Abortion

         I don't think many people realize just how hard it is to say the word "abortion" out loud. I mean, yeah I know that abortion is a tricky topic that is widely discussed and many people have strong and varied opinions about, but when it's actually relevant to your own life it's a different story. When it pertains to yourself and the child you may or may not be a parent of, then I think it becomes a difficult word to bring yourself to say. I imagine most people who have been in a situation where they have had an abortion or even just considered having one use terms like "decided not to keep" or "got rid of"--things that make it a little less personal. I knew a girl once who, having already had one child at a fairly young age, found herself facing another pregnancy. Everyone in that situation decided it was best for her "not to keep" the baby. Later, when anyone would ask her about it, she would simply say that she had "gotten in trouble" and the guy had "helped her out." I'm not trying to say whether abortions are right or wrong, I don't want to discuss political issues right now, that's not what I'm trying to do. All I'm trying to say is that I believe that having an opinion on something and actually being confronted with that issue head on are two different things. I think that's why so many people can rally for "pro-life" or "pro-choice" but people who have actually had personal experience with the issue in some form of their lives use language that's more discreet. It's one thing to discuss with someone else the pros and cons of aborting a fetus, but I hardly think the majority of people who are even at this very minute discussing what to do about their unborn child use the same terminology. I think in life a lot of situations are like that, because we never really know exactly what path we are going to choose until we come to that fork in the road. It's hard to treat a situation that really hits home for you with the same blunt and single-sighted vision as one that you would never expect to encounter. We may have very strong feelings on a subject only to find that when the situation comes, our heart (or even our mind or conscience, whatever you want to call it) pulls us completely to the other end of the spectrum. In the same way, I'm sure there are many of us who don't really have a strong opinion one way or the other until we actually have to make a choice, in which case we might be surprised by what we feel we need to do.

         There was a time in my life when the word "abortion" meant no more to me than any other word related to any other hotly-debated issue. I wasn't ignorant about the topic, I simply didn't have a strong opinion on it. Having never really been one to be a strictly right-wing or left-wing gal (like most people I'm sure,) I was able to see both sides of the issue (and I still do) and if I was asked about it I could discuss it like any other person. I understood that just as with other issues, abortion is not a single-sided thing. There are so many factors we can't even imagine that are involved in such decisions, factors that only the people inside those situations know, that it's impossible to make that decision for someone else. I understood that however I felt about it for myself, I couldn't know someone else's story and so I couldn't say one was right or wrong. I tried my best to be open-minded in discussions and I had no trouble with the word. Just like most everyone else, I didn't feel the need to whisper it or hedge around it because after all it was just a word. I also remember when it stopped being just a word to me and became something that I couldn't even say aloud.

         I don't remember the exact date. I've never been good with dates or really any details like that, but I can remember with great clarity almost the exact moment when it stopped being just a word to me and became very real. Even now when I think about it I can still feel the panic I felt when a very bad man made abortion a very real possibility in my life. I can feel my heart seem to beat faster and slower at the same time; that feeling of being cold and alone, adrift on some desolate ocean with no idea how to get back washes over me and old tears threaten to fall again. It had all been hypothetical up until that point, a fear brewing inside me that I hoped to dismiss as nothing more than unnecessary paranoia. And then it wasn't just something lurking inside my chest and in the back of my mind. It was real, almost tangible. If such moments can have a taste then it would be something cold and metallic. I heard once that people who put a gun barrel in their mouths intending to commit suicide but decide not to pull the trigger after all can still remember the feel and taste of that cold metal. It's a morbid image sure, but I can't think of a better way to describe the culmination of feelings inside me at that moment than the feeling of a gun barrel in my mouth. See up until I was sure, absolutely and completely sure that I was pregnant, I never really believed I would have to deal with thoughts of an abortion. I kept hoping that I was wrong, that the tests were wrong. Not that I didn't want a child, that's actually far from the truth, but I never wanted a child with him. I never wanted to have to worry about him treating a child the way he did me, never wanted to imagine what a child would have to go through growing up with him. So I had decided long ago that no matter how much I wanted a child in my life, I would rather be infertile that bring a baby into the world with him. I had almost begun to believe that very thing was the case, I mean I lived with him for almost four years until I got pregnant and never once even had a scare (when you consider he had never once used a condom with me it was pretty surprising.) Then that awful day came when he brought that man home, and a few weeks later we began to suspect I was pregnant.

