Here comes the rough stuff. If you read my last post, you’ll know what lead up to this post.
Two years ago I hadn’t been feeling well for awhile, and didn’t think anything of it. Hot flashes, nausea, headaches. Just generally feeling bad. I decided, “shit, I’ll take a pregnancy test just to ease my mind. It’s probably just the flu.” So I did. I immediately fell to the floor, sobbing. Positive. My life was over. Everything was going to change. We’d have to get rid of my dog, because she isn’t good around kids. I’m going to have to work more to make more money. Is he gonna be a good dad? Didn’t he say he didn’t want kids? We have to move, this apartment isn’t big enough. I’ve been so sick, is this gonna be how it feels the whole time? The pain, of labor? What if I die in childbirth? What if… So many thoughts and questions running through my mind. I immediately called my boyfriend, who promptly came home. I cried. A lot. For days. We went to the doctor to get information on our next steps, whichever choices we mad.
We both knew what we wanted in our heads, and in our hearts. We made our decision. This isn’t what either of us wanted, or expected, right now. If ever. My heart felt absolutely destroyed every single day leading up until the appointment. I cried all morning before my appointment. Upon arriving, and waiting, and waiting, it was my turn. After a blood draw I had the ultrasound done. I couldn’t look. I was told I couldn’t have the procedure done, and would have to come back. I’d have to come back, to this horrible place again. I apparently was only around 3 weeks along at the time, and she said it was so tiny that if they had done the procedure that day, that they couldn’t guarantee it would be completely terminated. Sobbing, I returned to my boyfriend and told him the news.
The next week leading up to the next appointment was different. I had taken time off work for recovery, so I wasn’t working, I was just sitting. Thinking. Wondering. I felt like I should be ashamed of myself for the decision I was making, to kill a baby. I was a murderer. I hated myself every second. I cried myself to sleep every night.
When my second appointment came around, I wasn’t really sad anymore, just afraid. I think the sadness has been completely erased with all the crying, and just replaced by fear. Fear of the procedure. Fear of judgement. Fear of my own mind. I cried on the table. I cried the entire procedure. I cried for awhile after that. My heart was twisted afterward. I felt so guilty, yet so relieved at the same time. I was pregnant. I could’ve had a kid. What was even happening right now?
It was over now. I was home, recovering. Nothing to worry about. I felt dazed. Like it wasn’t real. But. I felt at peace with my choice. It took me, I’d say, about a week to start feeling back to normal, mentally. I didn’t tell many people about it, though many asked where I had been. I expected a negative reaction from those I did tell, but I was met with nothing but support. Two of my friends that I had told relieved to me they both had done the same thing, one of them had done it twice. It made me feel a little better, to know that I was not alone in this decision I had made.
I wouldn’t say it was an easy decision, but it wasn’t a extremely hard one either. I still think about it, almost every day. It does haunt me. But I feel at ease with my choice.
So that’s my story. I wanted to put it out there because I know other people have gone through the same thing, and some people feel so much differently than others. So I know my feelings and way of going through things isn’t the way everyone does, but it’s the way I did it. It did change me, and caused me to think a lot more and not having another life changing accident, because if it came down to it and I did get pregnant again, choosing to do it a second time or choosing to have a child and completely change my life, is going to be a very difficult, painful, and emotional decision.