I was a teenager when I met my first boyfriend. He was new in town, and was hoping on a fresh start from moving between family members since a child. I was unaware at the time, but he didn’t have any role models nor parents. Addictions were found at every home he lived in, and it was almost bound to happen to him as well. But before it did, I fell deeply in love with him. Every morning before school, I’d go over to his house to wake him up, and every night he’d safely take me home. We experienced so many firsts together! He was there with me through it all. A year with him had quickly flown by. We had gotten each other promise rings to be married. I really loved him dearly!
Unfortunately, his new home environment started to change him. His caretaker was an alcoholic (among other things), and his brother often did drugs. My boyfriend started doing drugs too. After about 6 months had passed, he became abusive, controlling, and a completely different person. He was expelled from high school, lost his job, started fighting people, threw parties several times a week, started selling drugs, became anti-social, and he bought various weapons. He disliked my brothers and my family for no reason. He’d check my phone all the time. Make sure I was where I said I was. When I spoke with some friends about his behavior, one of them had told him everything I said. He attempted to punch me with his brass knuckles, but hit the tree behind me instead. But I knew he had no one except me, and I felt obligated to stay. I’d find him in the mornings before school with a residue of white powder in this nose, ash marks on his face, alcohol everywhere, and passed out.Several more months slowly came and went. I was in the midst of my nursing program, when he finally attempted to expiate his actions. He stopped doing some of the drugs, but continued to sell drugs to make a living. I often pondered escape plans to leave him.
In mid December, 2007, the contraceptives we used were defective. My period never came, and we found out on February 6th, 2008 that I was 6 weeks pregnant. I was only seventeen, in the midst of my nursing program, and still in high school. I knew if I had the child that I couldn’t let the baby near his house, ever! I was scared to death to tell my parents! I was afraid of not finishing the nursing program that I worked so hard for. I was afraid of being a failure. I was afraid of making my family help me raise a child. I was even afraid of the father of my unborn child. He had hit and shoved me down in the past; what’s stopping him of doing that to a baby? I told him I really don’t think we can have the baby. He told me if I adopted the baby or had an abortion, he’d hurt me.
Like clockwork, the day after I found out I was pregnant I was sick. Of course, he laughed at me not feeling well. A few days later, we were arguing, and he pushed me on the ground. I couldn’t believe he was pushing me when I was pregnant! I told my best friend, who knew about taking an oil that induces miscarriage. I desperately tried it, but it only made me vomit foam all day long. So, I tried another attempt, and nothing worked. I decided to go to Planned Parenthood to have an ultrasound, and pregnancy test. The baby was completely fine, and the technician called me, “Momma.” To be called a mother gave me mixed emotions. I wanted to be a mother badly one day, but it was a terrible situation. I didn’t want to be a single mother working all the time to pay for the essentials. I wasn’t strong enough to give my baby away to a stranger. I finally told my mother to keep it secret between us. I told her that I would pay for the abortion. We secretly scheduled an appointment for March 1st, 2008. By that time I was past 10 weeks pregnant, and starting to show.
The day of the abortion, I was sick like always upon waking. The knot in my throat grew larger as we got closer to the Women’s Clinic. I saw groups of protestors singing with candles held before entering the clinic. I thought, “this is my only way out! I have to do it!” I quickly ran into the building, and let my mother take care of the paperwork. We waited about 3 hours to be seen. The ultrasound technician asked me to open my legs for the vaginal ultrasound, and I was embarrassed. She yelled, “Whatever got you pregnant was bigger than this!” I saw my baby from my peripheral vision, and I had to close my eyes. I was taken back into the counseling room with my mom afterwards. I asked how far along was I, and if I’ll be asleep. From there I was taken into the operating room alone. The nurses gave me an IV with medication. I closed my eyes and waited to go unconscious. Everything went blank. But the medicine didn’t last long, because I started hearing the doctor talking, loud noises, and I opened my eyes to blurry silhouettes. The doctor screamed to the nurses to hold me down, as I attempted to get up. Several other people came into the room to help. On the table I changed my mind; I wanted my baby, but it was too late. The nurse helped me put my clothes back on, and helped me in the wheelchair. They put me on monitors, and I couldn’t stop crying. The nurse told me if I don’t calm down, I could hemorrhage. I knew from nursing school, this was very serious, and I needed to calm down. My mother came into the room, and we hugged. I didn’t understand why all the other girls were fine afterwards. I felt absolutely miserable! In fact, that was by far the worst feeling of my life. I felt like I hit rock bottom. But my mother gave me very helpful words of encouragement. We were finally able to go home. On the way home my mom decided to stop at one of our favorite natural preserves as a child. We talked for hours. Afterwards we picked up pain medicine from the pharmacy, which I had no intention to use.
My boyfriend’s caretaker warned me not to tell him, and say it was a miscarriage. It took me a few weeks to tell him. During that time he was touching my belly, picking baby names, and looking at baby essentials. I knew I had to tell him, and when I did, I finally left him. It was a difficult time for me. Mentally, I was in a lot of pain. It was hard to cope with the loss. I felt like no one understood me; I thought I had no one to talk to, and I was living a lie. I told my mom I was the worst person in the world, and I made a mistake. I felt like it was shameful to have an abortion. I made a stupid choice to take the painkillers, not for physical pain, but mental. I went out with my friend later that night. I kept drinking beers until I passed out. Later I felt extremely sick, and I told myself I’d never do that again. But I was happy to be finally free from the ex. boyfriend!
It took me years to finally cope with the abortion. Thankfully, I met my soon-to-be husband about 8 months after. He literally saved me from the deep depression I experienced! He is the sweetest, most caring man! Since the abortion, I’m currently working on my masters degree. I finally feel content with my decision to not have the baby with an abusive, controlling, drug addict father. I’ll be able to provide for my future children and give them a wonderful, loving home with my fiancé.
Needless to say, the decision to abort my baby wasn’t taken lightly. It’s hard to find the words that fit how I feel about it. I have to keep it a secret so others don’t judge me, or hate me. Whenever people ask if I’ve had a baby, I feel entitled to say yes; instead, I bite my tongue and reply, “No.” I feel like it’s a complete lie. I DID have a baby! A perfectly healthy baby, that I poisoned myself many times to miscarry. I felt the baby was cursed to be his. I couldn’t have a baby that would remind me of the hurtful man. Why should I be ashamed? Why should I feel judged by those who haven’t walked in my shoes?