One in One Thousand

Another Statistic

2011-08-08T13:49:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago this past Saturday, a man broke into my apartment and tried to rape me. I fought him off, he escaped, and I suffered only a bloody nose. I am still shaken, but I am okay, and I feel lucky.

I had just moved into a new apartment, where I was living alone, and this was my second night in the new place. I have since moved into a safer neighborhood, second floor 1-bedroom apartment. My investigation is ongoing, so I can't write much about it here. Sufficed to say, I believe the offender is in jail, caught only days ago, on his way to prison, but not for my incident, unfortunately.

Why am I writing about this here, in this blog about my abortion? There are a few reasons.

What if I hadn't had the abortion:
I couldn't help but think, within minutes after the assault, that I could have been almost 8 months pregnant when this happened. Would the offender, when he first opened my door to peer in and see who was in the bedroom, skipped on raping a very pregnant woman? Would I have even been home alone or would this have even happened, as my boyfriend and I most likely would have moved in together and be living elsewhere?

Threats to my reproductive system and my sexual identity:
Thus far, I don't feel scarred sexually or emotionally by the abortion or by the attack. I am aware that these things could impact me down the road, could seep in insidiously, and I keep a check on my sexual and emotional health and happiness.

What if I had been raped:
Because I am slightly psychic but do not learn to listen to my gut, I had this thought the day before the attack: 'It would suck to be raped if you had a yeast infection.' (I had a yeast infection at the time.) Followed by, 'It would suck to be raped if you weren't on birth control.'

The emotional toll of simply having a stranger violate my personal space and attempt to violate my body, it's hard to describe. I cannot imagine the unspoken pain of women who are raped, nor can I imagine the devastation if that rape results in a pregnancy.

That there are people out in this world who would suggest that rape does not "justify" an abortion absolutely sickens me. That they would want to further control the body and destiny of a woman whose control of those very things was violently ripped from her sickens me as well. I usually don't fill this blog with much vitriol toward those people, but fuck it. Those small-minded, self-righteous urchins should feel what that violation of space and body feels like, how it shakes you to your core, how it leaves you jumping at shadows and tree branches cracking, and sobbing at your own fear in the middle of the night, and then experience a lifetime of the product of that violation. Oh, how their hollow ivory towers would crumble.

Amazingly, one of those small-minded people is a friend of mine from high school. She once posted a link to this disgusting (and so-bad-it's-almost-funny) essay that mainly uses the movie Rob Roy as its evidential proof for this opinion. This friend called me the night following the attack after I posted a note on Facebook explaining what had happened. In tears and hysterical (Please don't call your friends who were just the victim of a violent crime if you are in tears and hysterical, by the way. It's not helpful. In fact, it's upsetting.), she said how happy she was I was okay, so glad she was that I fought, how much she wanted to hear my voice. And what might her message have said, I wonder, if I hadn't been able to fight him off, if I had been raped, if I was pregnant with the rapist's child and if I chose to terminate the pregnancy? What if I had shared that on Facebook instead?

Breaking the silence:
It's not my style to be silent. (Have you noticed?) I want to share my experiences and stories from my experiences because it is important to me that there is more understanding, more compassion, more connection between a statistic (like 1 in 1,000 women on birth control will get pregnant on their period; there is one sexual assault every two minutes) and the experience (me).

The day after the attack I wrote a letter to my friends and family. At first, I intended only to send it to a handful of friends and my family members. After I wrote and edited and started adding names to the list, I kept adding more names and more names and more... Soon, I sent the email to nearly 50 friends. Within hours, I decided to post most of the email as a note on Facebook.

Responses came pouring in. Support, advice, words of love. One woman, who I only have met on two occasions and is dating a friend of mine, sent me a private message. Four years ago, in her first week after she moved to this city, she was raped. She admired me for sharing my experience, she said. My heart slammed against my chest. This strong woman, this brave person, I could not imagine what she had been through, and she was reaching out to me. There were others out there, women I knew who had been through much worse, and I wasn't alone. None of us are.

The silence is not okay. It cloaks the experience in a shroud of shame, fear. By sharing our stories, even the most difficult, we support one another.

I am considering creating a separate anonymous blog about further issues affecting women, sexual health and my own experiences moving forward from the abortion. I started this blog with the intent to chronicle one experience, and I'd like it to exist somewhat statically, so that women going through an abortion might refer to the direct experience of the abortion and my healing. However, things keep happening to me (funny how life works!), and I would like to keep sharing. I think another blog may be the answer.

EC and me

2011-07-11T13:18:00.000-07:00

I took a Plan B One-Step pill on Saturday.

It goes without saying that I wasn't expecting to do that, but sometimes little slip-ups happen. My little slip-up played out a lot like the notorious sex scene in Judd Apatow's Knocked Up.

At 4 in the morning on Friday night, having lovey, drowsy sex, I realized I was not going to orgasm. Feeling close with my boyfriend and wanting him to climax, I whispered in his ear that I wanted him to, even if I didn't.

'What?!' he said. I whispered yes, and he said, 'No, no no,' and then... he came.

There I was thinking he had been insisting 'no' because we never like to have sex where one person orgasms and the other doesn't. But his shocked and scared face shook me from my lovey-drowsy state, and I asked with panic, "What??"

"Uh, we got kind of carried away there, didn't we?" he said.

"What do you mean?" As the words passed my lips, it dawned on me... No condom.

For a moment, I was angry. How did this happen? I saw him open the wrapper and I thought he had put it on. We had even stopped so he could. But I realized that without my contacts in, and sleepy and distracted, I didn't actually see the condom go on. But what was he thinking?? What happened?

It turned out that our slip-up occurred through a series of miscommuncations, similar to Knocked Up's "Just do it!" sex scene where Katherine Heigl encourages Seth Rogen to hurry up and get the condom on, and Seth Rogen forgoes the condom to, uh, 'just do it.' I thought my boyfriend had put on a condom already, and he thought I, when encouraging him to orgasm, simply wanted him to pull out, or that I had started my period... (Face, palm.)

And to those birth control methods, I held back my exasperation and said calmly instead, "Just so we're clear: As long as I'm not on birth control and I don't have my IUD yet, only condoms. No pulling out. No unprotected sex during my period. That's how we wound up where we were in March."

He didn't say anything but rubbed his head and eyes and groaned. I think he was having a 'oh, yeah, duh' moment. Did I mention it was 4 in the morning?

We curled up together as I pulled out my iPhone to search on Plan B's website for the closest pharmacy that sells it OTC. By noon the next day, I took a Plan B after downing a bunch of water and veggies (I felt nauseous the only other time I took Plan B, about four years ago, so I didn't want to take it on an empty stomach.)

I still can't believe some people feel there's a stigma about emergency contraception like Plan B, particularly people who don't have a problem with birth control. For me, there is no stigma, no humiliation. Mistakes happen. That's that.

Though I did empathize with the dewy-eyed 19-year-old boy working the Walgreen's pharmacy counter whose voice cracked with each phrase he uttered during our transaction. Yes, my dear pharmacy friend, I am a 20-something, sexually-active woman. And yes, my sexual partner and I had an accident last night, but it's okay. And yes, I will also take this plastic cooler as I am going to the beach immediately after this, and thank you very much.

On choices and the course I've charted

2011-06-20T10:03:00.000-07:00

I was in a friend's wedding this past weekend. I would have been six months pregnant exactly.

When I found out I was pregnant, in the little game of What If's that one imagines and plays out in her mind, I imagined calling my dear friend J. to tell her: "I am sorry. I can't be your bridesmaid. I can't stand up there at the alter with you with my belly bursting out of that lovely eggplant purple dress you chose for me." I imagined drinking water while my friends toasted champagne. I imagined sitting at a table while my friends danced. I imagined that maybe I wouldn't go to the wedding at all. I imagined that I might wind up quickly married before my friends' long-planned wedding, that I might be moving in with my boyfriend during that wedding weekend instead, that I might be painting a baby's room in some tiny city apartment.

What if, what if, what if.

But instead, this is what happened:

I stood at the alter as two of my best friends joined in union as a couple. I was not pregnant and I was not married. I toasted them with champagne, and I danced to every song the band played. I was happy. Overwhelmingly so.

But still, there are moments. There was a woman at this wedding--a friend of the couple. She sang during the ceremony. She was 15 weeks pregnant.

At the rehearsal dinner, friends crowded her and touched her emerging belly and awed. She was only one week further along than where I had been when I had the abortion. My mind raced, and a lump rose in my throat. I walked away, took photos of some of the tables with the camera I had brought to help my friends document their weekend and got caught up in a long conversation with friends. Without too much effort, I breathed through my feelings of sadness, I grounded myself, I returned to my table for dessert, and I was fine.

That's what things are like these days. I think about the What If's, but I don't let them occupy too much real estate in my mind. They're there, and that's fine. Something would be wrong with me, I might be dealing unhealthily or repressing, if they weren't.

I recently stumbled upon a fabulous advice blog called Dear Sugar. Sugar responded to one letter writer who asked how he should know if he wants children, quoting a beautiful poem by Tomas Transtörmer:
'Tranströmer’s narrator is capable of seeing his life for what it is while also acknowledging the lives he might have had. “The sketches,” Tranströmer writes, “all of them, want to become real.” The poem strikes a chord in me because it’s so very sadly and joyfully and devastatingly true. Every life, Tranströmer writes, “has a sister ship,” one that follows “quite another route” than the one we ended up taking. We want it to be otherwise, but it cannot be: the people we might have been live a different, phantom life than the people we are.'
It's a stunning image, that sister ship setting course in a different direction. But the choices we make set us on the course we take. 'Thank you for this life!,' his narrator exclaims. And that is the wonderful thing: We can shout our gratitude both to the void for the beautiful improbability of our existence and to ourselves for making the choices we have to define our lives.

Stuff Mom Never Told You

2011-05-24T13:07:00.000-07:00

If you're a lady or are interested in lady issues, you should check out the fabulous podcast from HowStuffWorks called Stuff Mom Never Told You.

The podcast is full of awesome information on everything from nuns to kegels, smoking to subliminal ovulation. One of their latest podcasts explores the phenomenon of unknowingly being pregnant.

The ladies address the horror they imagine at such a discovery (as most of us would, and some of us have), and they also get to the heart of the issue. They wrap up their podcast with these points:

Sometimes we’ll hear things like an irregular cycle is normal, or feeling awful around the time of your period is normal, or just feeling awful in general, it’s hormones. People are quick to write off women’s health problems. And women are less likely to take time out of their day to go to the doctor and find out what’s going on… I think the lesson here is to take some time for yourself… Going to the doctor regularly, checking in on your sexual health with yourself, what’s going on here?

Exactly!

As I've shared my own experience with other women, their reactions have revealed all sorts of misconceptions about their own reproductive health and ways in which we women don't always spend the time with our bodies we should.

I've heard so many anecdotes. One girl friend has been fighting monthly yeast infections for two years to no avail; Another friend is facing entometriosis and taking hormonal birth control for the first time to manage it but having terrible side effects from the birth control; Yet another friend had an abortion after going off birth control because she thought you didn't became fertile again until after your period, when in fact you will first ovulate and then have your period.

What we don't know, or assume, or accept from our doctors, is often short shift of what we deserve. There's no reason to accept a shitty health situation as normal, and I hope that podcasts like this one help women see that. It's exactly the kind of by women and for women media that helps inform and connect us.

Sharing the Experience

2011-05-18T15:19:00.000-07:00

I didn't expect to tell as many people as I did about my abortion. In the end, I told 14 people--12 friends, my parents, my boss--that I found out I was pregnant at thirteen weeks and aborted at fourteen.

I didn't tell everyone beforehand. Seven people knew where I was when I suddenly dropped off the map for a week. The other people I told later for varying reasons. And while everyone I told supported my decision, the reactions varied.

My boss, the first person to know aside from my boyfriend, witnessed my breakdown after seeing my ultrasound. She placed her hands on my head as I doubled over sobbing, and tried to say something helpful. "Tell your boyfriend and be sure to consider all your options," she said. I know she meant well, but well, sometimes we don't say quite the right things. I assured her that my decision was made, despite the feelings of confusion and upset that waved about me.

My best friend K, whose apartment I immediately drove to after telling my boss and leaving work. She was my biggest support throughout the process, an amazing friend. When I told her she hugged me and listened and supported. After I left, she later told me she cried when she shared with her boyfriend, who is also my friend.

My parents learned two days before the procedure. I shared with them when I decided I really needed their support. Losing our house to foreclosure last summer and having them live with me since has strained our relationship. For the first time in a long while, they could be my parents, support and love me, and I could rely on them. I learned that my mom had an abortion, and while we both confront our experiences differently, it was a comfort to know she had been through this as well, that one of the 1 in 3 women I knew who had an abortion was my mother.

My ex-boyfriend, J who, as a raised Catholic, was petrified of abortion in our relationship. When I took the morning after pill in our relationship, he was conflicted and upset by it. But when he learned of my news the day before the procedure, he was nothing but supportive. He checked in after the procedure to see how I was doing, and we talked at length about his current relationship and their birth control choices.

My boyfriend's ex-girlfriend, C, who learned from my boyfriend before the procedure. They went through this experience together. She even had the same doctors and nurses as me. She's the only other woman I've been able to talk to who has been through this experience, and we've shared some really great conversations. I'm thankful that she has been there for both my boyfriend and me.

My friend at work, M, I told a few weeks after the procedure and only after learning that she was seeing my old, terrible gynecologists. When I learned that, I first blabbered about how terrible they are and not to see them anymore. She asked, "What happened?? Your face is turning red!" and I told her everything. She cried when I told her. She was the only person who did that, and I'm relieved it didn't happen when the experience was fresher.

My old college roomie, J, I told on the phone after the procedure. I'm in her wedding next month, and we've remained close through the tough times we've both experienced these last few years. She shared with my friend and her fiancee, M. I saw them last week, and we three talked about it together.

My old college friend B, who I told weeks after the procedure. I blew off plans with him when my complication happened, and we have been close confidants for years. It was natural to tell him, and his reaction was one of shock and support. He, like many people I told after the fact, wished I had told him before so he could have been there for me.

My boyfriend's family friends, B and C, who are brother and sister, found out from each of us after the procedure. Two weeks after my abortion, they learned their mother had had a daughter when she was 18 and when she could not receive an abortion as it was illegal. That news shook us both--it seemed to relate so strongly to the "what-if's" I was experiencing at the time, and we each shared our news with them.

B's girlfriend, K, shared with me her own reproductive issues a few weeks ago--she most likely has endometriosis and is in the midst of tests. In turn, I shared with her my own, also assuming incorrectly that B had told her. We grabbed drinks and talked for hours about the procedure, her reproductive issues and birth control.

The two women I know who had abortions have not told many people. My mother doesn't understand why I shared with people and even suggested I shouldn't tell people. She and my father told no one of her abortion until they told me. C, my boyfriend's ex, did share with a few people but does understand why I would be compelled to share my experience.

And why share the experience?

To destigmatize it.
If one in three women you know have had an abortion, could you say who they are? Probably not. I'm not happy that I had an abortion--nobody signs up smiling for that kind of thing, but I am happy to talk about it, to reassure women who have not had abortions that it's okay, to share experiences with women who have had abortions, to talk with as many people as possible about birth control and reproductive health.

