This is a story about abortion.
I’ve told this story to myself and others in a hundred different ways. I’ve told it as a woman who was almost a mother and then wasn’t and will never be. I’ve told it as a woman who laid dying in a hospital bed after her fallopian tube ruptured to have a male doctor, in front of his students, ask how she knew she was pregnant.
I’ve told it as a cautionary tale against smoking and about worst case scenarios. I’ve told it as a person who received a blood transfusion and how meaningful that experience is. I’ve told it as a woman whose medical bills could have been around $50,000 after she got out of the hospital if not for insurance.
Now I’m going to tell it as a story about abortion.
My pregnancy was never viable even though it was wanted. We tried for 5 years to have a child and when it finally happened we were terrified, thrilled and frankly surprised. We’d given up. I wanted a girl and we picked out names. We immediately made appointments and cancelled allergy shots and called doctors about medications.
I will always regret telling people I was pregnant before the ultrasound.
We went in sure everything was fine but after a while it became clear something was wrong. I heard “how do you know you’re pregnant?” for the first time from the tech.
Well, maybe the 5 fucking pregnancy tests we took the day before and after.
But the tech couldn’t find an embryo and there’s a part of me that thinks she thought I was making it up.
I went home and searched and searched the Internet. My doctor guessed I was about 7-8 weeks along and at least 2 of those weeks were full of binge drinking and late nights. I found a lot of reassuring things, that the little blueberry with hands may have just been hiding and would appear. The tech might have been inexperienced or I may have drunk too much water.
The baby-less sonogram was delivered to my doctor anyway.
Her office called and told me I needed to come in soon and I did. Thankfully my husband was available and came with me and that’s when she told me the pregnancy was ectopic.
I didn’t even know what meant and as she coldly explained what happened to me I broke down and sobbed. She looked at me curiously like, why are you so upset? And then I had a decision to make. Did I want a shot? We asked her every question we could about whether “the pregnancy” could be saved. It couldn’t. The embryo just wasn’t in the right place and it had to go. This shot could kill it and potentially prevent damage and a life threatening situation.
Eventually we made the decision that yes I’d have the methotrexate shot. We carried the prescription to the charmingly named Apothecary and left. It would take them about 30 minutes they said. It wasn’t in stock and they had to get it from another pharmacy.
They told me my insurer didn’t cover the shot for the reason it was prescribed so I’d have to pay the full $20. I laughed at the injustice through my tears and handed over my debit card.
Until that moment I’d quit smoking but I gave up giving up. We went to the shop across the street run by a nice Korean couple and bought a pack of American Spirit golds. We setup shop at a small bar at the corner and I sobbed and smoked and my husband stared on.
Eventually we got a call from my doctor, the shot was delivered and it was time. We crossed the street again and went to the office. I tried to joke with the medical assistant that my husband was going to have a vasectomy and that I hoped there were no contraindications with alcohol. There were, as it turned out.
I went back into the office and the doctor had me pull down my pants so they could stab me with the needle. I was ordered to have blood work taken to monitor hormone levels to see if the shot was successful in stopping cell production and so I did.
That weekend to cheer me up we went to the Oregon State Fair and walked around. I didn’t go on any rides but we saw the animals, watched the horse competitions and wandered around the expo hall. The usual fair exhibitors were there; MLMs seeking suckers, vitamin blenders, skincare products with fancy names and craftsmen. There were also the non profits and those included Oregon Right to Life. Their booth was actually in front of the doors. Huge posters with grotesque images of embryos and fetuses at eye level right as you walked in.
It was the last thing I wanted to see and it made me so angry. I had just, 3 days earlier, had an abortion so I could save my life and there was no way these people could ever understand.
I walked out and sat on a concrete fence and cried. I hated them so much. I hated the Catholic priests that were against the treatment that might have saved me. I hated them for their callousness. All I wanted to do was look at the quilts.
