What Happened at the Consultation

The day of my consultation was a relatively warm but gray, foggy, rainy and dismal day. It was also my boyfriend’s birthday.

The family planning office of the hospital is in the heart of downtown. I asked my boyfriend to drive so I could scarf down some food on the way there. We parked in the massive, packed parking garage and headed to the office. I felt awkward and embarrassed when we asked for the family planning clinic at the front desk. Would this woman know why I was there? She probably didn’t know and wouldn’t care, but my stomach turned with anxiety anyway. I even hid my left hand for most of the check-in process, an initially subconscious move that I became vaguely aware of... unnecessarily embarrassed that I am unmarried and getting an abortion.

On the elevator ride up to the office, we rode with a woman who was probably about seven months pregnant.

My boyfriend had warned me that the office would be part of the regular OB/GYNE offices there, so I could expect plenty of glowing, happily pregnant women. I smiled at her and thought about how happy she probably was about her pregnancy.

Before we entered the office, I had to pee (of course), despite the nurse’s request on the phone that I come to the office with a full bladder for the ultrasound. Fuck it, I figured, I can pee on command anyway.

I haven’t been to a hospital for myself since I was a child. I had two surgeries as a kid—a tonsillectomy and a nasal polyp removel. Turns out hospitals have changed a lot in the last twelve years or so. When we checked in, we got a buzzer—just like the type you get at a restaurant—to notify us when the nurse was ready for us.

There were other offices sharing this waiting room. The boyfriend and I wandered away from the pregnant women of the OB/GYNE office and got a more secluded spot closer to the geriatrics clinic. I felt scared but relatively unemotional. I filled out some paperwork and wondered if paperwork is sometimes only given to help distract and occupy a potential emotional basketcase of a patient.

Our buzzer buzzed, and we met a nurse at the door who asked me to confirm my name and birthdate before she took us back for the ultrasound.

In mentally preparing for this consultation, I had focused most on the actual consultation itself, worried about what I might learn or what the staff might be like. I knew there would be an ultrasound beforehand, but after the nightmare of my last ultrasound (which I have yet to write about... I have not felt up to it yet), I hadn’t considered this one too much.

As soon as we entered the ultrasound room, panic rose up in me. I was thankful that my boyfriend could be there with me, and as I lay down on the table, he sat in a chair next to me. After the nurse squeezed the jelly onto my abdomen, he grabbed my hand and held onto it the rest of the time we were in the room. The ultrasound lasted what felt like forever, and I squeezed my eyes shut in fear that I might see the fetus again (as I had the first time because of my horrible OB/GYNE's laziness or forgetfulness).

In my head I repeated, “It will be okay. It will be okay. It will be okay,” but when the nurse paused for a long moment between snapshots, I lost my focus and became panicky again. My throat burned as I pushed back tears, but they squeezed their way through my eyelids anyway.

I was surprised when she finished up, handed me a towel to wipe the jelly off and explained that we would be heading back into the waiting room to sign in again and get a new buzzer. I didn’t get to  release all the emotion that had just welled up inside of me. I had to go back out to the waiting room instead.

After checking in again, we sat back down in our same spot. This time, I rested my head against the boyfriend’s shoulder and we were quiet for several minutes. Finally he said, “I’m sorry this is happening today. If you don’t want to come tonight for dinner, I understand.” We had plans to go out for dinner with his dad. I knew that I would want to come no matter what and told him so. After another moment of quiet, I said, “That was so hard.”

He squeezed me and encouraged me not to attach to the moment and promised me that the next time I had an ultrasound, I would be overwhelmed with happiness. And with that, I began to openly cry in front of the elderly man seated by us.

We didn’t have to wait long before we were called back (our buzzer didn’t work apparently) to check my vitals.

I’m still shocked to see that I have lost weight during this pregnancy despite not having nausea. I don’t totally understand how that’s possible, particularly when this bump has popped up out of nowhere in the last week.

The nurse escorted us to a small office room where we were told our head nurse would be in shortly, most likely with residents and interns from the medical school to observe. That bummed me out. I had been looking forward to this intimate, private consultation with just my boyfriend, the nurse and me. What was even more disappointing was when just the resident and internist walked in, explaining they would conduct the first half of my consultation. My concerns were quickly put to rest.

As I chatted with the resident about how I got where I am and about my choice, she was extremely empathetic.

We talked about how surprised I was and how painful it is to make this choice at this point in the pregnancy, and she said something along the lines of, “You know, I’m so proud to live in a country that allows women to make this choice and that I can be there for her when she does. We want to provide you with all the resources you need to make this as easy as possible for you.”

I had felt collected during the consultation, but emotion waved over me again. We are lucky to live in a country with choice, I thought. My mind raced over the horrifying manipulations of women’s rights that have been on the floors of so many state capitals, and my head felt wooshy again. I pulled it together, but this moment eclipsed everything else from talking with the resident.

After the resident and internist left, the head nurse came in to chat with us briefly and brought the internist back with her. We talked in more detail about my procedure, what I can expect and future birth control options.

The head nurse is older—I imagine she is among the brave women who was there when Rowe passed—and spunky. At one point she mentioned once walking into the consultation room to find the woman naked and with her brother-in-law. They assured her that everything was copasetic and not to worry as the woman put her clothes back on.

“We get lots of weird stuff like that around here,” she laughed, turning to the internist who looked incredibly uncomfortable. I wondered if this poor girl was maybe most interested in pathology and this experience was exhausting for her.

They lauded my boyfriend for being so supportive, and I chimed in with a touch of the dark humor that has pervaded my life in the last week that the poor guy was celebrating his birthday at the abortion clinic.

Before we left, I was given a copy of information about the procedure and what to expect. Nothing too detailed, but nice to have nonetheless. While we waited for my co-pay to go through, the nurse told me about how “all the girls” went out the night before for a fancy dinner and how tired she was from it. They had a problem with their printer and apologized for the “technical difficulties,” to which I whispered to my boyfriend, “As long as the technical difficulties don’t happen next week…”



My procedure will be a two-day D&E (dilation and evacuation) procedure, occurring either at the beginning or at the end of next week. Unfortunately, they won’t be able to determine for sure until the end of the day today because they need to hold a spot open for pregnant women who face complications or are further along than me.

On the first day, I will come in for the insertion of laminaria sticks after a local anesthetic. Basically, dried seaweed gets shoved up your cervix. Sounds lovely. The laminaria soften and dilate the cervix.

On the second day, I will have the actual procedure. I will meet with a team of anesthesiologists to determine the best anesthesia for my case and then we’ll get going. My boyfriend will be able to join me in recovery, and I’ve been promised I won’t remember anything. After a couple hours of recovery, I can go home where I plan to have my favorite foods, hot pads and plenty of DVDs on hand.

I plan to take several days of work. Aside from the first two days, I think I will take two more off. It may depend on how I feel, but from what I’ve read, I want to allow myself time to deal. God knows I have not focused at work at all this last week, and I just want to give myself a bit of cushion time before I begin to get back to my “normal” life.

I’ve read in blogs and in other accounts of women who have had abortions that the procedure is quick, that relief is the biggest feeling following the procedure and that the bleeding and pain is relatively minimal compared to the mental and emotional pain and confusion leading up to the procedure.