The Day

This was another post I up on craigslist.or after the procedure. I needed to let it out somehow, so one night when I couldn't sleep, I sat down, and wrote about it... Writing this was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be.



Originally Posted on November 21st, 2006.

I arrive on Saturday morning to picketers standing outside with their signs, pamphlets, and pictures... 2 grotesque blown up pictures of dead, bloody fully formed babies grace the sidewalk on either side of road. I pull into the parking lot, and as I step out my car, I hear a number of them yelling out to me about the 'options' I have. They call me "young lady" and "sweetheart", and tell me to think hard about the life I'm ending... Why do people do that? You know nothing of me or my situation... what gives you the right? I put my head down and follow my assigned 'guide' with the bright yellow vest into the building....

I walk into the building and the waiting rooms full already. It's 8:10am Saturday morning, and I have about 12 other women ahead of me. My emotional strings are stretched taut, and I'm doing all I can to stay calm. I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to run... I sit down instead. I start to fill out the many forms I've been given. My ringer is off, but I glance at my phone every other second to see if I have a missed call... a text message. Nothing. I think about you in Boston and wonder if you're up yet... If you 'are' up, I wonder if you're thinking about me... sitting here all alone ... I think about the argument we had Friday night, and how in an emotional fit of rage, I had told you I didn't want you with me... Somehow or the other, I guess I thought you'd have come anyway... that you'd be there to support me as I waited to abort your child... our child...

I steal a covert glance at the people seated right around me, and count 10 people in my 'section'. There's a couple seated to my left, hardly speaking. 'His' face is hidden behind a Red Sox hat pushed really low, and a VIBE magazine he's reading. She's staring stoically ahead, tapping her left foot rhythmically on the table in front of her. There are 2 girls seated on my right, giggling and chatting in low tones. The red head seated directly in front of me appears to be here alone as well, and from the way her eyebrows are scrunched up, I can tell she's doing some deep thinking... She glances occasionally at the red folder she's been given, reading through it and sighing. Most of the time though, she just sits there, staring out the window with that worried, pained look on her face... I sigh and glance at my phone again... nothing. I feel the tears start to prick the back of my eyes, and I sternly tell myself to "get my shit together"... No... "I will not cry", I mutter over and over.
More people come in, and no one leaves. Way across the room on the other side, sit 3 young women each of a different race (white, black, Asian), who sit talking and laughing about some TV show or the other. The loudest person by far is the little Asian chick. She has brown hair, big silver earrings, and a cute little purse. Her voice is surprisingly deep (or let's say full bodied) for one so small, and for the first hour or so, every time I hear her laugh out loud, I start and look up. This is not her first time here, and she's not ashamed of the fact... (Should she be? I wonder)... She tells the other girls that what she likes the least about this procedure is the fact that you're not allowed to eat after midnight... "I'm so fucking hungry, I could eat a whole chicken right about now!!" she bellows... Laughter all around. I look away pissed.. I'm not sure why I'm pissed, but I am. I just want to go home and lay down. I glance at my phone again, and my heart jumps at the sight of the little envelope blinking on the screen. I open it up eagerly, only to find that it's not you... It's Dell... checking in, making sure I'm ok. I reply that I'm waiting, and throw my phone in my purse. The tears start to well up again, but try as I can, I can't stop them. I hide my face behind the "Essence" magazine I'm holding, and take deep breaths till I'm calm again.

