When all else fails

by SRD

October 30, 2018

A daily pill, a single use device, both meant to stop what I ultimately decided to stop. It’s as if the Bible succeeded in one story – immaculate conception. You play it safe, you accept the side effects, and irritation just to avoid the inevitable.


At the time, I had a 5 year old. I almost died physically during his birth. Mentally, I believe I am teetering between life and death. I was scarred. I am still scarred. I never missed a pill. I never exposed myself to a risk – I even battled myself, “is sex even worth it?” I love my son, he was an incredible risk, he was the greatest change in my life. So when I was so sure that he was it, and that I had taken every precaution to be sure I couldn’t believe how wrong I was, that my body had a different plan. There is no guarantee.

I was sick – “oh it’s just motion sickness” followed by something extremely out of character and bitchy… I felt it, I felt my body was up to something that my mind refused to accept. It all felt too familiar. It was time to utilize the lonely stick under the sink. Once the stream hit, I made no sudden movements – this was a holy stick, and I couldn’t give any reason to assume it would give an inaccurate read…

3 minutes… 3 of the longest minutes

Positive? No – it can’t be. Time to phone a friend. Yep, positive…. heart racing, palms sweating, mentally consoling myself, forgetting my friend is on the phone, I just hear muffled speech, sudden feeling of impending doom, hang up the phone, dizziness, disbelief, and one verbal response to the emptiness of my home – “NOW WHAT?”

I call the one place I knew would know the answer, and no definitely not my mother’s house. Planned Parenthood. I was anticipating a hard questionnaire, a bit of scolding. Nothing of the sort, nothing even close. The sweetest voice on the other end made the situation seem almost unreal. This is supposed to be shameful, right? I’m supposed to be bashing myself, asking everyone around me for forgiveness, including myself. NO. This was not a case of being merely irresponsible, but a case of being highly fertile. This wasn’t a gift from god, but a combination of small odds that brought on the worst of consequences.

I chose to abort my grouping of cells to keep my promise to myself, to keep the little sanity I had. It was not an easy process, but I was treated with the utmost respect. You go in with your partner, but you’re alone through the procedure, you’re alone during the healing, and you’re alone in the cruel judgement people place upon you. I wasn’t alone in my decision. But ultimately ALL women are alone when being scrutinized for a choice.

Remember that our stories are ours to tell. We’d love to hear your story too!