On December 2nd
There were no Pilgrims present.
When Friday night’s 11:59 turned into Saturday 12:00, I knew that I had to prepare myself. I wasn’t allowed to eat anything, or even drink water after 12. I had just started at this school 2 days earlier but I found and confided in a counselor and explained my situation to her. She arranged to not mark my absence or tell anyone where i was going.
The next morning at 6 AM, I walked down to the bus stop as usual, with no intention of going to school. His mother picked me up, and we drove to The Pilgrim Medical Center. When I arrived, I didn’t have to look very hard to find the entrance. It was blocked with a swarm of angry protestors. It was pretty hard to miss. There were women of all ages and races swarming like bugs for about a half mile each way. It was very intimidating for this time of the morning. It was just like the movies, women were grabbing at my arms and shoving pamphlets into my face. They had signs and posters of aborted fetuses [where does one get such a poster]? Most memorable of all the protestors was a tiny Asian woman against the closest wall to the main entrance. She was the only quiet one. She held a model of a fetus in her hand. It was a pale pink plastic thing and she help it up as if to offer it to me as she I passed by her. With D. on my left and B. on my right I was pretty well protected physically, but emotionally I was a wreck.
It was a large, dull colored waiting room. It was just nearing 7 AM and it was almost impossible to find 3 seats together. I signed in and was given about 10 forms to fill out. First the basic medical history, gynecological history, but i was shocked to find A “testimony of living will” among the papers. I had 3 options: “ 1) If any complications arise I want you to use any method possible to keep me alive (respirators, medications etc.) 2. If any complications arise, and I cannot survive on my own, let me die and, 3) I appoint ———— to make the decision for me.” I chose number 2, even though something inside of me was telling me to put down mommy and daddy for my advocates. Next, I was called into a room to take another pregnancy test b/c, obviously, they have to be completely sure that you are pregnant first. So, again, a urine test proved that I was indeed pregnant. Along with the urine test, they did a quick exam which determined that I was a few days short of 2 months. Next, after what seemed like an eternity in the waiting room, I was called into a counseling room where a woman went over my “options” with me. She explained that adoption was something I should consider because I was so young and my body was not all the way developed and that it could be very harmful. [no shit]. I then explained to her that there were NO other options and that I would like to get it over with as soon as possible. She said that she understood and we went on the the final step before the actual procedure — More fucking paperwork!
At this point, a knock at the door interrupted. Apparently B. wanted to be a part of things all of a sudden. Before that moment, I can’t even remember him asking if I was alright or offering any support. He did wake up briefly the night before when I got out of bed to throw up, however. Anyway, the three if us had a FAQ session, discussed my living will, and I signed the consent form. As she was closing my folder, it happened, the sonogram picture fell onto the desk, facing up. It was a blurry black and white photo marked 8 weeks . great. Now, I was even more of a wreck. It was the identity that gave me such a bad taste. It was a baby, not as the “thing, the problem” anymore. Eventually I calmed down a little and went back into the waiting room. It wasn’t long before a nurse came to escort me downstairs.
Again, like a movie scene, it was a narrow windy staircase leading to a series of rooms. But first you had to go into a small room with a curtain and take off all of your clothes. I left my socks on and went into the waiting/recovery room wearing a paper robe. This is a room I can never forget. It was pale yellow and very dated looking. Along each wall were like 6 old recliner chairs and the main wall had a 13 inch black and white TV using a coat hanger for reception. It was tuned to the cartoon channel with a troubled wavy line in the center. On the far wall with me were the girls waiting to go in. On the opposite wall were 2 or 3 drugged, recovering girls, Each had the pills [that you’re given upstairs to prevent infections] and a lollipop in their lap. One girl, who looked to be about the same age as me was passed out. I noticed that her gown had fallen open with the movement of her legs as she slept. Her thigh was covered in an orange substance. This scared me even more. The waiting girls looked around nervously and the recovering girls lay dazed and confused to their surroundings. I sat in silence for another 10 minutes or so nervously biting my nails and examining the hair follicles on my legs.
A new nurse showed up and directed me to the main room. It was a bright room with 2 men standing in the corner. I sat on the table and put my feet into the stirrups. The men introduced themselves as the doctor and the anesthesiologist. An IV was inserted into my hand and as I sat waiting for the medical assistant to arrive, I saw what was the most traumatic part of the whole experience. The doctor put a heap of something [covered in that same orange color from the girl’s thighs] into a blue thick paper towel looking thing with a pair of giant tongs, then it was wrapped up, taped shut and placed in a huge container of the other blue bundles. The anesthesiologist then hooked up the real IV to my tube and as I drifted away staring at the lights above me, it hit me!!! Those bundles were the abortions, and the orange stuff must be some sort of chemical or anti-bacterial substance used in the process. I was terrified, alone and confused and those fucking lights were the last thing I saw.
When I woke up, I was in a long room with lots of cots and other girls. When the nurse saw that I had woken up, she came over armed with water and a lollipop. She pointed to the bin of clothes next to my bed and said that I could get dressed when I felt up to it. I didn’t move right away, I just lay there thinking of the pain, about B., about the orange stuff all over my crotch, and thighs, but mostly I thought about those blue bundles and how I would never know for sure what I had seen. I opened the curtain and walked over to the nurse. She took me back to that little yellow room, where I would now sit as the drugged girl to scare the others. I was the girl with the mysterious orange thighs and a lollipop. I saw the other girls looking me over, just as I had done to the girls before me. The nurse came back to remind me to take the pills or I would get an infection. I told her that I wanted to leave and asked her to please page my ride. I went back to B.’s mom’s house and slept for the rest of the day, and B. took me home late that evening and I went to sleep, alone and disgusted. I was relieved, yes. I was no longer pregnant, but depressed because I knew that there was nobody I could talk to about this.
So, that’s it. And now, almost 6 years later, I finally wrote it all down, and it’s just as clear as yesterday.
B, 9.02.00