I hear my name. I'm called to the back for the Ultrasound and 'blood work'. The nurse that meets me at the door checks her folder against my wristband, and walks briskly to a room down the hall. As I walk in, I'm asked to please unbutton my jeans, pull them way down and get on the table. I lay back and watch as she squeezes out the cold gel on my stomach...She stares intently at the screen (conveniently positioned so I can't see it) as she runs the probe over my lower torso... It takes all of 5 minutes. She very deftly wipes me down and pronounces me 7 and a half week pregnant. *sigh*. I'm told to button up and head to the room right across ours... "Oh yeah", I think... "Blood work". The nurse in this room is very chirpy. Her eyes look red and half closed, and for a brief fleeting moment, I wonder if she's stoned. She makes conversation as she gets her 'tools' ready. She asks for a finger on my right hand, and I of course give her the middle one. She holds on to my hand gently, and smiles at me as she asks how I'm doing... I feel bad, and tell her I'm doing ok. I make more of an effort to be nicer... I answer her questions with more than monosyllables and venture a couple of my own. She has to prick my finger 3 times to get enough blood out, and she happily informs me that I'm a 'first'. *sigh*... I'm trying, but I don't know how long I can keep up with the banter... I ask her what my iron level has to be for the procedure and she says "12"... She asks me if I've been anemic before, and I tell her that I have poor eating habits (which I do). What I don't tell her is that this is my 3rd stab at getting the procedure done... I'd tried for the past 2 consecutive weeks at the local 'Planned Parenthood', only to be sent home with instructions to "up my iron levels". I'm nervous and dread hearing those words again, but after glancing at the little machine on the counter, she tells me I'm ok. *sigh*... I head back to the waiting room. I'd told myself that if I was turned away for a third time, I'd keep the baby, regardless of what you'd say or think... *sigh*.

I walk out to more people and more noise. It appears as though people are a little more relaxed and open now. The giggles are coming from all different parts of the room, and about 4 different girls are on their cell phones... 2 of them are crying and talking softly. *sigh*. It's now 10:05AM, and I reach into my purse for my phone as I sit down. "He should be up now", I think to myself... as if the reason you haven't called thus far is because you're sleeping... Nothing. Not one missed call, not one text... I check my call logs anyway; "Maybe I cleared the screen when I was writing Dell back"... no. Nothing. *sigh*. I'm called to the counter to go pay. She glances at my folder and as if to confirm what I'd written on the form, asks me if I'll be awake during the procedure. I assure her that I will be, and as she looks away to the monitor, I can almost swear that I see an odd look pass over her face... It's really quick, and disappears before I can place or read it... When she looks up at me again, her face has been reset to that generic, "I'll help you the best I can" mask that most medical personnel seem to wear. "$425.00 please", and I hand her my card. "Debit or credit?" she asks, and I opt for debit... the sooner it's out of my account the better.

I hear my name again. This time I'm being summoned by a short older woman with dark hair and glasses. She leads me into her office, and based on the many "It's YOUR choice, not theirs" type stickers that adorn her walls, I'm guessing she's the house shrink. Yep. She sits me down and valiantly attempts to replace the bored, bland look on her face with a caring one. She asks me if I'm ok, and I tell her I am. She asks me if there's a reason that I'm choosing to stay awake for the procedure, and I tell her I have to drive myself home. She's about to say something, but stops short when I say this. She reaches into her drawer, and after searching through a ton of papers and files, locates the one she's looking for... "Ok hon, I just want you to read this over and sign it for me, ok?"... I look, and it's a 'Driving against medical orders" form... I don't bother to read it, but sign it anyway. I don't care. She again asks me if I'm ok... I want to scream that I'm not and burst into tears, but I smile and nod my head... I can't speak because there's a painful lump in my throat. She looks at me and leans forward as she prepares to speak... apparently what she's about to say now is of the utmost importance.

I'm advised that during the procedure, I cannot move a muscle. "It's a very delicate procedure, and if you even twitch, things could go terribly wrong", she says 'matter of factly'. She asks if I'm aware that I'll be in pain. I tell her that I've done some reading, and apparently, it's sort of similar to bad period cramps. She shakes her emphatically, and tells me it's much worse. I ask her if anything is numbed at all. "Well, he injects your cervix to numb it", and as I breathe a sigh of relief, she hurries to add; "But that doesn't really do much... You'll feel everything". Well, how about that? I lean back and tell her I think I'll be ok. She looks a little unsure, but I doubt she cares much... I'm just another folder of the very many she's seen and will see... As I leave, I thank her for her tact and sensitivity. The sarcasm is completely lost on her, as she smiles and nods.. "You're welcome, sweetie, good luck".