To be close with the people I care about.
I am a sharer--extroverted and generally open. It was important to me not to block out friends from my past and present from this experience. We talk about everything else--why not talk about this?

To create a conversation that I hope goes forward.
I hope that these people tell others that they know someone who had an abortion. I hope they tell them that this person had an abortion when she was fourteen weeks pregnant. I hope it stirs conversations and further destigmatize the experience. I am not ashamed nor do I have any regrets about my choice. I want as many people as possible to know that, and I want women to know that they will be okay if they one day choose the same thing I did.

Finally, there was one woman who I did not tell but with whom I did have a long conversation about abortion. A. and I grew up together--ballet class at age seven was where it all started. We've never been particularly close friends, but she was visiting in the city, so we got together for drinks a few weeks ago.

"I like all your Facebook posts," she said with a smile, referring to my multitude of pro-choice and pro-Planned Parenthood postings.

"Oh," I laughed a little. "I may have gone a bit overboard, but it's something I feel really strongly about."

A. went on to explain that she worries that she and her husband, both musicians, cannot afford a child but that her husband staunchly opposes choice and abortion. It's a difference between them, she explained.

"I don't know," she said, sounding slightly defeated. "I always say, I'm pro-choice, but anti-abortion. I could never do it myself."

Bells rang inside of me. She sounded like me at age 17 in our high school AP Government class arguing for choice but conditioning my own response. She sounded like me when I learned two years ago that my current boyfriend and his ex had had an abortion. She sounded like me only a few months ago, before I learned that I was pregnant.

"I don't think you can know that, A., until you face it," I said quietly.

She nodded and then said, "I think you're right."

Maybe Not the Mirena...

2011-05-10T14:19:00.000-07:00

I canceled my appointment for the Mirena IUD. After weeks of talking with many ladies about birth control, chatting with a few other friends who have or have had IUDs, I began to question my decision to go with the hormonal IUD. Maybe it would have been fine for me, but the Depo shot and its insane hormones made me increasingly wary of using any hormonal birth control, regardless of how "locally" the Mirena's hormones work.

I talked with my very patient OB/GYNE about my concerns, and we discussed non-hormonal options. In the rubbers department, my doctor said she does not really recommend cervical caps or diaphragms. I wasn't really interested in those options anyway and am more interested in the copper, non-hormonal Paragard IUD.

I hesitated to go with the Paragard initially. Like many women, I heard the word "copper" and balked. The idea of heavier periods also isn't hot (though my periods have never been very heavy or crampy). My dad also shared a former coworker's horror story of infection on Paragard. That pretty much sealed the (initial) deal that Paragard was not for me.

However, after almost two months of weight gain, breakouts and mood swings, the Paragard appeals way more than any hormones at all. Riding yet another hormonal birth control rollercoaster sounds like an exhausting trip that I am not up for right now.

The post-operative Depo-Provera shot lasts until June 7th. I am no longer pressuring myself to come up with a quick birth control solution. If I am not certain, the boyfriend and I can use condoms until I feel sure of my choice.

Here I want to say a lot about how the pressure, (oftentimes) cost, and crazy side effects of birth control weigh on the woman in a relationship. How the woman becomes the sole vessel for these issues and stress. How insane it is that birth control options are not more thoroughly discussed--in school classrooms, in doctor's offices, among women. I, for one, have been talking VAGINA with my lady-friends NON-STOP recently. It feels great, too. With those women whom I've shared my experience, there is closeness and support, and simultaneously I can offer advice and knowledge. It's awesome.

I want to share and talk about this experience, about women's health, about sex, about birth control, as much as possible. Knowledge is power, and we must be our own advocates for our health, bodies and wellness. Here's to us ladies and getting the best we deserve.

Abortion in the United States

2011-05-03T14:18:00.000-07:00

The Guttmacher Institute just released a fabulous video sharing the basic information of who gets abortions and why in the United States. Share this with anyone you can.

Birth Control Lottery

2011-05-03T13:47:00.000-07:00

I just got very exciting news from my OB/GYN's office: My IUD and its insertion procedure are covered 100 percent by my health insurance! I kid you not that I feel like I just won the lottery.

I'm scheduled to have it inserted next Wednesday, which will (fingers crossed) be during my next menses.

I am happy to move on from the Depo-Provera shot. While it's been awesome not taking a pill every day, I think that I've had a few negative side effects from the birth control shot.

First, I have broken out like a seventeen year old boy. I don't have bad skin, generally speaking, but man oh man.

Second, I have felt really ungrounded and emotional. This unstableness could be because of the procedure, because of other things going on in my life, or because of the birth control shot, I don't know. I do know that my OB/GYN explained that many women experience "the blues" when they first get the shot. I think I might be one of them.

Finally, I think I'm also among the women who gain weight on the birth control shot. And that just sucks.

So, IUD here I come... I am so pysched.

One Month (and Three Days) Later

2011-04-18T14:15:00.000-07:00

It is exactly one month and three days since my March 15th procedure. Things return to normal, and I'm still okay.

After meeting with my OB/GYNE last week, I've decided to have the Mirena IUD inserted. We ordered an IUD, and now we wait for insurance paperwork to clear. This process can take up to a month. The ideal time to have an IUD inserted is during menstruation (soft cervix!), so it's too bad that I couldn't have an IUD inserted last week when I happened to have my period during my visit to the doc.

While I'm physically back to normal, and I apparently gained 0.6 pounds in my Post-Abortion Chocolate Chip Cookie Recovery Plan, returning to a normal sex life with my boyfriend has been a bit rocky. The bumps on the road to sexual bliss have nothing to do with any physical ailments related to the procedure or the complication and may not have even anything mental-emotional to do with the procedure or complication either. (I was having infections and vaginal pain prior to the pregnancy.) But, as my gynecologist put it the other day, me and my cervix have been through an awful lot in the last month alone. My boyfriend and I cope with understanding and taking things slow. It seems to be working as my libido is on the rise (hooray!) and sex hasn't been painful in the last several days.

Emotionally, I feel more and more like myself with each passing day. There's no question that the abortion will be a part of who I am, but it will not comprise my entire being as it did during the process and my immediate recovery.

I'm a strong believer that things happen for a reason, though we must have the strength to seek those reasons, make sense of them and then build and follow the paths that lay before us. I feel like I'm emerging from the dark pain and difficulty that obscured my vision and entering into a clarity and light where I'm doing just that. It feels right and good.

Oh. Hey there, Monthly Visitor.

2011-04-12T10:07:00.000-07:00

How about that? I got my period!

It's strange and awesome to get a period again, especially when I haven't seen one in four months.

Way back in September, when I switched to the three-month cycle on oral birth control, I hated that I felt out of touch with my body. I actually missed my period. As relieved as I was that the three-month cycle solved other problems for me, I would never do it again. Ahem...

**Soap Box Alert! If you are taking Seasonale, or simply taking monophasic pills three months at a time like I was, please consider keeping pregnancy tests on hand just to check in with your body every month or six weeks or so. If you can avoid a pregnancy progressing for a full three months and just have peace of mind that you're not knocked up, believe me, IT'S WORTH IT.**

It's quite possible that all those crazy emotions I wrote about yesterday were partly/mostly related to a wild bout of PMS. I have never PMS'd before, so I'm not familiar with how I might feel if I were experiencing it. Physically, I'm much crampier than normal too.

I have an appointment with my OB/GYNE tomorrow, which I am so ridiculously psyched about. We had discussed the possibility of inserting the Mirena tomorrow. She told me at our last appointment that the best time to insert the Mirena is immediately following or toward end of menstruation as the cervix is softest then. Since I just started my period, I'm not sure that will be possible.

Your Love is Like a Roller Coaster

2011-04-11T08:51:00.000-07:00

I am a hormonal mess. Surges of sadness, happiness, rejection, acceptance, love and otherwise wave over me and overwhelm me.

My boyfriend and I have fought like crazy for about two weeks now. I feel so easily hurt by him these days, and I cannot figure out if the normal strains in our relationship and our lives are causing this, or if it's excacerbated by the changes of hormones in my body.

I've read in some other abortion blogs about experiencing wild swings of emotion following the procedure and your body's hormonal readjustment. Because I was entering my second trimester, my body was pumped full of more pregnancy hormones, so it may take me a bit longer to adjust...

Then there's the hormonal change of birth control. I have read a few experiences of women who feel emotionally unstable on the Depo shot.

At this point, I'm not sure which it is, but I'm wondering if anyone out there reading this has experienced mood swings following their procedure and/or a Depo-Provera shot???

I Have Sex and I am Political

2011-04-08T09:56:00.000-07:00

I didn't expect my blog about my abortion to wind up being so political. But unless I only focus on the physical aspects of the process, which was never my intent, it's bound to get political and fast.

I'm a political person generally. I've been to rallies in D.C., knocked on congressmen and congresswomen's doors, demanded to be heard by my leaders, made calls from home for politicians' campaigns, joined political groups on my college campus, led political groups on my college campus...

I now live in a liberal area and am no longer registered to vote in my home state, where I often felt I could influence state (but not local) politics. Since then, I haven't been as political as I once was. In fact, I burned out a little bit on being political. It's exhausting, and I don't know where people get the energy for it. It took me two weeks leading my campus College Dems to realize I had no interest in politics as a career.

But only two weeks before I found out I was pregnant, I had a conversation with my boyfriend about how nothing brings out the liberal warrior in me like an attack on women's reproductive rights.

Mostly, I have only seen those attacks at a distance as news about government spending. It had been years since I had seen those attacks up close. Back then, I was a liberal teenager in a conservative town in a conservative state with (mainly) conservative friends. It was those friends who launched ideological attacks on women's rights. It wasn't personal then, and I would try to argue my perspective to them, try to find a middle ground, excuse their judgmental and uncharitable attitudes. We'd usually wind up agreeing to disagree, and I'd excuse their nasty rhetoric and move on.

Even when we discussed my "liberal warrior," my boyfriend asked me how I could be friends with some of these people from my past on Facebook. I'm even relatively close friends with one anti who, on the day I returned to work from my procedure, posted an article about why rape and incest are not reasons to 'justify' abortion. (The article used the film Rob Roy as the basis of its argument... simultaneously laughable and pathetic.)

I made excuses for this friend and others from my past, explained that their judgment of women was something they were raised with, they are good people otherwise, and on and on. He rolled his eyes, expressed that he can't understand how I excuse the behavior of a "friend" who would limit my rights, and we reached our ususal impasse on the topic.

Then I got pregnant, and then I had an abortion.

From my perspective, since then there has been a confluence of personal attacks and political bullying that turns my stomach.

I've seen and experienced in great intimacy what kind of churlish, self-righteous, un-Christian people it takes to personally attack women's rights and choices--be it by commenting on the blog of a woman who is just coping with her experience, by posting judgmental rhetoric on Facebook or by protesting outside of a Planned Parenthood in hopes to intimidate at least one woman and force their opinion upon her. And the political attacks have taken on an even darker tone. What kind of politician will shut down a government and leave his fellow Americans out to dry over pap smears and STD testing?

I could add plenty here about how disappointed I am (and expected to be) by President Obama's weak political hand, or how I wish that other Dems would stand up to the schoolyard bullying by Boehner and his cronies.

But I don't want this blog to become another Internet political blather bucket, so I'll leave it at this: I am incredibly frustrated by this country and its leaders on both sides right now.

In the meantime, I am posting this video (Thanks for linking to it last month, OmMama!!) and calling my leaders to tell them that I support Planned Parenthood. I'm turning off comments on this entry and ask that you, whether you agree or disagree with me, direct your energy toward calling your political leaders instead.

About the Complication and Being Okay

2011-04-06T16:29:00.000-07:00

The lovely ProSanity commented on my lengthy entry about the complication's chronological breakdown, "We need every side of every story. We need everyone to know that an abortion ISN'T the end of the world and a complication after one isn't a death sentence."

Yes, exactly!

I wrote at great length about the complication as that's my style. I personally wanted as many details as possible about what to expect before my procedure.

But I also want to offer up an abbreviated version:

About the Complication

My complication happened because my uterus did not evacuate its lining and blood clots on its own. As the doctors put it, there was tissue left in my uterus.

The complication happened ten days after my D&E procedure. I bled a lot for a few hours, went to the ER with my boyfriend, met some nice medical professionals and was discharged and prescribed Misoprostol (or Cytotec) to help contract my uterus and push out whatever tissue was left.

I took two doses of Misoprostol on two different nights, passed clots, bled more, had some mild cramping, and then, that was it.

That was it. I was just fine, felt good and doing well.

I do not mean to suggest that serious complications never happen or that this is a topic to be taken lightly.

Complications happen--I'm proof. And extremely rare serious complications also happen, as with any surgical procedure, and a patient should be fully informed and seek out information from her trusted medical professionals. I found fascinating and concrete statistics on abortions, complications, and more on this stat sheet from the Guttmacher Institute, a fabulous resource that I recommend reading just for starters.

I will also happily add that abortion is legal in my country, and therefore the complication and mortality rates are significantly lower than they would be if the procedure were illegal.

My personal experience with abortion was far from perfect. I saw an ultrasound I asked not to see; The OB/GYNE team I knew was called off my case last minute, and I never met the attending physician who operated on me; I had a complication when my uterus retained tissue and I wound up in the ER.

And guess what? Even with all those less-than-perfect things, I am fine. I am not traumatized, and I am healthy and happy. So are millions of other women out there today who have had this procedure. And if you are in the position I was in, facing an unplanned pregnancy that you know you want to terminate, and you are reading this entry and feeling scared or upset or angry or frustrated or sad, it's okay.

You will be fine too.

Help Indiana Women Out

2011-04-06T15:51:00.000-07:00

Indiana's state House just passed one of the most restrictive bills on abortion rights seen in this country.

Most abortions after 20 weeks will now be illegal. In addition to its other restrictions, there is no exemption for women who are pregnant as a result of incest or rape and no exemption for women whose pregnancy threatens their life or may result in serious, irreversible harm.

The bill is passed, but I still feel there is so much we can do to support the women of Indiana.

I suggest making a donation to Planned Parenthood Indiana on behalf of Rep. Eric Turner R-Cicero, who authored the bill. (Or make a donation on behalf of whatever other co-signers you wish. A donation for each, by all means!)

Don't forget to include Rep. Turner's office address so you are sure he receives a Thank You note for your donation:

Rep. Eric Turner
5541 S. Harmon St.
Marion, IN 46953

See also Abortion Gang's write-up on this bill's passage.

Recovery Update - 3 Weeks Later

2011-04-05T10:36:00.000-07:00

Three weeks after the procedure and eleven days after my complication, I am doing really, really well!

The spotting has dropped off to barely-there, if it's there at all. At this point, I am not sure if this spotting I occasionally see is related to the procedure, the complication or because I had a Depo-Provera shot. The "Birth Control Shot" is known to cause spotting and irregular bleeding.