         I think I ended up taking 4 home pregnancy tests in all. I could be wrong about the number, I took at least two without telling anybody because I didn't want David to know, but I wanted to be really sure. After the first one he insisted I take another just in case the first was wrong, and then he insisted I go to a professional just to be positive. After the second test but before the first doctor's visit he began telling me that if I was pregnant, I had better find out how far along I was because if the baby wasn't his, if it was the other man's that he had brought home, I had to "get rid of it." Part of it was out of his personal prejudices because of the man's race (another memory that I won't get into now,) but I really think part of it was ego. He didn't want to think that he was raising another man's child. So always doing whatever I could to keep him pleased, I made an appointment for a pregnancy test. Somewhere in the time waiting for the upcoming appointment I took the other two home tests. I remember hoping it wasn't true. I could deal with how he treated me, my self-esteem was low enough that I really almost didn't even care at that point, but how could I let that happen to a baby? I remember one day in particular when I was off from work (still before my doctor's appointment) when he was home for lunch. I don't remember what made him angry (he could get angry so easily that I never knew for sure what would set him off) but I remember him yelling horrible things at me and storming out, slamming the door behind him. After I was sure he was gone, I laid on the couch holding my stomach and crying, praying to God to please, please not let me really be pregnant, please not let him be around a child that I might bring into the world. It broke my heart and it's making me tear up now, but I wanted so badly not to be pregnant because I couldn't ever see a way out for me or my baby. While I didn't care enough about myself to stop it, I honestly thought if there was no way out for me I would rather lose my child early on in a miscarriage than let him hurt it. I've never told anyone that. I don't even think about it most of the time because I don't want to. I tell myself that I was just praying that the tests were wrong but it was more than that. I already knew deep down that I was probably pregnant, and I was praying that if God had given me the gift of a child, He would take it back before I or David could ruin it. Thank God He didn't, and I see now that if He hadn't given me my daughter I would have never gotten away.

         David had told me before the first appointment that I had to try to find out when my conception date was, to see if we could "keep" the baby. When the day of the appointment came, I went alone and listened as they told me the news that I had really already known. I don't remember her name or even much of her face, but I still remember the nurse smiling at me, handing me a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and congratulating me. I was numb. I got back into the truck, going over my story before I called him. I had fudged a little bit on the date of my last cycle when they asked me, so I knew the date they gave me was a little bit off, but I tried to skip over that in my mind. At the time I was terrified of lying to David about anything, I was sure that he would somehow know and he would get mad. So I told him what they had told me, and let him think the date wasn't conclusive, let him believe there was a good chance the other man wasn't the father of my child but in my heart I think I knew. I wouldn't even admit it to myself for a long time, but I think even then I knew. I hoped it would be enough to get him to drop the idea of "not keeping" the baby, but I was wrong. I hadn't accounted for how paranoid he was. I should have known, but like I said, I was so terrified to just outright lie to him. That meant that my story had left a little room for the possibility that the other man was the father. It didn't matter to him that he was the one who brought the man into the house, that is was his idea and his perverse pleasure (it was also something that I still believe he knew I really didn't want but he chose to overlook, I saw it on his face,) all that mattered was his reputation if news of what had actually happened got out.

         Like I said, up until that point it wasn't real, I just thought it would go away and things would go back to the way they were; after the doctor's appointment I knew that wouldn't happen. I knew even before I had gotten into the house that evening where things were going. I had talked to him on the phone the whole way home, going over and over with him all the things the doctor had said, and I was already crying but I still didn't believe it. I remember walking into the house and setting the vitamins and paperwork from the doctor on the counter and all the while he was talking to me. I don't remember what he was saying, parts of it are still a blur. What I do remember is him telling me that if there was even a chance that the baby could be another race, I couldn't have it. He was intimidating and manipulating me. He tried to make me feel like it was my fault because I hadn't told him "no" when he had brought that stranger in (but like I said, I had seen it in his eyes before and we both knew that saying "no" wasn't an option I was afforded,) he tried to make me believe that I would suffer if the baby was born mixed because people wouldn't accept my child. He scared me into believing that my family and the people I loved most wouldn't love the baby or me anymore, that no one would accept my child, that people would ostracize the baby and we would be hurt terribly by the whole thing. Yes I should have known better, but at that point I had been living with him for nearly four years and he had been inside my head for even longer. I didn't think much for myself anymore, he had already broken me and trained me to listen and obey. And then he told me I had to call and find out information about abortions.

         I remember standing on one side of the bed just inside the doorway with my back to David, tears already streaming down my face, and feeling so many things at once. I was so cold and scared and all of a sudden I felt more alone than I could ever remember. I was hurt and terrified about the idea of "getting rid of" the baby that had just begun to grow in me. I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to walk into a place with a life growing inside of me and walk out of it alone and empty. Would I feel like I had been hollowed out like some pumpkin whose only purpose is to provide an illusion on Halloween? Would it hurt? I was sure I would cry, but would I ever be able to look at myself again without my heart breaking? It wasn't just the idea of being a mother that was pulling me in, it was a life and a soul other than the deceptive one I had given my early adult years to. A pure being that only wants love and only gives love. I had resigned myself to a life with this man, not even brave enough to imagine leaving, but could a child change that? And what if it didn't? I had always loved children, but I knew that this man was too destructive, too hurtful, hateful and dangerous to be around kids, so did that make the alternative ok? For that matter, what if that was the right decision after all? I could barely look at myself in the mirror everyday as it was, could I really subject a child to that kind of life? I felt like I was being pulled in two directions and I didn't know what was right. I didn't know if I could live with myself, knowing how much I could love a child, if I "got rid of" it. At the same time, I already cared too much about my child to let David hurt it, so what if this was the only way out? Not knowing what to do, still crying and David standing in the doorway emotionless and watching me, I picked up the phone book and began looking up the information he had told me to find out.