Finally, it's time. I'm led down the hall and asked to sit on one of the many chairs lining the corridor. The chirpy nurse from earlier asks me if I've been weighed yet, and I tell her I haven't. "Well, come on down!!” she yells, with a big smile on her face. I feel my eyes start to roll, but I stop them in motion and pretend to have something in them. I step on the scale and watch the digital number climb up from zero and stop at 118. "Huh", I think... "I gained weight... cool". (The previous week, I'd come in at a very low -for me- 109). She hands me 2 white, chalky looking pills and asks me to tuck one on either side of my mouth... between my cheeks and gums. I ask her what they taste like and she says "Chalk". Ah well. I'm told that the pills will help my cervix dilate to prepare me for the procedure. She says not to worry if I start spotting or cramping, because it's just the pills working. She shows me into a room in the back and tells me to take everything off. I place my clothes in a little pink basket she's handed me, and put on the hospital gown and cap. I walk into the waiting room, and there's already 6 other girls in it... *sigh*...I feel like a cow in herd of cattle... just another body at the local chop shop.

The TV is on, and 'B.A.P.S' is showing FX. I stare blankly at the screen even as I dully think about how far Halle Berry has come since starring in movies like that... There's a journal on the seat next to me, and I pick it up to look through it. "Ladies, please feel free to write down your thoughts and share your experiences. We welcome all stories!” Huh... I'm touched by the short little stories written. The raw honesty and emotion in the words I'm reading astound me... Here come those tears again. I put the journal down. Against my better judgment, I call your phone... It rings and rings... voicemail. I try again... voicemail. You always have your phone on you, so I know you're probably sitting there watching it ring, and with each ring after the last, my heart aches a little more.

How could you not call? How could you not wonder how things were going? How could you not want to know? What if something had happened? What if I needed you?... there're a million and one 'what ifs'... *sigh*. This pain that I'm feeling is so intense that I feel like my chest actually aches. I want to sob, I want to scream, I want to wail... I don't. After the 5th call, I put the phone back in my purse. I can't bring myself to leave you a message, because 1. I don't know what to say, and 2. I know for sure that I won't make it past the first syllable without breaking down in tears...

Soon, there are 4 of us left sitting there. The Asian girl from earlier, a girl who bears an uncanny resemblance to Cameron Diaz in 'The Mask', a young brunette who's texting on her Razr non stop, and myself. The silence in the room is broken by a loud rendition of 50 cent's 'Window Shopper', coming from the Asian girl's Nextel phone... at least, I think it's a Nextel. "Yo", she says, in that deep voice of hers... I'm used to it now though. "Yeah, I'm still sitting in here waiting yo... I've been waiting since I hit you up that one time"... more indistinct chatter from the other end, then; “For real? Shit, I'm hungry like a motherfucker! I ain't eaten since last night... I'm so hungry, I'm about to chew these motherfucking pills!" She erupts in laughter at this point, and I shut my eyes and lean my head on the wall behind me. I just want to go home... far from this place... far from these people. The conversation goes on for a couple of more minutes, and I swear, she must have said 'fuck' or 'fucking' about 50 times... I don't care... I unwillingly reach for my phone again... nothing. *sigh*.

It's my turn. The nurse comes to get me and leads me to the room next door. Right smack dab in the center of the room, is a table with stirrups... *sigh*. I'm told to rinse my mouth out and lay flat on the table. The nurse straps my legs (from my knees to my ankles) down, and asks me to relax. The door opens, and in walk a guy (who I rightly assume to be the doctor), and the shrink from earlier. "Remember what we talked about honey, ok? You can't move". I nod my head, and look for something to use as my focal point. I decide on the little crack in the ceiling... between the 2 fluorescent lights... "Ok, you're going to feel something going in... it's just the speculum", the shrink says. I figure out at that moment, that she'll be in there with us the whole time... possibly for support? The doctor inserts the speculum and I flinch a little... "Relax hon", says the shrink... He reaches for something else on the cart beside him, and even as I start to wonder what it is, the shrink lady chimes in again. "Ok hon, you're going to feel a little pinch. He's numbing your cervix now." "Shit", I think... the needle. Well, it was a little more than a pinch... I gasp a little, try to keep my body absolutely still, keeping my eyes on the crack. The doctor informs me that I’m doing great, and tells me we're almost done. He's handed a little 'hose like' instrument, and he turns the machine on... It sounds like a vacuum cleaner, and I guess that this is the actual procedure... He's sucking it all out... *sigh*.