My appetite is returning to normal too. I realized after the fact that pregnancy made me, well, way healthier. I couldn't get enough veggies, virtually cut out alcohol, and most shockingly, my notorious sweet tooth was replaced with a citrus tooth. (I remarked to my boyfriend after we found out that I was pregnant that the time I ate a whole lemon should have been a clue to strange cravings and pregnancy.) But in the last week or two, I have been happily eating ice cream and cookies and indulging myself. Planning to cut that out before it becomes a problem!

Over the weekend my OB/GYNE called me just to say hi, check in and see how I was doing. How awesome is that? What a great doctor. We scheduled an appointment for next week to discuss future birth control options. I had planned to have a Mirena IUD inserted, but the complication left me feeling relieved that my uterus is finally empty, so I'm a little hung up mentally. I'm debating between continuing with the Mirena IUD plan and scheduling another Depo-Provera shot. Looking forward to discussing my options with an OB/GYNE I trust!

Bills, Bills, Bills

2011-04-04T09:40:00.000-07:00

The medical bills are beginning to roll in and are about $8,500 for the procedure. My insurance covers everything except for a $250 deductible.

I know that my procedure is a bit more expensive for two reasons: First, I had the procedure in a fancy urban hospital. Second, I was in my second trimester.

My decision to do the two-day procedure at the hospital was primarily impacted by both my former and my new OB/GYNE recommending this particular hospital. One OB/GYNE had just sent a physician friend there for a surgical abortion, and the other OB/GYNE explained that this hospital's ultrasound team (a key component of a second trimester abortion so the physicians can best see the surgery as they perform it) is top-notch.

I remember when I first called the hospital's family planning clinic to begin scheduling appointments, their administrator explained that surgical procedures after 13 weeks can top $10,000. She told me this fact before we knew whether my insurance would cover the procedure. I spent the rest of the day waiting, worrying and wondering what my options were if I was not covered. I am incredibly thankful for my insurance.

But It Wasn't

2011-03-31T15:11:00.000-07:00

I've had quite a few hits from various anti-choice blogs recently. Evidently my raw emotions in the moment of unwillingly seeing my ultrasound (Thanks again for your subersive message and/or negligence, Dr. D.) strike chords with the anti-choice community because I referred to the image I saw in that ultrasound as looking "like a baby."

The passage, specifically, refers to the moment after my gynecologist--informed that I did not plan this pregnancy, wanted to terminate the pregnancy and that I had no desire to see the ultrasound--told me I could go ahead and sit up after she had performed the ultrasound:

I sat up and opened my eyes. To my right, the hovering ultrasound glowed, its screen facing toward me still showing the image of the fetus inside of me. I only saw it for a moment, just long enough to register a little head and nose, arms and a body curled up and facing left.

It looked like a baby.

It looked exactly like the ultrasound that I had imagined for my future.

"Can you please turn that off?" I said weakly, my eyes shut again.

All that I wrote is true. It's exactly what I felt when I was in that moment. It was so upsetting, and it was the image of why terminating pregnancies is so difficult for most women. But for so many women, it wouldn't matter if they saw a fetus at 13 weeks, an embryo at six, or nothing at all. It's upsetting. It's not a happy choice.

The fact that this fetus--this potential life--had begun to take a human form was difficult to see, even for someone like me who has never believed that life begins at conception. Still, seeing the ultrasound had a profound impact on me and on my decision making process.

I researched pro-choice, pro-life and unbiased websites. I spoke to multiple doctors. I read endlessly about the developmental process of the fetus, from conception to birth. I tracked where I was at that point and looked at illustrations of what the fetus looked like and how it had developed. My extensive and exhaustive research even drew my boyfriend and I into an argument.

"You must either want this pregnancy or you are trying to make this as difficult as possible on yourself," he said.

It wasn't either of these things.

Eventually my boyfriend came to understand that I needed to know as much as possible to make my decision. I wanted to make my choice to either bring this pregnancy to term or to terminate it after exploring every facet of our situation. I exposed myself to enlightening, helpful, painful, and even some judgmental information because I wanted to make a fully-informed decision. I did not want to have any regrets.

Perhaps it did make my decision more difficult. Lots of things did: that ultrasound, the sudden bump that appeared, reading terribly derisive websites that called me a baby-killer...

Ultimately, and I have said this before too: "My choice was right for me, my partner and the potential life I carried for 14 weeks. I am grateful to be 26, unmarried and without children, paving a life path that is right for me and that will allow me to flourish as a woman and, one day, a mother."

But the above has also been quoted by both pro-choice and anti-choice websites because, simply, we have different basic beliefs. I don't believe life begins at conception. I also don't believe life begins when a potential life begins to look "like a baby." I believe life begins with sentience, something medical studies (including this JAMA article on fetal pain) find does not begin until the third trimester.

The pro-lifers believe that life starts at conception. I appreciate and respect that belief, though I do not agree with it.

I can understand how a pro-life blog might balk that I saw an ultrasound that looked like a baby and that I could still make the choice to terminate the pregnancy. I appreciate that opinion, though I do not agree with it and I do not respect any individual who believes they are worthy of judging me or my decision.

I will not force my beliefs upon any other individual, and I would ask and expect that other individuals would do the same.

For what it's worth, what I do believe is this:

I believe that I want to provide the very best for my future children.

I believe that I want to give myself the very best in my life to be able to do so.

I believe that I want to be financially sound so I am not scraping by (or helping support my parents) when I have children.

I believe that I want to have a strong, warm and loving home (and not be living out of a bag in my car, bouncing from my apartment where my parents now stay to my boyfriend and his roommates' place) when I have children.

I believe that I want to be in a solid partnership and marriage when I have children.

I believe that I have a right to choose when having children is right for me.

I believe that by living my life the way I want to live it, developing my independence and growing as a person, I will be the best damn mother to my future children.

I believe that this experience has profoundly changed me.

I believe that I am already a more patient, less judgmental and more open person.

I believe that--after years of patience, excuses for anti-choice friends and desperately seeking an understanding middle ground--I am no longer going to tolerate the damaging anti-choice rhetoric that threatens this country, intimidates and judges my fellow women and impinges on tolerance, rights and progress.

I believe now more than ever before that women (not just in this country, but across the world) deserve the very best and so rarely get it.

And I believe that in my life I will help at least some of those women find the support, strength and services they deserve.

Yes, seeing that ultrasound hurt then and it still hurts now, but I made the choice that was right for me. Ultimately, it looked like a baby, but it wasn't.

A Chronological Breakdown of My Complication and a Trip to the Emergency Room

2011-03-29T16:15:00.000-07:00

*Before you read, you should know that this entry will be relatively graphic--lots of blood, my friends--compared to my other posts. I should also be clear that this was not a miscarriage, and the tissue left in my body was either blood clots or, at worst, placenta.

I decided to write in detail about my complication because when I went into this process, I never read about any complications on other abortion blogs.

I scoured those blogs for the details of what to expect from the surgery, what other women's experiences were like, what healing and moving on was like... So I think I should be detailed about this part of the process too. Again, hopefully it helps someone.*

6:50 PM
On Friday evening at work, I suddenly became very crampy. I sat for quite a while at my desk, waiting for the cramps to pass before I got up to use the restroom. When I used the restroom, I felt a huge gush of blood and glanced down to discover the toilet bowl, as I described to the doctors later that night in the ER, "looked like a bucket full of red paint, opaque." Literally, I couldn't see the walls of the toilet bowl or the bottom of it. It was just bright red and thick with blood.

That was disconcerting, but I didn't let it phase me too much. I noted that it the bright red color was something I had been told to watch for, however, and decided to keep my eye on my pad for heavy bleeding. Soaking one pad an hour, I remembered my paperwork saying, would mean a phone call to the on-call doctor at the OB/GYNE office.

7:00 PM
I drove home with plans to eat some dinner with my folks before heading out for a game night with friends.

However, I felt crampy upon getting home, noticed more blood and decided to take a Motrin and a hot shower to try to alleviate the cramping. I explained to my mom what was up, she threw some dinner on for me and I jumped in the shower.

Again, I used the toilet to find yet more blood, though not completely opaque this time. I showered.

7:45 PM
I put a new pad (Pad #1 since getting home) on.

8:30 PM
Forty-five minutes later, I had bled pretty heavily in the pad, but I wouldn't say I had "soaked" it. I had noticed, however, that when I sat on the toilet, lots and lots of blood would come out. So there was blood not catching in the pad that would definitely add to its soaking factor.

With that in mind, I called the OB/GYNE's after-hours emergency number, spoke to a male nurse (I mention this because I have never ever dealt with a man before this moment at an OB/GYNE office. This was a first for me.), described the bleeding in detail, and requested that the on-call doctor call me ASAP.

He said the on-call doctor would call me back within twenty minutes. Happily, she called back within five minutes, and we discussed my bleeding. Since I wasn't quite soaking a pad per hour, she asked me to monitor myself for the next hour or two and call back if things were the same or got worse.

Bleeding is generally a sign of something left in the uterus, she said, either placenta or blood clots that haven't passed. If that was the case, I'd need to come into the ER where she would see me. The ER, unfortunately, was the only way I could get to the OB/GYNE team. She apologized for that, which seemed unnecessary but kind.

8:40 PM
I texted my boyfriend to let him know what was up, in case I did need to go to the ER. I felt bad, knowing he was hanging out with his ex-girlfriend (Yup, both he and I are the types who remain close friends with our exes.) and not wanting to make him worry unnecessarily. It didn't seem possible at this point that I would go to the ER, I kept saying to myself. After texting him, I had some ice cream while I sat on the floor watching NCAA basketball with my parents.

During this time, I could feel the bleeding picking up. I could also feel some small clots passing, which is a bizarre sensation since you cannot control or stop the passage of a clot. It's upsetting in the same way as vomiting or, I assume as I happily have not experienced this, uncontrollable diarrhea. Your body is doing something, and you can't do a single thing to stop it. It's a very helpless and foreign feeling.

8:50 PM
My phone rang ten minutes after my text. It was the boyfriend, very concerned and asking me if I wanted him to come pick me up from my apartment to go to the ER right away. I insisted that I didn't, that it probably wasn't anything, and I'd just keep my eyes peeled. But as I talked to him, I had stood up and I felt another clot pass and I sucked my breath in.

"Ughh," I moaned. "Okay, I may need to go, but let's not go yet. I was told to wait an hour and monitor myself anyway."

He agreed, and we hung up.

I changed my pad again. Pad #2.

9:00 PM
I went back to watching basketball and nervously eating ice cream, wondering if eating was a bad idea if I possibly was going to be rushed into an operating room in the next several hours. At this point, I had had three slices of pizza and now ice cream. I stopped eating the ice cream.

I chatted with my mom about the latest sensations, and she insisted that she used to have clotting with her period sometimes. Maybe this was just a bad period?

Uh, no, Mom. I said. I know what period clotting is like. This is definitely more than just a bad period.

9:20 PM
Thirty minutes passed, and the boyfriend called again around 9:20. This time, he was more insistent. What was the difference, he said, between waiting another thirty minutes or going now? He wanted to come pick me up, and as we talked, I checked my pad.

To my horror, as I checked my pad (which was already pretty bloody), two clots the size of quarters, if a quarter was a sphere, dropped down into my underwear.

"Ughhh!!"

"What is it? Is it cramping??" my boyfriend asked.

"No," I said. "No, it's just... it's gross. It's just really, really gross." I paused for a second and fished the clots out of my underwear and dropped them into the toilet.

"Is it bleeding?" he asked urgently.

"No, it's clots," I said. "Uh, yeah. Let's go to the ER. Like, now."

9:25 PM
We got off the phone, and I changed my pad again. (Pad #3.)

It took the boyfriend about thirty minutes to get to his place and grab his car (he had been on his motorcycle, which obviously wouldn't work to transport me) and then to my place.

In the meantime, I called the on-call doctor. I first spoke with a new nurse, who said the doctor would return my call "tonight."

I got hot and bothered, asked her if she was aware that the doctor had already spoken with me and that this was an emergency. The nurse then said in a very disinterested voice that it probably wouldn't be that long.

Thankfully, the doctor called me within ten minutes. I spoke with her and confirmed that I should be coming in. The ER would expect me, she said.

I would go through the ER routine and then be taken back for an ultrasound. The ultrasound would reveal whether I had anything left in my uterus. At that point, they would decide whether I should take a drug to help evacuate the uterus, or if I needed surgery, a D&C.

I asked her if my boyfriend could be with me, and she said he could be at my side the whole time, up until the point and only if I needed surgery.

I packed an overnight bag (I have become an expert at the You're Having an Abortion! checklist, apparently... Sigh.) and was suddenly very happy that I had lots of pads and stick-on heating pads leftover from two weeks ago. I had even bought oversized underwear for after my procedure and never used it. Now was the time! I threw a stick-on heating pad on my back and waited, updating this blog in the meantime.

I then sat with my parents, talked with them about what was going on and got very upset when I explained I might need a D&C. They hugged me as I cried.

10:00 PM
When my boyfriend arrived at 10 PM to pick me up, I thought about changing my pad one last time but wanted so badly to get moving that I didn't. The bleeding didn't seem too bad for the last 30 minutes, so I stuffed two or three extra pads into my purse and off we went. I would later regret this decision.

10:20 PM
We arrived at the hospital complex. I insisted to the boyfriend that I wanted to park the car with him in the garage and walk to the ER. I wasn't interested in going in alone.

However, while walking to the ER, I realized that this may have been a bad idea. I felt small clots passing and blood... not quite gushing, and not quite dripping... from my vagina. I picked up the pace to the ER.

The entrance to the ER features a fun little door contraption that requires you to enter through one set of sliding doors, stand in a particular box, wait for the first set of sliding doors to close and then wait for a second set of doors to open. The boyfriend didn't understand and was complaining about the stupid doors while I could feel more blood pouring out of me, and I dragged him into the right box with perhaps not the friendliest of pulls.

10:30 PM
We checked into the ER.

For my first check-in, I checked in at the front desk just to get the basics in the system. There was, of course, very little privacy for this process. I announced that I was bleeding like crazy from my vagina and that I had a D&E procedure ten days prior. The nurse marked some things down and explained I would now check in to get a wristband.

Then, I moved down the counter for the second part of the check-in. I confirmed my name and birthdate and got my wristband. While we were standing there, an RN moved out right next to us and called my name.

"Right here!" I responded.

She glanced around the room and called my name again.

"She's right here!" the nurse checking me in said louder.

The RN stared blankly around the room, looked at her chart and began to call my name again.

"RIGHT HERE!" the nurse and I both very loudly responded to her. The RN blinked at me several times and then gestured that I join her at her station.

For the third, final and most grueling part of my check-in, I was checked by this RN, Tina, we will call her. Tina had me sit down in her patient's cream fabric chair, which I had the good sense to throw down my dark coat over before sitting. (No, this may be my most intense, but it is certainly not my first rodeo, Uterine Blood.)

Her station was, like the rest of the waiting room and check-in area, not private. The boyfriend stood somewhat in front of me, blocking most of the waiting room, but conversations and the buzz of the TV could be heard in detail.

Tina took my vitals and asked me a few questions.

Tina: Why are you at the ER this evening?

Me: I had a D&E procedure ten days ago, and now I am bleeding profusely.

