The beginning process

My decision was immediate. I knew that I needed to get an abortion. It wasn’t a difficult decision at first. As the decision stewed and the date I had scheduled the abortion became closer, I began to have doubts. I began to see my child for what it was. My child. People kept telling me it was just a fetus, but it wasn’t. I believe it’s important to understand the weight of the decision of having an abortion. I believe everyone has the right to choose, but I didn’t understand how important the choosing part was. The day before I went to Planned Parenthood, I looked at myself in the mirror. I was in tears. It was then I realized that I made the right decision. Although I looked at all of the pros and cons, I was heartbroken by my decision. But it was for the best. That brokenness is what reminds me that I was in full conscious of my decision.

A part of the abortion or pregnancy nobody tells you is the scary part: the chance that it could all go wrong. I walked into Planned Parenthood unsure of what I was getting myself into. But I knew it was something that had to happen. 

Due to the COVID-19 outbreak, I wasn’t allowed to just enter the building. The nurses asked all of the questions beforehand on a call when I was sitting outside of Planned Parenthood in my friend’s car. They asked about my past medical history, the types of medication that I was currently on and whether this was the decision I wanted to make, repeatedly. They asked at least five times. And every time, it got harder to say “yes.” I guess it’s why they ask, to make sure you’re 100% sure. Otherwise, you would regret losing something as important as a child. 

Once I entered the building, they took me into a room and did an ultrasound. This was when I was supposed to be able to see my baby. The problem was, they couldn’t find a fetus. They found a small fluid sac somewhere toward the bottom of my uterus but nothing concrete enough to determine it was a child. My heart dropped. My mind was racing. I couldn’t fathom what was happening. The nurses were trying to hide their concerned looks and quickly told me that they needed the authorized clinician in the room. The room went silent as they closed the door behind them. The only thing I could hear was the anxiety screaming in my head.