Well, the entire procedure has taken all of 7 minutes... Did it hurt? Yes. More than I thought it would and it took every ounce of my will power not to scream or cry. After he's done, he wishes me good luck, and tells me that I was "excellent"... whatever. I'm led into the 'recovery' room, where I'm helped into a comfortable chair, and given a blanket to cover up with. Another nurse walks over with some ginger ale and crackers, and hands me a teeny, tiny little pink pill that she says will shrink my uterus to its usual size. So that's it. I'm done. I sit there for about 30 minutes, watching them wheel in girl after girl. Apparently, I got to walk in because I hadn't been 'put out' for the procedure... I think I was the only one who chose this option.

This blond girl is wheeled in right after me, and I remember walking by her in the hallway earlier. They try to rouse her so she can move from the wheelchair to the other 'chair/bed', but she does not open her eyes. "What's her name again?" asks the nurse in the recovery room and the nurse who has just wheeled her in shrugs and shakes her head... "I think it's Natalie" she offers... Her file is retrieved from some other room, and it's actually 'LaThalia'. "LaThalia?"... "LaThalia!... it's over now, we need you to wake up now, hon"... LaThalia murmurs incoherently and her arms drop to her side. 5 minutes, 2 falls, and 3 nurses later, LaThalia has been transferred from the wheelchair to the bed successfully. One of the nurses is less than thrilled because she's been scratched by LaThalia's long, fake nails. I look at her nails, and notice that they really 'are' long... "How does she wash herself?" I find myself wondering... Don't ask why this thought crossed my mind... I have no clue. I think I was subconsciously filling my mind with irrelevant nonsense to stop myself from thinking about my present situation... I don't know...

LaThalia apparently is not taking deep enough breaths because the nurse glances at her oxygen level and starts to panic a little... "Can someone get the doctor in here please? She's in the 5os". Soon, LaThalia is surrounded by 2 doctors and 4 nurses, all trying desperately to wake her up. There're other patients in the room, so they know to appear calm... Her file is passed around and everyone's asking different questions... "How far along was she?"... "How long has she been unresponsive?"... "Should I get the oxygen tank?"... "Wait, is the oxygen tank full?"... "Who's she here with?"... "Who's her ride?"... It goes on like that for a couple of minutes, and then they decide to hook her up to the oxygen tank and move her to the corner of the room... They'll watch her 'vitals' for a couple of minutes with the oxygen, then go from there... I feel like I'm watching ER, but with doctors who are not throwing around long, complicated medical jargon, and nurses who are not rushing around feverishly with medical equipment and medication... everyone's just sort of ... calm.

Finally, I'm told that I can go put my clothes on, and the minute the bathroom door shuts behind me, I reach into my purse for my phone. 9 missed calls. 'Yes!!". I flip open the phone eagerly, and hit the 'view' button... *sigh*. It's not you. It's my friend Kenni... She's called 9 times, so as I pull my pants on, I call her to find out what she wants. "Thank God!" she screams into the phone... "What’s up?" I ask... I think I was a little curter than I should have been, but I think I can be excused that one time... "Nothing... I just need to talk to you for a bit... remember that guy I told you about? The really sweet one? Well, he's acting weird, and I sort of don’t' know what to do... what do you think I should do?"... I think of all my 'near melt-downs' all day, that was the worst. I literally had to put the phone down for a second to stop myself from screaming. I tell her I can't talk, and I'll have to call her back... then I hang up.