Tina: Bleeding from where?

Me: ... Uh, my vagina.

Tina: You had a what kind of procedure?

Me: A D&E.

Tina: What is that?

Me: ...A dilation and evacuation.

Tina: A what? What is that?

Me: ...An abortion... A pregnancy termination.

Tina: Oh! ... (Tina gets whispery.) OH, oh gosh. Oh, I am so sorry.

Me: Uhhh, it's okay.

Tina: What did you say it's called again?

Me: A dilation and evacuation procedure.

Tina: Ok. Why did you terminate the pregnancy?

Me: (Given the way things were going here, I got angry for a half-second, thinking that Tina was getting personal, before I realized that she probably was more interested in whether I had any medical complications that led to the termination.) It was unplanned.

Tina: Unplanned. (She jots some notes down.) Ok. How many pads are you going through?

Me: (Feeling what is now a sopping-wet pad underneath me.) Uh, more than one an hour, at this point.

Tina: Hm. OK. (She fidgets a bit.) I'm going to have to ask my neighbor about this. Sorry. I'm new to this, and I don't know what triage to put you at.

Me: (New to this. Okay, so this explains something...) Okay.

Tina: (Leaves, returns, holding a urine cup.) Ok, I need you to wait in the waiting room, and we'll need a urine sample from you. The bathroom is right over there. (She gestures to a hallway off the waiting room.)

Me: Uh, you need me to do the urine test and then hold onto it?

Tina: Oh yes. We just need to be sure, you know, that you were pregnant. Just in case, you know, the doctors want to do a CAT scan.

Me: (Though I am thinking, WTF?! Was I pregnant? CAT scan?? Is this really how crazy hospital administrative BS is??? ...) Uh, I absolutely have to do the urine sample out here?

Tina: Oh, no! There's a bathroom back there if you can't pee yet.

Me: I think I'll do that, as long as the doctors know they're probably going to wind up with a mess of blood instead of urine.

At this point, I did go to the waiting room bathroom because I was freaked about how wet my pad was feeling. In true shitty waiting room fashion, there was NO LOCK on this door, and I put my purse in front of it in a very feeble attempt to keep anyone from entering the bathroom.

I discovered that not only was my pad a heaping mess of blood, but my underwear was more or less soaked through too, and I had bled through my stretch pants. Now, anywhere I sit down, I would leave a little red splotch. Fabulous.

In trying to clean myself up, I got blood all over the bathroom floor, toilet seat and sink and then spent time cleaning up after myself too.

I finally returned to my spot in the waiting room, recognized that there was indeed a little red splotch where I had sat briefly, tucked my dark jacket underneath me and sat down. I updated the blog again, taking in the sights and smells of the waiting room. I was happy that we arrived when we did as it was clear already that a later-night, crazier and more upsetting crowd was already arriving.

11 PM:
A friendly nurse called me back to the ER. The nurse rotated my bed for me so that it faced the wall rather than the curtained sheet that separated it from a very busy hallway.

The hallway outside my room was full of other cases--people in wheelchairs, people on gurneys. The gentleman right outside my room was a middle-aged black man on a gurney who was high on cocaine, suicidal and liked orange juice. We would listen to several different medical professionals talk to him throughout the evening, the least effective of whom is Tina who chided him repeatedly.

I went to the bathroom in the ER to attempt that urine sample. The boyfriend and I, after I slipped into my gown, tried to guess what substance my urine sample most looked like. I said tomato juice, but he disagreed and suggested that it looked like some kind of chemical experiment.

A nurse took my vitals again since I was losing so much blood. I kept my underwear and my pad on, though a disposable underpad (lifesaver!) had been tucked underneath me. The nurse also took several blood samples and hooked an IV needle into my arm in case I needed fluids later.

The ER resident arrived to discuss my situation with me. She was intense with hair slicked back into an oily ponytail and a bedside demeanor that involved her sitting wide-legged on her rolling stool while she knotted her face into concerned looks and nodded meaningfully. It was a bit unsettling, and as the boyfriend later said, it felt like she had just returned from her fifth tour of duty in Iraq, but I did like her.

She seemed uneasy about the pelvic exam she was about to perform on me.

"Listen," the ER resident said, "nobody likes pelvic exams. I don't like giving them. You don't like getting them. So we'll just do this as fast as possible."

Uh, okay. Pelvic exams are not that bad, in my book, but ten-four.

I explained that I was bleeding profusely, and at this point, I wanted to throw my underwear away. I requested a pair of disposable underwear for later, which the nurse brought me.

11:15ish PM
It's time for Pelvic Exam Number 1.

I peeled off my bloody underwear, wrapped it up as best I could and, with no help from the resident or my boyfriend, tossed it into a distant trashcan.

"Ha! See, I sort of know how to play basketball," I said to no one in particular. (I would talk somewhat crazily like this throughout the entire ER visit. Not totally sure in retrospect if I was just nervous and trying to calm down or losing lots of blood and not thinking clearly.)

The ER resident directed me into the stirrups and immediately said in surprise, "Oh wow. You weren't kidding. That's a lot of blood."

I looked proudly at my boyfriend. Check me out! Lots of blood, did you hear that? Aww, yeah. How awesome is your girlfriend?

As she put together the ambulatory pelvic exam contraption, she explained, "We get lots of women in the ER who say they are bleeding a lot. 'Meh, I'm bleeding through a pad an hour!' Yeah, right. No, this is a lot of blood."

She began the pelvic exam, and it was immediately clear that she's not an OB/GYNE professional. The speculum scraped my vaginal canal, and I tried to stay relaxed.

"Have you been passing clots like this?" she asked.

Oh, I must be passing a clot. Who knew?

"Uh, am I passing a clot? Uh, yeah. There have been lots of them," I answered.

She removed the speculum and began using her hands for the second part of the exam. This process would be the most excruciating thing I felt at the ER.

With the blood I'd been dropping, my pubic hair had become clotted with blood. It was dry, sticky and clumpy. Part of her hand caught, twisted and pulled my pubic hair. My eyes watered and I laughed in the delirium of the pain.

"Try to relax," she intoned.

Fuck you! I wanted to scream back at her. LET GO OF MY PUBIC HAIR.

I made a note that I shall shave myself as soon as I possibly can.

The ER resident finished and explained that the OB/GYNE team would see me soon. They were also waiting on my blood test results, so I should just relax and let her and the nurses know if I need anything.

I requested another underpad right away. I could feel the wet blood underneath me from the exam, and she pulled one out of a drawer and tucked it underneath me.

11:30 to 12:05ish
We hung out and waited for a long while. I had my vitals taken at some point again. The boyfriend and I talked, joked, held hands. We listened to the man outside our room. We got on Facebook on our phones.

I felt a bit light-headed, but I couldn't tell if it was because I was losing blood or if it was because the lights in my tiny little room were really bright and the whole experience was surreal.

Around 12:00 a supervising resident arrived in my room. I barely got a chance to meet him. He was wearing a white coat unlike anyone else I had met at this point, so I assume he was a supervising resident.

He asked me if I was feeling faint, and I explained that I wasn't sure given the situation. He turned the overhead lights off, which helped immensely and immediately. One up-facing medical light over the far wall remained on, lighting the room but not blinding me.

This doctor only had time to introduce himself, ask how I was doing and turn the lights down before he could explain the OB/GYNE team would arrive soon as they literally knocked and entered.

12:05ish to 12:30ish
The OB/GYNE team, a male/female duo of residents, had obviously just walked off the set of Grey's Anatomy.

The woman was petite with a darling face and cute blond cropped haircut. The man was tall and well-built with dark hair and a handsome face. If it were not for the likelihood, given his mannerims and his lingering eye on my boyfriend, that he was gay, I would say that they had just gotten done making out in a maintenance closet. (That is the way hospitals work, right?)

Anyway, they were awesome. They were nice, gentle and confident. For the first time this evening, I felt like I was in really, really good hands.

I explained for the umpteenth time what was going on with me. This time, I explained in more explicit detail. When I said to them that the toilet bowl at work looked like a bucketful of red paint, both the residents squinched up their faces.

Whoops. That's a bad sign if I am grossing out the doctors.

They explained that they've looked over my chart, and that it looks like everything at the D&E went well. (THIS IS LITERALLY THE FIRST TIME I AM HEARING MY SURGERY WENT FINE.)

They had talked with the on-call doctor, who I had spoken to on the phone, and they would now do a pelvic exam. They apologized because they know I already had one from the ER resident. But such is ER protocol.

The male resident performed the pelvic exam. As I mentioned earlier, talking with a male nurse on the phone earlier that evening was the most contact I'd ever had with male OB/GYNE professionals. Now I was getting my first pelvic exam from a male OB/GYNE resident! And I could not have been in better hands.

He was, by far, the most gentle professional to ever dig around in my vagina. In attempting to feel the uterus and identify where my pain was, he was reassuring and gentle in his touch. When I winced once, he squeezed my thigh with his free hand and said he was sorry and almost done. Such a change from the pubic hair twisting I had received earlier that night!

They then explained they would need to do an internal transvaginal ultrasound to see if they can tell what and how much tissue is left in my uterus. Again, the male resident handled the internal wand while the female resident watched the screen and took images from it.

The ultrasound took much longer than I wanted it to, and it made me uneasy.

As the male resident moved the wand inside me, the female resident would say, "Oh, do you see..."

And he would respond, "Yes."

And then she'd take a picture.

WHAT IS IT?! I wanted to yell. WHAT ARE YOU SEEING?

This went on for several minutes. It seemed their focus had changed at one point when the wand was moving at sharper angles to the left and right. Finally the male resident explained, "Don't worry. Right now we're looking for your ovaries. They can be hard to find sometimes."

"Oh, they're very shy," I said, my voice shaking and laughing at the same time, again with the nervous nonsense talk.

He nodded politely and kept working.

During this part of the exam, dear Tina walked in without knocking and then stood there for a solid 30 seconds not talking. She then announced she'd come back another time. The OB/GYNE team didn't glance at her once. Poor Tina.

He finished up and explained that it was very, very difficult to see anything because of the amount of blood I was producing. There was something there, but they could not tell from the ultrasound if it was tissue or blood clots.

The next step was to decide what treatment I needed: either a drug to evacuate the uterus, or a D&C. The residents would confer with the on-call doctor and return to discuss her decision.

12:30ish to 12:45ish
Again, the boyfriend and I found ourselves waiting. Another new underpad had been placed under me after the OB/GYNE exams, so I was relatively dry.

I was starting to feel really tired. The cramps that had woken me up the night before had robbed me of some sleep, and this whole process was exhausting.

The phone for the ER doctors was outside my room, probably right by the dude on the gurney. This set-up led to the interesting situation of hearing every single word my male OB/GYNE resident said to the on-call doctor about my case.

Awesome!

He said that he estimated there was about six centimeters of tissue in my uterus, but that he could not tell exactly what it was. He said that I was a hearty and strong patient, "not at all squeamish" (I wondered if the fact that I made HIM squirm had helped in this assesment) and "handling everything really well." He said I didn't seem to be reacting to losing blood, and I could probably handle taking the pill.

"I just don't think a surgery is necessary at this point," he said.

The boyfriend and I high-fived.

12:45ish
The OB/GYNE duo returned. I would take a dose of Misoprostol, or Cytotec, that night at the hospital. It would cause cramping and hopefully help evacuate whatever was left in my uterus.

I would be prescribed an additional dose of Cytotec to take the next night.

"If you're still cramping and bleeding tomorrow night, call us, and it's possible you'll need a D&C," the male resident said.

"But aren't I supposed to take the Cytotec at midnight tomorrow night?" I asked, confused.

"Well, just go ahead and take the Cytotec no matter what," the female resident said.

"But should I call you?" I asked, looking back and forth at them.

"Only if you think you need to," the male resident said.

"Wait, how do I know if I need to?"

...It had gotten confusing. Eventually, I discerned the following:

I would take one dose tonight. Most likely, the bleeding and cramping would drop off significantly during the next day. Regardless, I should take the second dose the next day, 24 hours later. If, on Sunday, I was still cramping and bleeding like the dickens, I should call right away. Then, a D&C might be necessary.

The residents added that, despite losing blood, I was handling everything okay. They made sure I was still not feeling chills, light-headed or nauseous.

"You have a ridiculous amount of hemoglobin in your blood," the male resident said. (14.4 actually, which isn't too much, but is on the higher end of healthy for women.)

"Yeah, it's awesome," the female resident enthused, nodding. "You're doing really well."

I was feeling super great at this point. I may be sitting in a big pool of blood, but I am a stellar patient and my blood is awesome! Go me!

Before they left, the male resident told us (actually, he addressed my boyfriend completely) that I would take the four pills buccally. (Pronounced buckle-y, it means in your cheeks.) Shoved down into my gums, the pills would dissolve for a half hour, and then I could swallow.

12:45ish to 1:00ish
We found ourselves waiting yet again. This time, we looked up pictures of Japan on the NYTimes, checked out charts explaining radiation and then tried to understand how radiation works. You know, just your usual "1 o'clock in the morning on a Friday night in the emergency room" business.

The very sweet boyfriend also rearranged my bloody bed/butt situation. He folded up all the used underpads so they wouldn't leak on me and then grabbed two new underpads for me. He also put my bed back a bit to make me more comfortable. Then, he snagged two extra underpads and shoved them in my purse! Heck yeah!

1:05 AM
I realized that I should call my parents to update them on my situation. I knew they will stay up all night until they hear from me, so I wanted to put them at ease so they can go to sleep. I no sooner got my mom on the line than Tina, with what appeared to be an incredible knack for timing, marched into the room carrying pills and a cup of water.

"Uh, I am about to put pills in my mouth for 30 minutes, Mom," I said quickly, "so let me just tell you what's going on."

I explained the situation to her quickly and hung up.

"Oookay, then," Tina asked, "Did I just overhear you saying that you are putting these in your mouth for 30 minutes?"

"Yes," I responded, baffled and realizing that she'd brought the water for me to swallow them.

"Hmm," Tina put the pills and water down on a tray. "Okay, then we better do what the doctors told you to do."

Geez, I guess so? How did this part of the process get confused???

I took a quick last drink of water before shoving the pills down my checks, against my gums. For 30 minutes, I fiddled around and finally swallowed them at 1:37 AM.

The Misoprostol hurt my cheeks. It felt like I had burned the inside of my cheeks and my throat. I drank lots and lots of water to help.

1:45 AM
Tina returned with discharge papers and removed the IV needle from my arm.

"You're all set!" she said and told me to feel better.

At this point, I started to feel chilly, lightheaded and nauseous--all those things that I'd been asked all night if I was feeling. Tina had swept off, and there was no one to take my temperature.

My boyfriend wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my arms. We decided that I was probably feeling these things because I was exhausted, worn out and cold from having sat in my own now cold blood with very little covering me.

Shivering, I put my clothes on and felt much better once I had the weight of my coat on me.

2:10 AM
We started to walk out of the ER and into the waiting room before we realized we hadn't been told if we needed to check out. Just waltzing out of the ER seemed strange.

