My Abortion Story - Anonymous

Sitting in Planned Parenthood early March 2020 when the lockdowns for Covid were close enough to ensure that the chairs were socially distanced from one another, but not quite close enough for the people in charge to agree about mask mandates yet, I sat bare-faced and alone with about four other people who are also bare-faced and alone in a small lobby waiting to be called. It was Friday, and my son was at my mom’s house doing virtual learning and was set to stay there for the weekend. At the clinic, the TV in the waiting room played the local news and whatever group of women had been assembled for a show that had the word “real” or “talk” or “real talk” in it, where they talked about things like this mystery virus, the upcoming election, and how to get your body ready for the summer. I texted my boyfriend at the time, who was sitting outside in the car, since the office had also mandated that any extra people who weren’t actually seeing a doctor for themselves had to stay outside. We sent memes to each other to pass the time. I don’t remember talking about anything significant or having the energy to talk about how I was feeling. So, cat videos made the most sense. I didn’t eat that day because I thought that an abortion was one of those procedures that you weren’t supposed to eat before (and I later found out that I could’ve eaten a little bit, but it was already too late). I also didn't have much of an appetite. I started feeling my stomach begin to hurt, and sitting there became uncomfortable. The chairs weren’t that great, and I wasn’t sure if it made sense to look for a water fountain or maybe just something to drink since I thought that would count as eating (I probably should've paid more attention during my first appointment). All I could think about was the popcorn that I had waiting for me in the car. It was Easter time and Easter-themed, so the bag it was in was shaped like a carrot, where the tie at the end made the little green part that you don’t eat. It had both dark chocolate and white chocolate on it (I usually see it called "zebra" popcorn), and I grabbed it from the store on the way there because I wasn’t too sure about having an appetite afterwards, but I knew I’d be able to eat that no matter what. It was the popcorn I always got when we went on dates to the movies. We haven't been to the movies in a while, and it didn't seem like we would be going anytime in the future either. I kept waiting to be called. I realized that I had done all of my difficult thinking before I had gotten there, mostly before my first appointment, since in the state of Ohio, your actual abortion isn’t until your second appointment. I had already cried. I had already tried to make adding another kid make sense, but I couldn’t. I was changing jobs, worried about Covid, and had a partner that didn't want to have a baby with me, even if everything had been different. I was devastated. I was almost 30 and I still hadn’t managed to get my life together enough to introduce a new one. Which was especially depressing after having a teen pregnancy when I was 16. I thought maybe if I did this having a baby stuff the “right way,” be older, not be at my mom’s house, have a full-time job, I could reverse the trauma I experienced during my first pregnancy. I love my son, whose 13th birthday I was planning in the midst of all this, but I can’t pretend that I haven’t always thought about what it would’ve been like if I had a pregnancy that people didn’t demand that I was ashamed of. To not have to walk around a Catholic school in a uniform with a stomach that people loved the contents of, but not the person with it. To not have to call a rapist my co-parent. When I was called back, I got up a little slowly because I was starting to get the kind of tired that you get when you don’t eat all day. I walked towards the nurse who had butchered my name, but I knew that it could only have been mine. I sat down where she explained to me exactly how the procedure was going to go and gave me some pamphlets and some condoms that reminded me of freshman year of college. Then she gave me the pain medicine that I was going to be using for the procedure. I sat with the pamphlet with my eyes, heavy enough to wish they could read themselves to me. In the background, some R&B music played from a radio that was behind the nurses' station. A few “please”, “baby baby please,” and “I loved you,” and “this is all I get for loving you” made me feel a lot more relaxed. The order of the songs felt reminiscent of the order that they played when I listened to the radio before my mom dropped me off at school. Then, under the music, I heard someone who had just finished their procedure and was sitting post-op sobbing. Crying with a soundtrack felt too much like some scene in some movie, especially crying here. I remember wishing that I was coherent enough to hug them. I knew I would never be sure exactly why they were crying or exactly which loss they were mourning, but I wanted to offer something, especially since it was almost time for my procedure. My name was called again, but this time it was called much more clearly, and the syllables were enunciated just right. In my patient room were two people wearing masks, goggles, and medical clothing, and all the other things that professionals wear to keep themselves from us. Of course, it’s for safety, but it also strangely makes them feel so far away. I sat down at the table while the doctor set up everything and held hands with the nurse who wasn’t. I was less coherent than I was the first time my name was called, but I was there enough to know that I needed to feel cared about. And they did that. Our procedure didn’t take very long, and I went back to the second waiting room, but the section that was waiting to be able to leave and not waiting to be able to start. I just needed to come down from the medication a little more, and they just needed to make sure I was ok to leave. After some time, I was ok enough to stand by myself. A nurse who looked a lot like my mother held hands with me again to help me walk down the stairs to the car. I looked at her for a couple of seconds, trying to figure out if I should say thank you or if I should say something else, or if saying anything was just too weird, and she hugged me for a little bit and then helped me into the car. I gave the same look to my boyfriend from the passenger seat, and he gave me the same hug, and he handed me my popcorn. We drove home, mostly in silence, with the only real sound being the sound of me eating my popcorn. I felt alone. And then not too long after, with the lockdown, I was alone. Right after I realized I’d be in the house for an unforeseen amount of time healing from everything that happened, I went to Amazon to order toilet paper, pads, and a family-sized zebra bag of popcorn.