I had an abortion two weeks ago, and it was fucking fantastic. I’m very lucky to live in a country where it’s completely covered by the healthcare system, and in a large city where clinics are pretty accessible. I opted for a surgical abortion because it seemed a bit more predictable than the medical procedure, and I’m really glad I did. On the day of, the highly secured door to the clinic was a stark reminder of the stigma and danger that still surrounds a person’s right to reproductive health, but besides that, everything about the procedure was so lovely. The administrative staff, counselors, nurses, and doctor were so wonderful, candid, and kind, without imparting any weird pity or judgement (not that I expected any—the clinic I picked was explicitly very pro-choice and anti-oppressive) on me. The actual abortion itself was over in a couple of minutes, and sitting in the post-recovery armchair, I felt a deep sense of relief and euphoria (this maaaay have been a bit because of the fentanyl). I felt well enough to send my friend who came with me home afterwards, and to take public transit home. On the short ride home, I put on a post-abortion playlist I’d made in anticipation of this moment, and munched on a croissant a friend had packed for me as a post-abortion treat (the worst part of the entire thing was probably the mandatory fasting I had to do before the procedure). Anyways, I was completely back to my regular life by the next day, and even went out for drinks with a few friends the next day—you wouldn’t have guessed that I’d had an abortion just the day prior!