We walked back into the ER, looking for a sign or a nurse at a desk. There was no one and nothing. Finally, I spotted a small Check-Out sign at an empty desk. We waited for a couple minutes before a nurse asked us if anyone had helped us. She sent someone to the desk.

While we waited, we watched some more typical downtown Friday night ER business go down. A woman screamed profanities from her wheelchair at EMTs. Some serious racial lines were drawn, which I suppose is typical of the city I live in. We had seen and heard racism all night with hatred going in all directions. "OBAMA PRESIDENT NOW!" the black woman yelled at the white male EMT, "Don't you forget that!" The white EMT rolled his eyes and walked away.

We were finally checked out, a quick and painless process, and walked back to the car. I was shaking and very, very cold. We decided what I needed was some food, something with sugar and preferably something hot. COOKIES!!!!!!! My apparent favorite comfort food. Hot chocolate chip cookies!!!

I sipped my water and enjoyed the heated seats and cranked heat in the car.

2:30 AM
We finally arrived back home. I updated my blog, jumped in the shower and the boyfriend ran up the street to the 24-hour drug store to pick me up more pads, underpads, lemonade (yay!), cookie dough (yay!) and other goodies.

I also slammed a leftover Norco, narcotic painkiller, before jumping in the shower. I figured it'd be a good idea, as I could expect more cramps as the night turned into day.

The boyfriend made me peppermint tea (to help my Misoprostol-pained mouth) and fought with a feisty oven to make me my cookies. (He is allergic to dairy and cannot eat the store-bought kind, poor dude.) Finally, he succeeded, but it had gotten really late. We were exhausted, but those cookies were damn good and made me feel SO much better.

4:00 AM
We crawled into bed. I stuck a sticky heating pad onto my abdomen, and a heating pad was cranked to the max under my back.

I should mention that I am not a fan of the guest bed at the boyfriend's mom's place, particularly not when one is crampy. The week following my surgery, as well as the first few nights following my compliction, I slept on top of the comforter for extra cushioning support. I brought my favorite fuzzy blue blanket from home to keep me warm and wrapped around me. (This thing is ratty as all get-out, but I adore it. It got me through mono at age 16, and it still helps me today.)

This night, I also devised a Don't-Bleed-on-the-Bed contraption, consisting of (1) underpad on top of the comforter, (2) an old towel on top of the underpad, and finally (3) the heating pad on top of the towel.

I crawled on top of this Princess and the Pea-like structure and almost immediately began to feel a cramp that was unlike any other. They say it takes about 2 to 4 hours for the true brunt of Misoprostal pain to kick in, and I am here to confirm that.

I went to the bathroom and before I could sit on the toilet, I passed THE BIGGEST CLOT I HAVE EVER SEEN. Like earlier, it dropped into my underwear, and I fished it out to examine it.

It was, most likely, almost 4 inches in length and 1.5 inches at its thickest point. It looked like dark maroon Jell-O and had a consistency similar to Jell-O, but a bit stronger. IT WAS SO GROSS AND AWESOME.

I desperately wanted to show my boyfriend how amazing and disgusting and crazy this clot was, but he was very sleepy and I figured running into the bedroom waving a blood clot around was not a nice way to treat him at 4:15 in the morning.

When I mentioned this passing desire to him the next day, he was very disappointed.

"Why didn't you show me?!" he asked sadly. "I would've wanted to see it! It sounds awesome!"

I promised that if I passed another clot, he would see it. Unfortunately for him, at that point, I seemed to have passed all the clots I would and have not passed any since.... Knock on wood!

P.S. That urine sample/tomato juice/chemical experiment sat on the floor the whole time we were in my ER room until we left. The boyfriend and I put it on the tray, just in case they still wanted it...

My Follow-Up Appointment and (Perhaps No More) Complication Update 5

2011-03-28T13:48:00.000-07:00

I had my follow-up appointment today--two weeks after the insertion of laminaria, 13 days after the D&E procedure and 3 days after my apparent complication resulting in an unexpected and bloody trip to the ER this weekend.

I skipped work this morning, slept in a bit and woke up to find a voicemail from the head nurse at the hospital's family planning clinic on my phone. She had heard that I'd had trouble over the weekend and wanted to touch base with me. She seemed to have forgotten or not connected that I also had an appointment that day until I called to confirm that I should still come in for it.

My boyfriend and I went together to this appointment. Initially, I planned to go alone to this follow-up. Everything seemed to have been moving along smoothly, and perhaps in my occasional bull-headed independence, I wanted to go alone and not feel dependent on a boyfriend. That all changed with my trip to the ER, and I also realized that it was important to me that we go together, see this process out as a couple. And happily, he was the one who suggested that he take me to the hospital for my follow-up.

While we waited at the clinic, we sat in the OB/GYNE part of the waiting room for the first time. (For our consultation, we sat in geriatrics, and we sat in the same seats when we went for the laminaria insertion.) Our buzzer quickly buzzed, and we were taken back to a new exam room.

As we walked through the family planning clinic hallway, it felt like a trip through the past three weeks:

First we passed the consultation room where I sat 19 days ago. A young woman about my age sat in the same chair with the door open, waiting for the head nurse to come chat with her.

We then passed the exam room where I had the laminaria insertion two weeks ago today. As we walked by, the door opened, and a nurse walked out. I could see the curtain was drawn and knew that there was someone in there experiencing exactly what I did two weeks ago.

Then we turned a corner where we were led to a new room for my follow-up. My boyfriend and I laughed when we saw the room set-up. For the first time, the visitors' chairs were lined up with a direct view at the table's bottom end. These are VIP seats for vag exams, people.

"Uh, are you sure you want to sit there?" I asked him.

He shrugged and plopped into one of the chairs. "I'll move if they want me to," he said. Of course, aside from the boyfriend seeing my vagina on a regular basis, this is the guy who is disappointed I didn't show him any of the clots I passed. So why on earth would he be freaked out?

The resident who I met at my consultation and who conducted my laminaria insertion knocked and entered the room. She shook my hand and asked me about the ER trip.

I explained that my bleeding and cramping has dropped off, and she explained that she'd do a pelvic exam to check my uterus. (The head nurse explained they'd want to see if it felt "floppy," which would mean that there was more tissue hanging out in there.)

She first used a heated speculum (It was actually super hot, as it turned out, and freaked me out upon entering my vaginal canal. Yipes!) and then did a hand exam. My uterus felt firm, a good sign. No floppy = Great news!

The resident then asked me about the procedure itself, bringing up right away that she was sorry that she and the rest of the scheduled team had been pulled from my case last minute.

"Honestly," I told her, "I think we both felt like there was more disorganization than we expected. I expected to see some of the faces I had seen before, but that didn't happen."

She nodded and explained that the change-up with doctors was frustrating, and she, with the rest of the team, was pulled onto this emergency case that started at 1:30 and lasted until past 6 PM. (Jesus.)

"You know," I said, "I understand that that happened, and it's unexpected. But maybe more upsetting was that I felt like we had to argue with the nurses that I get the shots I needed. We had to remind everyone, and my charts were wrong."

The boyfriend chimed in here, explaining that he had to insist to two different nurses about my depo shot since it seemed they didn't believe me, their patient. He also said that the shift change was a bother, but it honestly didn't bother me as much as the frustration of insisting that you know what care you're supposed to have.

I agreed with him and then added that it was a great thing he was there since, especially post-op, I was hazy, and we were having to act as my case managers.

At this point, I started to feel the emotion of the day rising up in me, and my eyes were getting watery.

Damn it! I thought, I didn't think this would happen! I pulled it together, just barely, to keep myself from crying.

The resident kindly apologized again, and said she felt terrible because if they had been on my team, since they knew my case, it would have been handled better.

She then asked me if I wanted my pathology report.

This stopped me short, though I think I should have expected it. I have even in the last few days been eyeing the number for medical records, considering calling in to request mine. Since I never even heard that everything went okay, I was curious to see what my charts say.

But a pathology report? Suddenly feeling vulnerable from having talked about the day, I immediately said no. I was afraid of what I might learn from it--the sex of the fetus, its viability? I don't actually know. (Does anyone know what exactly I would learn from the pathology report? Would requesting my medical charts reveal this information to me too?)

With that, she said she would chat with the attending physicial (who was supposed to have operated on me, but who I had not yet met) about whether we should do an ultrasound. They'd both be back shortly.

While she was gone, the boyfriend and I chatted more about the day of the procedure. We both felt like we had said what we wanted to say and agreed that the resident was great. There's not anything she can do at this point, obviously, so her words were nice. However, it was the attending doctor who then entered the room who made me really feel better...

The attending physician immediately apologized for the disorganization on the day of the procedure.

In my I-was-raised-to-be-a-way-too-nice-girl way, I said, "It's okay."

She immediately responded, "No. It's not okay." And then delved into how sorry she was that the emergency case had pulled her off of my case and that I hadn't had the familiarity of faces I knew around me for the operation. She said while she was glad I didn't have to face the emergency situation that this other patient did, she didn't think it was fair that I was jostled around because of another case. Basically, I deserved better than I got.

I told her how much I appreciated her saying that, and I didn't repeat that it was okay. She was right, it wasn't okay. So much of what happened was not actually the fault of the OB/GYNE team (in retrospect, it was that fighting to be sure my care was handled by the nurses correctly that was most upsetting), though I did mention that I wished that my operating doctor had made an effort to see me before the sedation kicked in.

We moved on and discussed my complication. Based on my description of what I had passed--dark maroon but not brown in color, gelatinous and smooth, they thought it was most likely blood clots. Tissue would have been darker in color and have had more texture. Chances are less likely that there was anything left in my uterus and more likely that my body simply did not evacuate the way it should have following the procedure.

As I thought I had heard the resident OB/GYNE say on Friday night, the leftover tissue or clots in my uterus were measured at six centimeters on Friday night. While my cervix was completely closed already that night, I passed more and more clots and blood, including that one gigantic clot that must have been most of whatever was in there.

Given that news, the attending physician decided that it was best not to do an ultrasound at this point. 1 or 2 centimeters of tissue in the uterus is normal, she explained. Six centimeters was obviously not normal. But if she did an ultrasound today and saw, say, 3 centimeters of tissue, she'd have to do a D&C procedure, even if my body might still be evacuating clots/tissue. She preferred to avoid subjecting me to another surgery (me too!), and instead monitor my continued recovery.

If my bleeding picks up, then I will need to call right away and most likely have a D&C procedure. Given how things have been going, the doctors are hopeful (and "95%" sure) that I won't need any more procedures. I'm not totally out of the woods, but things are looking good. Some slight bleeding and cramping will be expected--a few days to a week or more, so I'll be diligent in keeping a watch on myself.

Complication Update 4 - Day 3

2011-03-27T22:50:00.000-07:00

That Misoprostol kicked in with a vengeance last night around 3 AM. Literally bolted straight up in bed, clutching my abdomen. The cramps quickly passed, but I didn't bleed very much.

Today, there has been occassional cramping and very little bleeding. I haven't passed any clots since yesterday.

I had my regularly scheduled follow-up tomorrow morning, and I assume that it will now focus on whether my uterus has been completely evacuated. I emailed my supervisor and shared with her my latest update, just in case this complication is... more complicated.... and I need to take additional time off work.

My hope had been to talk more at length with the head nurse tomorrow about the various ways I felt frustrated by the disorganization and miscommunication on my surgery day, but it seems like there'll be more important things to discuss and not a whole ton of time to review what happened. At any rate, I'm hoping that the dropped off cramping and bleeding is a sign that things are good, and my uterus is evacuated. Fingers crossed!

Complication Update 3 - Day 2

2011-03-26T18:51:00.000-07:00

Who knew I'd be back in this good ol' recliner with my heating pad cranked oh-so-very-soon?

I've tried to be as honest and detailed about every single feeling, emotional and physical, I have experienced through this process. My hope is that this writing helps other women who want to know someone else's experience.

However, my friends, I do NOT know how to write about what I felt and saw last night without some seriously disgusting details. I'm not upset, and at this point, I'm not even in that much pain. But I am perversely FASCINATED by my body right now. Who KNEW I could dump so much blood all over the place? The human body is AMAZING.

The good news is that, despite the fact that my uterus is evidently a tank-like lock box unwilling to give up its contents, the Misoprostol (brand name Cytotec) has pushed tons of clots out of my body. I am not too crampy right now, and bleeding seems to be slowing.

I plan to take one more dose of Cytotec tonight. And I also plan to update more about my experience last night just so I continue to be thorough. For now, the boyfriend just got home, and I'm going to spend some quality time with him.

Complication Update 2

2011-03-26T00:42:00.000-07:00

I'm still at the ER and currently have 4 small pills shoved in my cheeks. An ultrasound determined I either have placenta left in my uterus or my uterus has not been interested in evacuating all my blood and uterine lining. I'll take another possible dose of this cytotec tomorrow. If all goes well, I'll pass whatever is left. If something remains in my uterus, I will require a D&C.

...an hour after typing that, at 2:40 AM, I am home. Going to take a hot shower for cramps and to very necessarily clean myself. (I had the doctors oohing and aahing over the amount of blood I was discharging.) Boyfriend is picking up some essentials down the street and then we will collapse in bed.

Complication Update 1

2011-03-25T20:58:00.000-07:00

Sitting in a huge American city's emergency room. It smells and looks just about how you'd imagine. Waiting to be called. I've bled through my stretch pants, one of those horrifying things you think you're done experiencing at age 13. Waiting for an ultrasound...

Complication

2011-03-25T19:41:00.000-07:00

This post might be a bit graphic for the squeamish, so stop here if you don't like gross things, particularly blood.

Before leaving work today those pesty cramps came back. I went to the restroom where I urinated and felt some blood pass my body. I glanced down and, horrified, saw what looked like a toilet full of red paint.

I figured this was more of some last passing of blood, but it hasn't stopped. In fact it's only gotten worse. I've talked with an on-call doctor (she sounds great) twice. She actually called while I was typing the above paragraph and we decided I should come in to the emergency room. My parents have offered to drive, but my boyfriend is on his way to pick me up.

Chances are that something was not evacuated, like placenta. She said I will have another ultrasound to try to determine what, if anything, is still in my uterus. I'll take a medication that helps evacuate my uterus, and then possibly have a D&C procedure.

God. Talk about fucking chances. Chances of pregnancy. Chances of complications. I am shaken and scared, but honestly I'm feeling mainly irritated right now.

Alright. I'm going to get my things together to go to the ER. Big sigh.

The Importance of a Good Gynecologist, or The Story of My First Ultrasound

2011-03-25T13:56:00.000-07:00

I want to share the story of my first ultrasound and my experience with my old, terrible gynecologists--Dr. D and Dr. S's--office. I haven't really felt up for writing it out yet, but I feel ready now.

It's important to me that I share this story because I know so many young women my age who don't have strong, trustful relationships with their gynecologists. When you're young, healthy and don't have many problems, it's easy to go in for your annual pap smear or your latest birth control prescription and be on your way.

I found my old gynecologists through two search methods. First, their office showed up in a location search on insurance provider's website. Their practice was two blocks away from my work office. Second, I Googled one doctor (Dr. S) and found she had a handful of positive reviews on Yelp. The glowing five star reviews, in retrospect, describe the bare minimum of what a gynecologist should provide her patients: answered questions, made patient feel comfortable, handled the birth of a child.

