl I work with and now am going through this and it is devestating me. Thank you for your story. It is making me feel a little better.
Felicia,
I’m sorry I didn’t see your comment until now. I wish you strength and serenity.
But its a living child, you said it was like a thing? a hostage? you dont want to hold a body for a bunch of months? you made a living being and you want to kill it?
I wasn’t planned and im happy that im alive.