I was barely a mom yet, my son wasn’t even 5 months old, my body and mind still recovering from a hellish delivery. My son was born with an abnormality and required a medication that had to administered exactly right and every 8 hours on the nose as well as having to eat every 4 hours as he was 4 months old (the time had to correlate with his age in months). I had felt dizzy for a few days and, thinking it was merely exhaustion from my new jobs and picking up all the slack at home, wrote it off for a week. My husband was bed ridden from a work injury two weeks prior and I hadn’t paid any attention to the date until one of my students asked me “Mrs. S what’s today?” The 16th…of August. I realized I hadn’t gotten a period in 6 weeks. Not wanting to panic, I told myself it was normal postpartum stuff and my body was still trying to get back to normal.
I bought a test on my way to pick up my son and too it as soon as he was asleep. The moment the test read “Pregnant” I handed it to my husband, walked outside and collapsed to my knees and just sobbed. I could not do this right now. And I knew, that amount of love I had for the growing mass in my uterus did not surmount to the love I had for my actual living, breathing child sleeping in his crib. I knew what I had to do and was instantly grateful I lived in one of the few towns in our state with a clinic that provided abortion services. The staff was supportive and comforted me as I cried at each appointment. After it was over, I felt relieved, grateful, and proud. I’d done what I had to in order to be the best mother I could be to my son. And I would do it all again for him and for me.