Good enough for me, I figured at the time. I thought Dr. S, upon meeting her, seemed way more manic than the reviewers had suggested. I felt a bit rushed and like Dr. S might be taking some kind of upper in the breakroom, but she was nice enough, my vag was in good condition and all was well.

But all didn't stay well, as I explained at length in another entry. It took a plethora of vaginal infections to discover that Dr. S and her colleague who I preferred, Dr. D, did not have an approach to women's reproductive health that was holistic or systemic. They were fine for your annual pap, but that was it.

(In fact, around the time that I had these ongoing infections, a Yelp review went up that explained, more or less, "If you have real problems or issues with your reproductive health, then this is not the practice you want to go to.")

This winter I found a new gynecologist, Dr. T, who I saw one time and loved. I couldn't shut up to anyone who might listen about how great she is, how wonderful her approach is, how the entire office is more like a spa and less like a cold clinic.

Naturally, when I got those two pink lines on my at-home pregnancy test, I called Dr. T's office. Here is how my call with her office went:

Dr. T's Receptionist: Hi, this is (Your New Gynecologist's Office at This Awesome Women's Health Institute). How can I help you?

Me: Hi, I'm a patient of Dr. T's, and I just took a pregnancy test. And it's positive.

Dr. T's Receptionist: Okay, when did you want to see Dr. T?

Me: As soon as possible. This isn't a planned pregnancy, and I'm really concerned about how far along I might be.

Dr. T's Receptionist: Okay, let me look... Dr. T is out of the office until next Monday. She can see you that morning.

Me: Oh. (It's Thursday afternoon at this point.) Uh, I guess that's going to have to work.

Dr. T's Receptionist: I'm really sorry about that. I've got you marked down here, and she'll be able to go over everything with you.

I was very, very disappointed. When I broke the news to my boyfriend and we discussed our concerns that I might be far along (as I was), he urged me to call my shitty former gynecologists' office to try to squeeze in an appointment the next morning. We talked about how I had come not to trust these doctors but agreed that we wanted to know as soon as possible how far along we were and what our options would be. Time was of the essence, and since it was already after 6 PM on Thursday evening, I would have to call first thing in the morning and take care of it. After all, how bad could going to their office possibly be?

I rose early Friday morning. Before I called, I took the second at-home pregnancy test in the box. Positive. Shaking, I called Dr. D and Dr. S's office. Here is how the call to their office went:

Dr. D and S's Receptionist: Hi, this is (That Really Terrible Gynecologists' Office You Used To Go To).

Me: Hi, I'm a patient of both Dr. D and Dr. S's. I would like to schedule an appointment with them as soon as possible. I took a pregnancy test, and it's positive.

Dr. D and S's Receptionist: Ooooh!!! Congratulations! You must be so excited!

Me: (Silent, breathing.) Um, this isn't a planned pregnancy, and it isn't wanted. I need to find out how far along I am quickly. Dr. S prescribed me a three month birth control cycle, and I'm concerned that I am really far along now.

Dr. D and S's Receptionist: Oh. (Silence.) Well, our first available appointment is next Wednesday.

Me: Next Wednesday?? (I have never had to wait this long for an appointment with this office.) Nevermind. (I pause for a second, feeling extremely upset with this receptionist, who I've dealt with multiple times in the past and has always seemed pretty clueless.) You know, both Dr. D and Dr. S have told me that if I ever had any issue that was pressing, I could be fit in. This needs to be taken care of quickly. I need to know as soon as possible how far along I am, but if your office can't do that for me, then fine.

Dr. D and S's Receptionist: Uhhh... Let me check with the doctors real fast. (I'm put on hold for a minute.) Ok, they can see you today at 11 AM.

Later that morning, sitting in the tiny waiting room at Dr. D and Dr. S's office, I felt a panicky fight or flight reaction. My trust in this place was gone.

The same receptionist called me to the front desk.

"We need you to pee in this cup to confirm the pregnancy," she said loudly, shoving a cup at me.

I stood stock-still for a moment, horrified that the quiet but full waiting room was aware of why I was there. Then, I realized that this receptionist had rolled away from the window on her chair without telling me where the restroom was! When I called her back and asked her, she gestured through the door that leads to the private clinic area. Why couldn't she have brought me through that door, away from the waiting room, handed me the cup in privacy and gestured to the restroom that would have been right next to me? Why did she announce my situation to this roomful of strangers?

When I returned to the waiting room, she did the exact same thing to another woman, also about my age and (seemingly) unmarried. She, too, looked horrified. I returned to staring out the window for forty minutes until I was called back around 11:45 AM.

A nurse walked back with me to an exam room I'd never been in before. She took my weight, height, and I explained to her why I was there: I've never been pregnant before, and my home test is positive. I am pretty sure I want to terminate the pregnancy, if termination is still an option.

The nurse seemed awkward and stumbled through her usual questions.

"Smoke? Drink? Drugs? Ever been pregnant bef--?" She halted mid-sentence and then looked at the floor. "Uh," she said, marking her chart.

"Nope, first time," I reminded her, almost laughing to keep from crying in front of her.

She asked me when my last pap smear was, and I explained that I was now seeing a new gynecologist who had recently done a pap smear with normal results.

She told me that Dr. D would be with me shortly. The pee-cup test was positive too, she added before leaving the room. I would need an ultrasound.

An ultrasound.

I hadn't even considered that part of the process until now. What do I know? I've never been pregnant before. Can they not tell how far along the pregnancy is from the urine? Of course I'd need an ultrasound. Why hadn't I thought of that? As I sat on the table in the cold exam room, I wished I had brought my boyfriend with me.

Up until this moment, ultrasounds lived as happy moments in my imagination. Enough movies and television shows had helped me develop a fantasty of what my first ultrasound might be like.

I would be at my wonderful OB/GYNE's office with my husband. We'd have been married for a few or several years at this point. We'd have been trying to get pregnant, and it wouldn't have taken us long to do so. We'd happily look at the image on the screen, huddled together and closer than ever before, admiring the little healthy life that we'd wanted to bring into the world.

Instead, I was now sitting in the ultrasound room, alone, freezing and staring at my blue wool socks that I'd kept on my feet. I avoided looking at the massive ultrasound machine that hovered close to me like an unwelcome and imposing visitor.

Dr. D breezed into the room and talked with me about the situation.

"This is unexpected?" she asked. "Unwanted?" She asked me how I was doing, and I cried just a little.

She explained to me that she'd do the ultrasound to estimate how far along I was.

She pointed out a phallic-looking ultrasound wand. "Most likely, we'll need to do an internal ultrasound because you'd have to be further along for the abdomen ultrasound. It will feel like a pelvic exam," she said. "But why don't you lay back, and I'll first try to see if I can use the abdomenal wand instead."

I knew she wouldn't need to do the internal ultrasound. I was suddenly very certain that I knew how far along I was, and it would show with the regular ultrasound. I was almost angry with Dr. D for suggesting reassuringly that the regular ultrasound would be unnecessary. Why say that? Why conjecture? Why plant any hope or expectation in your patient's mind?

"Would you like to see it?" she asked before she started the abdomenal ultrasound.

"No," I said very quickly. "I don't want to see it."

Dr. D squeezed jelly onto the wand and pressed it against my abdomen. She slid it against my skin, paused, slid again, paused. I stared up at the flourescent lights, my eyes burning, and then squeezed my eyes shut.

I felt faint, nauseous, and my heart was slamming around in my chest like it was trying to break free from this room, from this situation.

"Okay, there is a pregnancy that I can see," she said. "We won't need to do the internal."

I exhaled and sucked air back in, realizing that I hadn't been breathing.

"It's healthy," she added.

Dr. D explained she'd take a few snapshots to measure the fetus. I kept my eyes shut and waited until she was done.

"Okay," she said. "It looks like the pregnancy is about twelve weeks along." The room spun, even with my eyes closed. "You can go ahead and sit up."

I sat up and opened my eyes. To my right, the hovering ultrasound glowed, its screen facing toward me still showing the image of the fetus inside of me. I only saw it for a moment, just long enough to register a little head and nose, arms and a body curled up and facing left.

It looked like a baby.

It looked exactly like the ultrasound that I had imagined for my future.

"Can you please turn that off?" I said weakly, my eyes shut again.

"What?" Dr. D asked. She had rolled away on her chair to toss gloves into a trash bin. "Oh!" she said, sounding startled.

I heard the machine clicking.

"You can open your eyes," she said. I glanced at the screen, now empty of any image. "I'm so sorry," she said, placing a hand on my knee.

I was angry with her, I wanted to scream and cry. I wanted to ask her how she could be so negligent, how her staff could be so unprofessional and insensitive, how it could be okay to run a practice like this. But instead, I said nothing. I looked up at her, and she repeated that she was sorry. I nodded, and she left me to change back into my clothes before we discussed my options.

I've thought a lot about this moment since then. I'm still shocked, though I no longer become viscerally upset when I think about it.

Every single person I have told--my boyfriend, my best friend, my therapist, my parents--has immediately said they each think that Dr. D left the image on the screen intentionally as a subtle "forgetful moment" to make an impression on me.

That's possible. The pro-baby feel of that office was pretty obvious the whole time I was there and was hammered home with that unwarranted 'Congratulations!' when I made my appointment.

But I think that all these people jump to the conclusion that it was intentional because it is so hard to imagine a female gynecologist, dealing with a patient who is so clearly shaken by her situation, making that mistake. Mistakes happen, but this mistake shouldn't have.

I will never know why I saw that image, if it was a human error or an intentional move. But I have to accept that it happened and move on.

Dr. D returned to the room and explained what options were open to me. She asked if I was sure termination was right for me, and then said I'd probably have a dilation and cutterage procedure. She would be wrong about that guess too.

She apologetically explained she could not do the procedure for me. "My hospital network does not allow me to do second trimester abortions, except in cases of danger to the mother's health," she said. Again, I don't know if it was her intention, but I suddenly felt a wave of guilt for my decision: For this procedure, I wouldn't get an OB/GYNE I'd seen for years because I was making a choice that is unsupported by her employer.

But I also felt like saying, 'Hey lady, it's okay. You have done enough already. Trust me.'

When I left Dr. D's office that day, the receptionist, seemingly in an effort to fully botch the entire experience at this appointment, forgot to give me some of the information I was promised on who to contact for abortion services. Again, what was probably a mistake felt somewhat like an intentional move to influence my decision by keeping me from full access to the information I needed.

As I left, the receptionist also told me that I might receive a survey in the mail from the hospital network they are associated with, and yeah, I am looking forward to receiving that survey.

If I don't get the survey in the mail, I plan to write a letter about my many experiences with that office to the hospital network and to Dr. D and Dr. S.: An unprofessional and seemingly incompetant staff who mixed up prescriptions and appointments for years; Contradictory statements from the doctors and shallow, non-systemic approaches to reproductive health; Intentionally or unintentionally showing an upset patient who wants to terminate her pregnancy her first trimester ultrasound; Neglecting to provide a patient with full pregnancy termination information material.

It's absymal, and I wish I could get on Yelp and share my experience there with every woman who might look at that site for guidance.

The great thing is that I never have to go back to that office again.

I kept that Monday appointment with my new gynecologist, Dr. T, and told her what happened with the ultrasound. She shook her head but, like the professional she is, kept her mouth shut and her opinion to herself. Her staff, from the receptionist who first scheduled my appointment to the nurse who took my vitals, reserved their felicitations or regrets on my pregnancy, like the professionals they are too.

I told Dr. T that former OB/GYNE Dr. D had told me I would have a D&C. Dr. T quickly said that she would not make any guesses about the procedure. "It could be a D&C, but it could also be a D&E," she said. "I don't know, and only the physicians who will do your procedure at the hospital can tell you that. They'll make the choice that's best for you."

I should also add that Dr. T asked me if I would be interested in an IUD after the procedure and why I hadn't had one implanted before. I explained that, when I had asked her a year prior, former OB/GYNE Dr. S told me that a woman who had not been pregnant could not have an IUD. Dr. T responded that that used to be the case, but for the last five years or more, more and more doctors have moved toward IUD implantation for all women. I sighed and said that I wished I had gone to her a long time ago.

At that appointment with Dr. T, I felt safe and calm for the first time since finding out I was pregnant. I felt confident in my choice and in my doctor.

Shouldn't it always be that way for every woman?

That's why I am writing this post--to share my experience and urge any woman who might have stumbled upon my blog to be sure their doctor is one they trust. I had my doubts about that first office. I brushed them aside and stuck with them for months, years. In pushing down that doubt, I trusted these doctors to handle my health, my body and me with a respect and professionalism that they and their staff obviously lack.

I learned the hard way that my instincts were right. I deserved better, and thankfully, I now have it. I hope that anyone reading this entry has the best health care providers she deserves too.

Recovery Day 10 - The Cramps Return???

2011-03-25T11:54:00.000-07:00

Man. What a bummer.

Perhaps in some effort to show me what's-what and don't-you-dare-sayonara-us-sister, my cramps came back in full force last night around 3 AM.

The boyfriend and I stayed up for three late hours after getting in bed, cuddling and talking about our relationship and generally being affectionate. Once I finally started to get sleepy (yeah, sleep schedule is way off), my abdomen and back blew up in pain.

While I rolled around trying to find the right way to position my body, my boyfriend rubbed my belly and back. It helped, and eventually I fell asleep.

There was a great deal more blood this morning, but I'm not concerned.

Feeling better today. Cramps are gone, feet are on the ground and moving happily forward.

A question for abortion providers...

2011-03-24T16:19:00.000-07:00

..or clinic volunteers, or women who have had abortions, or any other pro-choicers out there who feel they have insight into this topic:

After an abortion procedure, is it common practice for hospitals, clinics, etc., to provide the patient with support materials?

I'm thinking more of emotional support information (the number for 4exhale.org, for example, or locally-recommended social workers or therapists, or basic information about the wide-ranging emotions different women experience after the procedure, etc. etc.) rather than a list of physical symptoms to expect.

Thanks, everyone!

The Onion - New Law Requires Women to Name Baby, Paint Nursey Before Getting Abortion

2011-03-23T15:56:00.000-07:00

Old news to many, I am sure, but I had not seen this before. Give it a watch--it's brilliant. Thanks, Onion!

Recovery - 8 days later

2011-03-23T14:59:00.000-07:00

I will take it that the cramping is behind me. However, I did bleed a whole lot more last night than I have recently. I'm guessing the increase has something to do with my having been way more active last night: out with friends, climbing on roofs, dancing, catching a tiny brown mouse in a friend's apartment and then setting it loose outside (I feel awesome!)...

I also drank for the first time in a long while. While I was unknowingly pregnant, I pretty much stopped drinking. Beer was absolutely disgusting to me. Even my favorite brews (dark, often aged in whiskey barrels) tasted vile. I had the occasional glass of red wine with dinner, or a tiny pour of bourbon while curled up watching Deadwood. But otherwise, blecchhh.

So needless to say, going to a wine bar and drinking more afterward with friends hit me pretty hard after months of only one or two drinks at a time. Lesson learned, body. Thanks for the reminder.