We tried to shake it off and I went to a palm reader who said to me “you just lost a child” and I was shocked. I’m still convinced she must have seen me crying and made a guess. Regardless she risked a lot by telling that fortune. She really could have ended up laid out on the floor.
All the while I tried to keep my chin up and just get through it. That’s all I wanted to do was get through it. I didn’t know what that meant but just through.
A couple days after the fair I laid in the fetal position in the bathroom at work. At 1:33 pm I felt something go. I couldn’t tell you what it was but at 1:32 I didn’t feel well but was ok and at 1:33 I wasn’t ok. I was overwhelmed by pain I hadn’t experienced before or since. Somehow I still walked the 3 blocks to get my painkillers so I could stay at work. That’s how I ended up on the floor. I was desperate for the oxycodone I’d been prescribed to take effect. It didn’t
My employer paid for a taxi home and I laid on the couch. I found the pain wasn’t as bad when I was on my side. The doctor told me there was going to be pain. So there was pain and as a woman I was used to being in pain at least once a month so I just had to get through this and be strong.
I took more painkillers and managed to sleep but the next day even being on my side was painful. My husband called my doctor for a stronger prescription.
The doctor told him I needed to come in right away.
I chose this particular clinic because they were two blocks away from our apartment. I could drop by for my appointment and either get home early or hop on the street car to get downtown. The location made it all very easy. But after I found I couldn’t go back upstairs out of sheer agony we booked a car share to go that two blocks and get me to my appointment.
As I sat in the waiting room I noticed the anxiety in another patient’s eyes when she looked my way.
The pain just kept coming. No amount of leaning or changing sides made it better. When I finally saw my smart but lacking in humor doctor she asked if I was experiencing any pain. As I lay on the exam table unable to open my eyes I replied “no, everything’s just fine.”
The hospital was across a breezeway and they pushed me over. After some argument about whose wheelchair I should be in I was in a room in the ER and somehow in a gown with tubes in and out of my arm. At one point I noticed a bruise on my wrist and how perfectly smooth my skin was. I thought my arm looked just like a doll’s.
Someone’s surgery was bumped and they got me in. I signed papers and didn’t know what they said. A man who I never did find out his name squeezed my hand and told me I was going to be ok. I still cry thinking about how for about two seconds that made me feel better. The rest of the time I was just pain in human form. There was no room for fear or sadness, there was only blinding, all consuming, pain.
I woke up from my surgery in a recovery room with a nice nurse who hooked me up for a blood transfusion. I was surprised at how cold the blood was and overwhelmed at the knowledge someone else’s blood was in my body. I also felt relief. I wasn’t in pain anymore.
They took care of me in the hospital. I had a second transfusion that had some issues thanks to new transfusion software. I laughed because IT problems followed me even close to death.
My surgeon came and told me she’d done a D&C, or dilation and curettage, because after everything I’d been through she didn’t want me to bleed heavily after I got out of the hospital.
I call this the abortion that almost was because there are what ifs where the methotrexate shot would have taken me out of the very dangerous situation I ended up in. Even a surgical extraction of the pregnancy, or another kind of abortion, would have prevented the situation. But I was very unlucky. We found out I was pregnant too late. Even at 7 weeks I only vaguely showed symptoms. I didn’t vomit and I was no more or less moody than normal. I even spotted in between and I chalked that up to normal period weirdness during times of stress. It was only a vague sense of nausea around 10 am everyday for a week that tipped me off.
I was lucky enough to have doctors that had options and were smart and could act quickly. If abortion rights are taken from us will doctors be able to provide us with the options I had? The shot would probably be right out. Would they even be able to extract a pregnancy from a fallopian tube or would that upset the anti choice crowd? Would the hospital where the procedure was performed be allowed to ban partial salpingectomies because it impacts my fertility? Would they be able to treat me at all with my history of smoking and even smoking while pregnant because I didn’t know.
I don’t think it’s a question anymore that some of the things that were available to me won’t be protected in the very near future. I think the question now is at what point in this story about pregnancy and abortion would the people coming to power have let me die?
