It happened the beginning of my senior year in high school, right after a whirlwind summer romance, and guess what happened? No period. I was at an exclusive school with well-off kids. That day I was supposed to tour Wesleyan University. That morning I walked to Planned Parenthood to take the test but it would take till noon to get the results. I toured Wesleyan with a friend, told her what was going on and got high before I called Planned Parenthood to find out the results. Smoked a joint, called them from a payphone and lo and behold it was positive. Smoked another joint.
My friend dropped me off at my boyfriend's house. I knocked on his bedroom window, he came out and I told him. Then we told his mother, who, upon hearing that, prodded me along to get the abortion. She convinced me.
The procedure itself was awful. I thought...I don't know what I thought. My boyfriend's mom wanted to take me to her doctor. She paid for it. Number one, there was a resident in there watching. Number two, I think I was allergic to codeine. I had no painkillers-- nothing. Little did I know it was like giving birth. Afterwards I go back for my checkup and the test comes up positive. Because I'm short, my uterus was on a curve so he couldn't get the matter on the curve on the inside. There was matter left. I should have sued him. I went through another procedure.
Then my boyfriend and I broke up and that was it. I decided to get rid of a child so that I could have a college career, be with my then-called boyfriend, so I could party. In hindsight all those goals I was trying to obtain were never met. I never finished college, settled down at 19, had my first kid at 20, my second at 26.
As a mother, looking back, I think about these things. Also I have a husband who at the time knew about the whole thing... he was there through the process, my friend in high school. There are a lot of regrets. A lot of regrets. But not when it happened. When it happened all I felt was relief. The grief manifested itself years later.