Recovery: One Week Later Update

2011-03-22T16:18:00.000-07:00

A week ago at this time, I was sipping ginger ale and water in my recovery room, trying to feel like I could sit up on my own.

I am now cramp-free (day two of no cramps!), very little bleeding and returning to my normal physical self. My breasts are less swollen. Last night I washed my skinny jeans (I hadn't washed them since before I found out I was pregnant because I swelled up that fast and I wanted them stretched out) and they fit again like normal. There was a point about ten days ago where I thought, 'I don't even remember what my profile looked like before this bump appeared.' This morning I looked in the mirror, and I remembered.

I am also seeing friends tonight who I haven't seen for a long while. My great friend/ex-boyfriend (who I mentioned before was one of the few people I told), his new lady friend, and several of our college friends will be going out for wine to toast him on a long voyage across South America. It'll be so, so great to see friends.

Dream Babble and Judgment

2011-03-22T15:16:00.000-07:00

I haven't really remembered my dreams much in the last couple weeks. I had a few nightmares (other friends were pregnant; I was about to give birth; I already had one kid and was pregnant again), but I think that my subconscious mind mostly graciously granted me heavy sleep this month so I could truly rest. Unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards last night.

After a long, late night of heavy emotional conversation, I fell asleep around 4:30 AM. I slept restlessly, dreaming nightmares of my abortion happening at a protestor-heavy clinic. I woke several times before I fell into what seemed like a regular old dream:

In this dream, I am at my favorite coffee shop in the city.

(FYI: I adore this place. However, I haven't spent much time there since January because my usual absolute NEED for ONE LARGE AMERICANO PER DAY dissipated when I was pregnant. Coffee, let alone espresso, was revolting. I showed up there a few times this past month for a bagel or cookie, and the staff was baffled as they'd call out a 'Hey!' and a 'Where have you been?' and then start brewing me an Americano before I could stop them. At one point, one of the baristas said in frustration, 'Why don't you order large Americanos anymore? It used to be so easy!')

In this dream, I am at the coffee shop and I am telling the manager that I had a dream with him in it. Then, I "awake" from my dream, find myself at the coffee shop again and say, 'Weird! I just had a dream where I was telling you that you were in my dream,' and then I woke up for real, feeling very confused.

I didn't feel like that dream had much to do with anything, but it did leave me thinking that I might give a morning Americano a try today. I swung by my coffee shop on my way to work and ordered a small one.

As I stood waiting and thinking about the dream that had led me here, I overheard two of the baristas discussing a woman who comes in regularly.

"She just stares at you blankly," one guy said.

"Maybe she's in love with you," the second male barista suggested.

"I mean, she's beautiful, but what's going on with her?"

At this point, I smiled to myself, wondering who this young woman is and how she manages to so affect these two guys.

"Yeah," the second barista said, "but now we know: She's PREGNANT," he pointed at his left hand, "AND unmarried." He rolled his eyes.

Whoa. What?!

With that, my Americano was ready and the second barista offered me a flirty, twinkly-eyed smile and wished me a great day. I felt like he had just punched me in the chest. This guy has been handing me Americanos for years now, but I looked at him differently this time.

When I was still making my choice, I often wondered if I had chosen to bring my pregnancy to term: What judgment would there be if I showed up in my usual places, showing my pregnancy and unmarried?

There's an amazing thought: As an unexpectedly pregnant single woman, you are subject to judgment no matter what.

If you choose to terminate the pregnancy, the anti-choice trolls will clang their bells and beat their chests and scream about the unborn children.

If you choose to carry the pregnancy to term, the small lowlifes will point at your bulging stomach and your unringed hand and whisper their assesment of your low character.

If you choose to carry the pregnancy to term and get married, there will be those people who look at your wedding pictures, trying to discern the bump in the white folds of your dress, and pityingly remark how it's just too bad, isn't it?

Damned if you do. Damned if you don't. Damned if you don't and you get married.

Not that everyone in this world is a judgmental dick. I'm not that cynical. But man, I felt like I saw a shining example of the reverse judgment I might be receiving right now. That moment was a small glimpse into an alternate reality.

I believe in synchronicity, and I don't think it's a coincidence that I had this dream that led me to a morning coffee for the first time in weeks, only to experience what I did there.

I went to bed last night weighted by judgment from some self-righteous anti-choice urchins who had linked to my blog last night, weighted by my own self-judgment and fear. I woke up and went for a coffee and saw what kind of judgment is reserved for unmarried women like me who do choose to bring their pregnancy to term.

Judgment is everywhere. I made a mistake last night in internalizing some of it. Thanks, beautiful Universe, for slapping me out of it and reminding me that ill-informed conjecture and graceless judgment are the products of narrow minds and small people.

Support

2011-03-21T20:07:00.000-07:00

I knew this process wouldn't be easy, but I didn't know what form or shape the difficulties I'd face would take. You can't schedule when unexpected and sudden grief might overtake you--like when I was walking back to work after lunch today and found myself with tears rolling down my cheeks. There's no post-abortion calendar for that kind of thing.

I don't have a timer for my next cry, but I am lucky to have an amazing network of support to help me through when those times come.

My best girl friend has been perhaps my biggest support throughout this process. From the moments where I've tried to make light of the situation (I told her I was pregnant by first prefacing, "Okay, get ready for a Lifetime Movie moment," right before disintegrating into tears.) to the difficult topics, to the bucking up and cheering up, she's been a grace. She's kept me honest with myself, listened to everything I've had to say and been there for me in a way I never could have imagined. I'm lucky to have a friendship with such openness and honesty. I know she's reading this blog, and I hope she knows that I love her.

I couldn't have had a better support through the procedure than my boyfriend. I am still in shock over how things were handled, from my first ultrasound at my terrible former OB/GYNE's office to the shuffling, disorder and confusion on the procedure day. My boyfriend was there to keep me calm, keep me collected and wipe away my tears and run his fingers through my hair. I'm still not sure how I could have handled all of it without his comfort. He has been a balm to the hurt, from quiet hand-holding to his sweet jokes that bring a smile back to my usually cheerful face.

After weeks of thinking that I knew no one personally who had ever been through an abortion, I discovered that I did. When I finally confided in them, my parents shared that they had been through it before. My parents had had an abortion. I was in third grade, and they couldn't have another child for many reasons at that point. They terminated their pregnancy, and I never knew until two days before my own procedure. To know that my own mother had been through it, to talk with her about it, it gave me unspeakable strength.

And finally, the brave women who have kept abortion and pro-choice blogs before me have been a beautiful network of community, solidarity and strength. Reading through the experiences of other women--abortion providers, pro-choice activists and women who have faced the same choice as me--it gave me support when I had none. When I've been scared, when I've been confused, when I've been alone and when I've needed to hear someone else's voice about this difficult choice, I've had support in all of these women. What an amazing support it has been.

I am incredibly honored that Angie, the strong and honest woman behind the blog My Journey Through Abortion, mentioned my blog today. It is women like her whose chronicles through this experience inspired me to share my own.

I hope that my blog offers someone support the same way that her blog bolstered me. I hope that this network of support only continues to grow and flourish. I hope that in doing so, we continue to strengthen the fabric of a safe community that swathes and supports women who make this choice.

Thanks, Angie. You rock.

Recovery Day 6 - Feeling good

2011-03-21T10:47:00.000-07:00

Physically, I am feeling pretty darn good today. I woke up with no cramps, and the bleeding seems to have dropped off a bit. Fingers crossed, it will stay that way.

I'm back at work today, and things definitely feel a bit weird. I feel isolated from my social world and a bit like I'm emerging from some kind of cocoon. I plan to reach out a lot to friends in the next week or two, try to see a lot of people and feel like I'm back to myself.

In the meantime, I thought I would post the chocolate chip cookie recipe that was my comfort food savior over the last week. You can find it online, as it's from famous Brooklyn chocolatier Jacques Torres and the recipe is posted on The New York Times.

Believe the recipe: The cookies taste best if the dough rests for at least a day. I made the dough on Sunday, and we made our first batch of cookies as soon as we returned from my procedure on Tuesday evening. We would scoop spoonfuls from the dough each time we wanted cookies and bake them fresh, so they were hot and gooey each time. So delicious, and definitely a wonderful comfort.

Posted on The New York Times online:

Time: 45 minutes (for 1 6-cookie batch), plus at least 24 hours’ chilling

2 cups minus 2 tablespoons
(8 1/2 ounces) cake flour
1 2/3 cups (8 1/2 ounces) bread flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 cups) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups (10 ounces) light brown sugar
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8 ounces) granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons natural vanilla extract
1 1/4 pounds bittersweet chocolate disks or fèves, at least 60 percent cacao content (see note) (**I used chocolate discs from Trader Joe's. They were a bit big, so I chopped them into quarters.**)
Sea salt.

1. Sift flours, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Set aside.

2. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream butter and sugars together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Reduce speed to low, add dry ingredients and mix until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Drop chocolate pieces in and incorporate them without breaking them. Press plastic wrap against dough and refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours. Dough may be used in batches, and can be refrigerated for up to 72 hours.

3. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Set aside.

4. Scoop 6 3 1/2-ounce mounds of dough (the size of generous golf balls) onto baking sheet, making sure to turn horizontally any chocolate pieces that are poking up; it will make for a more attractive cookie. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes. Transfer sheet to a wire rack for 10 minutes, then slip cookies onto another rack to cool a bit more. Repeat with remaining dough, or reserve dough, refrigerated, for baking remaining batches the next day. Eat warm, with a big napkin.

Yield: 1 1/2 dozen 5-inch cookies.

Note: Disks are sold at Jacques Torres Chocolate; Valrhona fèves, oval-shaped chocolate pieces, are at Whole Foods.

Honesty, or Strapping on My Skis

2011-03-20T18:11:00.000-07:00

This past January, when I was about five weeks unknowingly pregnant, I went skiing for the first time ever.

My boyfriend's mother, her good friend, my boyfriend and I all traveled up north to some relatively tame slopes where I had three days to learn the skills and then embrace the slopes. I loved it.

I loved that I could learn something new and challenge myself. I loved feeling out of control and IN CONTROL at the same time. I loved that I could go from feeling like the slopes were scary to feeling like I could manage them, even have a blast on them.

When I returned from my trip, I had an appointment with my awesome therapist where we talked about how much I had loved skiing, feeling active and how in touch with my feelings I had been recently.

Here's my problem: I have a hard time being honest with myself about what I feel, and thus, I can't really be honest with the people in my life about my feelings or what I need from my relationships with them. I desperately want everything to be "okay," so I instead push down the feelings I would rather not have. This, of course, leads to problems: blow-ups with my boyfriend, resentment toward my parents, frustration with my friends... Honesty with myself about my feelings is something I have been working very hard on for the last several months.

Toward the end of our session, my therapist drew an analogy for me that I found inspirational, and that I've tried to adhere to since.

I should approach life like the difficult runs I experienced on some slopes. It's fun, it's fast, and there will be obstacles (patches of ice, unruly snowboarders, unplanned pregnancies...) along the way. If I keep my skis beneath me and stay aware of how I feel on them, I can gracefully handle each obstacle I encounter. A small adjustment here, a small movement there, and I can move effortlessly between these obstacles. But if I try to avoid or ignore the obstacle, I'll lose control. I might not fall right that very moment, but chances are pretty good that I will be flat out on my ass within seconds.

So instead of trying to ignore the things that upset me that I wish didn't, I am trying to be present and honest with my feelings. It's difficult. Especially now.

Right now I wish so badly that I just felt free and excited not to be pregnant. But I'm not just free or excited. I'm also sad and frustrated and scared. It occurred to me today, while reading what I wrote last night, that I was trying to ignore those less pleasant feelings. (Funny how keeping a blog can keep you accountable!)

In my update yesterday when I referred to my breasts' leaking as "annoying," I didn't really mean annoying. I mean that it's upsetting.

It's upsetting because I see and feel that change in my body, and I think about what it would be like to have a baby attached to my breast, to have that leaking milk feed and nurture the potential life that might have been realized. But when I think about that, I cry.

Ignoring that feeling, skipping the crying, was easier yesterday. I know that ignoring that sadness, denying its presence, would only create problems for me down the road. I also don't plan to relish in pain or sadness and torture myself either.

Instead, I will acknowledge the upset, stay present with it, and then let it go. I can glide past it--with perhaps a little bump or cry along the way--all while standing and secure on those skis, headed to the next exciting part of my journey.

Recovery and returning to the swing of things

2011-03-19T23:48:00.000-07:00

Today was busy. My boyfriend has come down with a bad sore throat, so I took up the reins of comfort today by making him a throat coat and pancakes this morning. We both subsequently fell asleep for a couple hour nap. (I seem to be able to nap a lot these days...)

I had an appointment with my therapist and spent my remaining afternoon and evening running errands and making chicken wild rice soup. I found myself carrying some heavy bags, and I think I now understand why I'm not supposed to: some bad cramping, more bleeding than I've had.

I took the advice of some support sites online and rested the rest of the evening with my heating pad on and my feet up. I noticed more breast milk leakage tonight, which is annoying. But despite all my running around this afternoon and evening, I took only one 600 mg Motrin today and felt a-okay!

I'm looking forward to returning to my normal schedule. Today felt good to take care of someone else, but now I'm zapped. Pulling myself into bed as I type...

Unpleasant Questions and Personal Truths

2011-03-18T18:33:00.000-07:00

"What do they do with it, you know, afterward?"

My friend asked the question after I'd talked at length about the procedure. She'd asked me lots of questions throughout my story, throughout the last two weeks. She even rubbed my swollen belly. "Careful. It's contagious," I warned her.

But this was the first question she asked me that threw me, unsettled me, and my answer got caught in my throat for a second.

"Oh, uh," I struggled, my energy suddenly drained from me. "They incinerate it."

"REALLY?"

"Yeah," I was quiet for a second. "I had actually forgotten all about that, but the nurse told my boyfriend and I just before the laminaria insertion. It was surprising."

"Wow." She sounded stunned, but in a very removed and clinical way. "I've always wondered, you know. I mean, the hospital must go through so much human bio-waste. What do they do with all of it?"

And off she went, chattering without thinking about all the things a hospital must get rid of in a day: kidneys, appendixes, aborted fetuses... I felt sick to my stomach.

I didn't tell her straight up that it was a painful question or that I didn't want to talk about it. I just tried to segue us back into the story of the procedure.

"Well, I do remember thinking when I came to in the operating room--I could hear all these things being thrown away and gloves being taken off and stuff like that. And I thought, I wonder if any of those sounds are the... you know," I said. "But I was back under really quickly, and when I woke again, I was in my recovery room, and then..."

I continued rattling on just to get past the moment. But it stuck with me.

After she left, it kept coming to mind. Laying in bed last night, I brought it up to my boyfriend. He got upset. "Why would she ask such a stupid thing like that? What was she thinking?"

Honestly, I don't know. This is one of my best girl friends--the only girl friend who I told about my pregnancy and abortion.

I know she didn't mean to hurt me. She's had all sorts of clinical questions about the entire process, as she's never had an abortion, and I'm a very candid person. She wanted to know if I felt different knowing I was pregnant. She wanted to know if it felt "like something had gone on down there" after the laminaria insertion. She wanted to know if I "felt hollow" after the evacuation.