Fully dressed, I head back into the room where I meet with the local nurse/counselor lady. She talks to me about how I'll feel after, and offers me different methods of birth control... I listen, I nod, I leave... I stop at the desk to make a follow up appointment, and head to my car...It's chilly, but not cold... A little breezy. I walk very slowly to my car, open the door, and sink into my seat. Just as I insert the key into the ignition, I lose it. I don't know why that happened at that particular moment, but it does. I just lose it completely. I'm sobbing, I'm crying, I'm wailing... The parking lot is empty, but I don't think I'd have cared if it wasn't. I sit there and cry really hard for 20 minutes, non stop... I cry so hard, I’m panting… Finally, I take a deep breath and pull out of the lot.

The rest of the weekend sort of went by really quickly... didn't do much... Couldn't do much. Tried to read... tried to write... I even started to watch 'Breakfast at Tiffanys'... Not one peep from you all of Saturday... nothing. On Sunday afternoon, you call me freaking out and asking what to do... some email you received has been sent to everyone on your contact list, and you don't know how. You're pissed and you're yelling, and keep asking what I think you should do. When you're done, I very quietly tell you that the abortion went well... "Oh", you say, then nothing else. I ask why you didn't call, and you reply saying you didn't know if I'd want you to. I ask you about not answering my calls, and you tell me you didn't even see them... We both know you're lying. You start again about the email and your contact list, and as an afterthought, ask that I understand that you've got a lot of shit going on right now... You say you have to try to get to the bottom of things, and tell me you'll call me back.... you don't. I call you. It's much later, and you're a lot calmer. You tell me that you're sorry for not calling me, but remind me that I was the one that had told you not to come with me... I ask when you came back to Rhode Island, and you tell me Saturday night... I can't help but mention that you've been home for over 12 hours without one phone call to me.

You point out that you woke up to 'drama', and haven't even gathered your thoughts yet... Neither of us really knows what to say, so after a couple of minutes of awkward conversation, we hang up. I don't do much for the rest of the day. I can't. I ask myself a million and one questions that I can't answer... I'm not pissed at you anymore... at least, not as bad as I was. I have a lot of resentment for you... a heck of a lot, but I think that's it. I don't know how I feel... I mean, I have some idea, but I just can't think of a word to describe the whirlwind of emotions running through me. I don't know that there is a word for it... I don't want to be with you anymore... I know this...You're not good for me... That's obvious to anyone that knows 'us'... I mean, you're still you. Nothing's changed at all. You still have all those bad habits that caused me to move out in the first place... you still have all your issues... your addiction problems... you still lie constantly and incessantly... you're still fickle... you're a pig... everything in your life is pretty much the way as when I left; If anything, you're drinking, smoking, and pill popping more...Those were the things that I couldn’t stand about you, and some of the reasons I left. There are lots more that I’m not even touching on here. I mean, you're 'you'. The same old you ... So why am I so sad? Why do tears well up every time I think about you? Why can't I stop thinking about you?... Is it the 'idea' of you that I miss?... The companionship? The rapport? The friendship?... probably.

I just want out of this funk... once I can shake this funk, I know I'll be ok. I always am. I thought of moving for a whole new fresh start, but as good an idea as it seems, it's just not very practical. There's a child involved here, and his school, doctor, friends, security... they're all in this town... We've lived here forever. Not to mention that finding an apartment as nice as mine, in a neighborhood equally as nice for what I'm paying now is pretty much impossible. It sucks that I can't talk to anyone about how or what I'm feeling... I have no one to vent or cry to, and it's got to be the loneliest feeling in the world. I sit in front of my laptop and write my mind is empty. I feel like I’m going crazy, so I post in on here for others to read… *sigh*... Anything to feel like someone somewhere is listening, and I’m not nuts. I'm taking it a day at a time, but for someone like me who's more into reading and writing than into going out and socializing, the loneliness is a little hard to deal with... *sigh*. I have to stop... I think all my thoughts are down now... I'm sure I'll be ok... I know I’ll get to the point that I need to be soon. It's the 'in-between' time that sucks.