         I don't remember prices, and honestly I don't want to. It was bad enough to feel almost like I was being forced to "get rid of" my child, like I had no choice, but I am still disgusted with the fact that he had me call around for prices. I hadn't realized that places charged differently for such a thing, I just assumed it would be the same everywhere. I remember having the phone book on the bed, looking up numbers and the whole house being quiet like everything was focused on what I was doing. I found a place that said they handled abortions, and I remember sliding to the floor after dialing, with my arms wrapped around my legs and tears pouring down my face as I waited for someone to answer. When someone did pick up, I could barely bring myself to speak. At this point I was basically sobbing (although after years of living with David I had learned to sob quietly so it probably wasn't as apparent to whomever was on the other end) and I think I had to try twice before I could get my question out. I was speaking quietly when I began asking my question, but when I reached the part of the sentence where I actually had to say "abortion" I was barely audible. I am still sure that the only reason I got an answer to my question is that the person on the other end was probably used to emotional callers and knew what I was trying to ask. Like I said, I think the word "abortion" is so much harder to say than people realize. It was horrible to have found out probably only an hour before that I was actually pregnant and then be curled into a ball on the floor with a wet face trying to find out what it would cost to no longer be so. I hadn't even had enough time to figure out if I was excited about being a mother (thoughts about David excluded) and I was already losing my baby. Once I had my answer I hung up and without turning around to face him or even lifting my head, I quietly told him what I had learned. He showed his first real emotion I think since I had gotten home, and it was irritation at the price of the procedure. After that he instructed me to call other places trying to find the lowest price. I'm almost positive that I ended up with an appointment at the place that was the cheapest, something I didn't remember until just now. My child and I weren't even worth trying to find the best place to go, just the cheapest. You can't imagine unless you have been there what it's like to not only feel like you are losing the baby inside of you the same day you found out you had it, but to also be so humiliated that you have to call around for the best rates. I thought he had broken me before, but I think he almost killed something inside me then. I'm sure that if things had turned out differently and I hadn't kept my daughter, he would have managed to kill every single thing left inside of me.

         I don't know how it came up. I think it was me clutching at the last hope of being a mother to the baby inside me, but I reminded him that we weren't sure that the baby was the other man's. Somehow we came around to the idea of me going somewhere else for one more pregnancy test, "just to be sure." In the meantime I would let the appointment at the abortion clinic stand, and if it turned out that the baby was David's, I would be able to cancel the other appointment altogether. So I found another place, one that I assured him had a great reputation (I didn't really know if they did, but I was so desperate to delay the thing he was telling me I had to do) and made an appointment for a couple of days later. He never went with me to doctor's appointments anyway, so this time when I went I tried to be as accurate as I could about the date of my last menstrual cycle. I asked for an estimate on my conception date, and was told it was right around the time that David had brought that other man back to the house. At that point I asked what if, hypothetically, I was wrong about the dates I had given. If my cycle was on a different week, what would the date of conception be? It worked out to be a time when David was the only option. Once I left I knew I had a choice. I was still terrified of having a child with David, but I also knew that if I had prayed so hard about this and I was definitely pregnant there had to be a reason. I made sure I had the math right in my head for when he asked, and since he never paid attention to such things, I didn't have to worry about him figuring out the dates were wrong if I decided to give him the second conception date. Even though I was going over all of this in my mind, I don't think I realized that I had decided what to do until I was on the phone with him. He asked me what they had said, and although I was still scared and I knew that once my child was born if she was the other man's there would be no way to hide it, I made my decision. I gave him the false date.

         It's amazing how quickly David can change his mood when he feels like he gets what he wants. Once he thought that there was no chance that the father was anyone other than him, he acted thrilled about my pregnancy. I didn't keep the appointment at the abortion clinic, didn't even bother to call and cancel it because I didn't want to contact them again. I wasn't trying to be rude and I hadn't suddenly decided that all abortion clinics were evil (please remember that every situation is different and it's not our place to judge,) it was just that once I knew I was keeping my child, I didn't want to taint my pregnancy with the memory of having to make those calls. I didn't want the hurt and tears and all of the awful ugliness that I had felt to ever reach my child, so I simply didn't call back. For the rest of my pregnancy I continued to assure David that he was definitely the father. That's not to say he still wasn't paranoid (again, another memory I won't get into now) but at least I didn't have to give up my child. I said it earlier and I'm saying it now, we can't know for sure what we will do until we are at that fork. I don't remember making a conscious decision to give him the false date, but when I had to make that decision I dove head first into it and didn't turn around. For the rest of my pregnancy I continued to pray that God would show me a way out, that some way or some how my daughter and I would get away from this man and he would never ever be able to hurt her. It didn't end as quickly as I was hoping, but it turned out the way it was supposed to.