Though I am happy and relieved to have gone through with the procedure, I do wish I had the support of my parents. I found out I was pregnant when I was rushed to the emergency room after suffering the whole night with sharp abdominal pains and throwing up. After a couple tests I was told I just had a urinary tract infection. Oh yeah, I was also told that I was pregnant. What? When I tried to ask the doctor for help, questions I had he just raised a hand at me and repeated “Planned Parenthood.” He looked at me angrily and said “Gotta be more careful.” I didn’t miss a period, at least that’s what I thought but he wouldn’t even look at me. Scared, confused and only 18, my senior year I felt helpless. And the doctor only treated me like an idiot.
I later got an ultrasound and found out I was 11 weeks in. I was in shock. How could I ruin my life like this? I’m an idiot, a failure, what am I going to do? I later called my boyfriend who lives in a different state and let him know what was going on. I have only ever been sexually active with him, and the timing made sense, about two months pregnant and it had been about 2 months since he had last visited me. We both agreed neither of us were ready for kids nor in the position to. With him in his second year of college and me about to graduate it was obvious we weren’t parental material. I’m so lucky that he was supportive and did his best to help me with my mental health. Then came the task of finding an appointment. Because I was 11 weeks I was told that if I wanted to abort I had to do it soon and it would have to be a surgical abortion, or otherwise known as in clinic. The thought scared me to death. The worst I had gone into the hospital for was the UTI, and now this? I only hated myself more and more. As much as I loved my boyfriend, I was still scared and wanted to tell my parents. Both being Catholic, traditional Mexicans I knew that asking for their support or even informing them of my situation was out of the question. So, while still going to high school, pregnant and parents who were so backwards thinkers she they genuinely believed that beating the shit out of your kids would shape them into fine adults, I bottled up all my emotions and fears inside.
One day a friend of mine happened to be in the right place and right time to find me having a mental breakdown. I spilled everything to her, and to my surprise she offered to take me. She was even there with me to make the call for the appointment. But then. The only appointment I could go to would be on a Saturday, in a city an hour away from where we lived early in the morning, 3 weeks later. How would I be able to go? Then I thought about the money, if I use my insurance, the bill will get sent to my parents. But my friend came up with a plan. Pretend to have a birthday party and make it a sleep over, drive me herself and she’d even help me pay out of pocket. And while most of the plan was perfect, we both didn’t have enough money combined. I ended up telling another friend I trusted about the situations and she also agreed to help. I was incredibly blessed to have them in my life and have them help me so much. And yet, as the weeks went on I started to lose myself in self hatred and depression. I didn’t once think twice about the abortion, but I was scared of getting caught. I wanted nothing more than the reassurance of my mom, for her to hold me and tell me I was going to be okay. But my mom has lost the ability to talk to me without screaming, without beating me years ago. Hell, the night before the appointment when my friend came to pick me up for the sleep over, my mom didn’t let me leave without screaming and yelling at me about how worthless I was.
I left the house in tears and disbelief at how little my mom seemed to care about me. The procedure itself wasn’t as scary as I thought. All the people who worked in the PP that I went to were wonderful, reassuring and kind people. A lady even held my hand during the actual process. I was weak in pain and she held my hand tightly and assured me I was okay, it would be alright. I cried. It was the first time I let myself cry, I sobbed and weeped, not at the procedure, but at the fact that a random nurse was more caring and kind than my own mother. I cried, because for a moment it felt like it was my mother before her marital collapse. Before we caught my dad cheating, before she became depressed, before she blamed me for all of her problems. I cried because the kindness I was receiving wasn’t from my own mom.
The procedure is finally over and I’m lying on the PP bed crying silently. The doctor and nurse reassured me that regret was okay, but I stopped them. I told them thank you. I don’t regret anything but my mistake of getting pregnant in the first place, not being careful and not trusting my instincts when I had morning sickness. Thanked them and began to cry not out of sadness anymore, but of relief.