I've answered all these questions relatively unemotionally and openly. I think it appears that I'm handling everything really, really well. I think that she didn't even think about how her question might affect me because I appear, on the surface, very unaffected in general.

And while I haven't and don't have any regrets, I was feeling relatively unaffected until last night when my friend asked that question. Today, I am really sad. I feel loss and grief in a more acute way that I haven't felt since I was ambivalent about my decision.

When I started this blog, the subhead didn't mention abortion. It simply said: "A pro-choice blog chronicling an unplanned pregnancy." I was confused, upset and unsure I could choose to terminate a second trimester pregnancy. I actually don't remember at what point I added "and its abortion," but I did add it. After talking with many support people and weighing endless considerations for myself and my future children, I decided that terminating this pregnancy was the right choice.

I do feel loss, but I am not and will not be unhappy. My choice was right for me, my partner and the potential life I carried for 14 weeks. I am grateful to be 26, unmarried and without children, paving a life path that is right for me and that will allow me to flourish as a woman and, one day, a mother.

Recovery Day 3

2011-03-18T13:29:00.000-07:00

I decided to take today off work, though I have been able to actually work from home today. The last two days I've zonked out after taking my narcotic painkiller, so I decided I'd take today off in case the same thing happened.

I woke up early in the morning, extremely crampy again. I zapped on my second heating pad and curled up so both pads cushioned my back and my abs. Took my narcotic painkiller then instead of later in the day, and woke up around 11 AM feeling better.

Took my last antibiotic today. I detest antibiotics, but I'm still shocked that my doseage is already done. I took six pills in total, two a day, starting the night of my abortion.

I've been trying to observe discernible changes in my body. My belly has gone down enough that I briefly wore jeans yesterday, though I did have to unzip them after eating. Still, an improvement.

My breasts are extremely firm and more full than normal. Awesome, but... Much to my horror last night, I saw that they are leaking breast milk. I had read that this was a possible side effect, particularly if you were further into your pregnancy. The health information I've found online explains to avoid stimulating breasts and wear a tight-fitting bra. Fortunately, I'm not in pain, as apparently some women find their breasts even more tender (Mine were tender about a month ago, but that sensation went away.), so that's good.

I have a lot of things to write about that I haven't yet. A lot of these things delve much more into feelings and experiences than the mundane but necessary details of physical improvement. I haven't quite been up to writing about them yet, maybe mainly because I've felt so exhausted these last few days. But I plan to spend some time writing about them later today and in the coming days.

For now, I am going to put jeans on again and get a late lunch with my boyfriend.

Hard Facts

2011-03-17T21:43:00.000-07:00

Boyfriend just got home after I finished that last post, and I was compelled to update him on our sex life.

Me: I did some Googling about masturbation.
Boyfriend: And?
Me: It's really difficult to find hard facts.

Recovery Day 2

2011-03-17T21:35:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling alright today. The bleeding has picked up a bit, and this morning I woke up the crampiest I've been yet. I took some of the narcotic painkillers, downed a bowl of cereal and half a dairy-free cookie and then took my antibiotic. Felt better shortly after.

I did bleed on the comforter last night, which is a bummer. It's in the dryer now, so we'll keep our fingers crossed that the cold water and detergent has done the trick!

Yesterday evening was tough. My boyfriend and I had a huge argument--one of those fights that escalates into a hysterical, out-of-control place. We both said some terrible things, dredging up our deepest issues.

At the heart of the problem was that yesterday we needed very different things, and neither of us delivered to the other. I, feeling raw emotionally and not-at-my-best physically, wanted attention and support. Lots of it, too.

My boyfriend, whose work and freelance schedule is out of control right now, wanted space to process his feelings and his stress.

Obviously, these two things don't exactly work together, and we wound up at each other's throats. It was extremely upsetting, and honestly, it's indicative of part of why we chose to terminate the pregnancy. While we are crazy about one another, we don't know yet if we work as a partnership well enough to provide an emotionally-stable home to a child, let alone for ourselves. It was as if this fight was the proof we needed of that fact, in case we needed more proof.

We resolved the fight, acknowledging that we are different people with different needs, that we may need to be more direct with one another than we are used to in order to express our needs. Then, we crawled into bed together, exhausted and with our hands clasped together.

Here's the things about fights in relationships: They often are put to rest after a good talk with a fabulous session of make-up sex.

Obviously, that isn't an option for us right now.

(Warning: Sexually graphic content follows...)

So this morning, after I woke up and took my pills and we each had some breakfast and talked, my boyfriend and I found ourselves in a wildly passionate makeout session. The level of sexual frustration was enraging. Finally, I grabbed my tiny little wonderful vibrator (it's a Lelo Lily, and I'm happy to explain to any readers why it's worth the investment) and tried to pleasure myself while going down on him.

However, I got distracted with worry about whether orgasming would hurt my recovery and eventually gave up on a climax.

The funny thing is that I asked my head nurse after my laminaria insertion about this very issue, though obviously not directly enough. Our exchange went down something like this:

Me:   So, I know I can't have intercourse following the procedure, but is it possible to pleasure myself in other ways?
Nurse: Oh, you don't want to put anything inside your vagina!
Me:   I know, but I don't---
Nurse:   No, no no. You don't want anything inside of there because if you get it infected, blah blah blah blah.
Me:   I know, but--
Nurse: It would be really bad to get an infection.
Me: I kn--
Nurse: I think you can handle it.

She left the room at that point, turning off the lights behind her to let me curl up on my side and adjust to the laminaria and rest while my boyfriend held my hand.

Boyfriend: You wanted to know if you could use your vibe, didn't you?

Anyone out there have experience with clitoral masturbation following a surgical abortion?!?

A quick cursory Google resulted in lots of Yahoo! (Questionable) Answers (Most Likely Answered by 16-Year-Old Girls) and one Iowa women's health clinic. The women's health clinic had this to say:

We recommend to our clients that they do not insert anything into their vagina after the abortion until after their three-week check-up. This is to prevent an infection. Having an orgasm doesn't do anything bad to you. However, if your masturbation involves inserting anything into the vagina, then you should stop doing that until after your check-up exam. If you can masturbate without inserting anything into the vagina, by stimulating the clitoris for instance, that is OK. Whether or not you insert anything in your vagina, it's very important that you go and get a check-up exam 2-3 weeks after your abortion. At that check-up your health care provider will make sure that you don't have any symptoms of an infection or any other complications. If you were to develop a complication, as long as it is taken care of promptly, the risk of permanent harm to your uterus (womb) is very low. Again, don't worry about orgasms themselves, they won't do anything to you. It's just how you get the orgasms that can cause problems. -Emma

UPDATE: Found this info on Ask Alice, which puts to rest any concerns I had about clitoral stimulation. Hooray, Lelo Lily!

Dear Alice,
I just want to know why is it, that after you get an abortion, you can't have sex for 2 or 3 weeks? My best friend got one, and she asked me if I could find out why, because she didn't ask; and she had sex, and it has only been a week today. So if you could email me, and tell me, that would be great!
Thank you!!!!
Cindy

Dear Cindy,
Your friend is lucky to have you to support her! After an abortion, which ends a pregnancy and removes tissues from the uterus, a woman's body needs 2 to 3 weeks to heal fully. After an abortion (or a miscarriage, or giving birth, for that matter) the tissues of the uterus and cervix may be more susceptible to infection for a period of time. Anything inserted into a woman's vagina while she is healing can expose the uterus and cervix to bacteria and/or other microorganisms that can cause infection. For the same reason, women are often advised to take showers rather than baths when healing. During this time, no penetration of any kind, including with tampons, sex toys, fingers, or douche, is recommended. And like your friend heard, women are encouraged to avoid vaginal sex, as well as receptive anal and oral sex.

Your friend likely has a follow-up medical visit scheduled between 2 to 4 weeks after the procedure. At the appointment, a health care provider will use sterile gloves and a speculum (if a pelvic exam is necessary) to check on the healing process. After the woman's health care provider gives her the okay, a woman can resume having sex and other penetrative activities.

Signs of infection include fever, chills, abdominal pain, and/or heavy vaginal discharge (though some women may experience abdominal cramps and vaginal bleeding without infection). A woman can expect her first regular period within six weeks of the abortion. If she notices signs of infection, or if she does not get her period within six weeks after the procedure, it's time for a visit to her health care provider. Students at Columbia can schedule a check-up with the provider who performed the abortion or with their primary care provider on campus; call x4-2284 or log on to Open Communicator to make an appointment.

In the meantime, a woman can have outercourse, give oral and/or manual sex to a partner, and even orgasm while she is healing from the abortion. If having an orgasm produces uncomfortable cramping sensations, however, she may decide to postpone this until she has finished healing.

Most women are able to get pregnant again almost immediately after an abortion, so if a woman chooses to have sex right away, and wants to avoid another pregnancy, she should consider what birth control method will serve her best. She also can use condoms (and dams or unlubed condoms for oral sex) in order to reduce the risk of infection during the healing period. However, health care providers strongly recommend that women wait until after the healing process has been completed before resuming penetration and having sex again

The links below might help answer any other questions your friend might have. Keep up the good work in being a supportive, informative friend!

Alice

Recovery Day 1 - Update 2

2011-03-16T13:05:00.000-07:00

Ugh. No sooner do I say I'm feeling pretty great and I'm suddenly super nauseous. Could be partly due also to having spent most of my afternoon reading more pro-choice blogs online. The computer reading seems to make me feel extra sick to my stomach.

Had to update though because I made myself some Traditional Medicinals peppermint tea to help calm my tummy and head and the paper pull tag's little inspirational message read:

The choices you make will change the world.

Maybe it's because I'm super hormonal/emotional right now or because I've been reading so many brave and strong women's blogs, but I feel like that tea bag is right!! What an awesome and empowering message.

Recovery Day 1 - Update 1

2011-03-16T11:44:00.000-07:00

Slept in really late today and got up around noon. Guess my body clock got switched a little bit by staying up late before the procedure and waking up late yesterday.

My cramps have been surprisingly manageable. There were some points yesterday evening where moving around was difficult, but otherwise, I feel fine. Taking my pain meds and keeping the heating pad on more as a preventative right now.

I did notice this weird sensation lying on my back last night. It may have been completely my imagination, but I felt almost empty inside my belly. I also had this weird feeling like I could almost feel my uterus shriveling up, but without any cramping associated with the feeling. My nurse told me I can expect the swollen belly to go down within a few days, but even by last night, it seemed smaller.

Physically, my biggest pain has been a splitting headache that showed up yesterday and has been around since. Anyone who has had a surgical abortion experience a migraine-like headache? I can't seem to find anything on Google about it, so maybe it's unrelated.

Day 2 Procedure and Update 1

2011-03-15T19:49:00.000-07:00

I got back from the hospital from the big procedure just a bit ago. Called my parents to say I'm doing fine and the boyfriend baked some chocolate chip cookies from the stellar dough I prepared a few days ago. Just finished two piping hot chocolate chip cookies with a glass of milk, and I'm doing okay.

I was notified yesterday that a different doctor might take my surgery as my scheduled surgeon was handling a "very complicated" case before me. I worried that this change-up might negatively affect my experience, and I honestly think it did.

Things felt disorganized, or like no one was in charge. Most upsettingly, I don't remember meeting my doctor. If I met him, it was at the point where my drugs had kicked in enough that I don't remember it. It seems like a quick pre-op visit would have been appropriate.

I also never saw any of the amazing women doctors who were supposed to be on my surgery. I assume they had to stay with my attending doctor for the more difficult case. The nurse didn't make that clear yesterday when she called.

I've talked a lot with people about how there's this horrible tendency in the medical world to forget that patients are people. I felt very much like a case number, juggled from one doctor to another, with a lot of confused nurses, anesthesiologists and prescription orders mixed in. I was thankful that my boyfriend was there to (1) help me keep everything straight that they forgot and (2) support me as I started to feel panicky about how disorganized things appeared.

Preparing and Pre-Op

We stayed up late last night to try to adjust our bodies to sleep in late (not that that's hard for us). The thought of being up all morning, worrying and thirsty, did not appeal. We stayed up til about 2 AM, watching Cool Runnings (which I believe I watched post-op tonsillectomy 1994) and talking. I woke up at 8:45 AM to take my last painkiller, fell back to sleep and then woke up at noon to pull myself together for surgery.

We arrived on time and checked in, which was a strange process. There were no chairs or waiting area. I simply stood at the desk and signed papers that said I didn't have a will prepared and who to contact in case something happened to me.

I was immediately brought back to my pre-op room with my boyfriend. I changed into a gown and then lay down on the table while he pulled a chair up to my side. I cried for a bit, still feeling overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted. My boyfriend hugged me and then squeezed some laughs out of me by mocking the hospital's ambient channel that featured images of waterfalls accompanied by muzak. My shared bathroom with the next-door pre-op room was locked, and I desperately awaited my nurse's arrival to unlock it for me.

From the get-go, it appeared that things were disorganized. Our nurse was supposed to show up shortly after we settled in and didn't. Then, as I changed, an anesthesiologist opened the door and came in while my backside was still as bare as can be. She excused herself, and when she returned, she was baffled not to find my chart or paperwork there. I explained no one had come by yet.

She explained that I would receive an anti-anxiety drug before leaving for surgery and then I'd be in twilight sedation (MAC, the paperwork had said: monitored anesthesia care) during the procedure. I had been very scared of twilight anesthesia, but I was completely and utterly passed out. More on that later.

Shortly after the anesthesiologist left, the pre-op nurse finally arrived. She oozed a lack of confidence that set me on edge. She took some blood and then hooked up my IV, at one point remarking as she fumbled, "Well... hopefully this works."

While the nurse hooked me up, a resident anesthesiologist walked through the door and began to introduce himself and explain my sedation.

"Uh, I think Dr. So-and-So already explained this to me," I quickly said, baffled.

"Yeah, she's already taken care of that," the nurse added without looking up.

"Oh, okay then," the resident anesthesiologist smiled awkwardly and walked out the door.

I glanced at the boyfriend with a look of "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

The nurse explained that I would need a RhoGAM shot as my blood is Rh-negative. She urged me to remind my recovery nurse of this fact.

I also needed to receive a Depo-Provera shot for birth control until I receive my IUD. My nurse looked through my paperwork, confused, and asked if I was absolutely sure I was receiving that shot today. Wasn't I receiving it at my 2-week follow-up appointment? Nope. I'm scheduled to get it at recovery. So she said she'd go ahead and put the order in accordingly.

She then explained that my surgery was most likely going to be pushed back at least 45 minutes, so to go ahead and relax.

The boyfriend and I passed the time talking and watching some of The Office and CNN. An OB/GYNE resident came in and introduced herself as well, explaining she'd be working on my case. She was nice, quiet, checked my IV and left. It was nice to meet at least one of the surgeons, even if just briefly.

Yet another new anesthesiologist came in, introduced himself and said it'd be about five more minutes before he'd administer the first of my drugs through the IV. He was the first person I came in contact with who seemed really confident, and I suddenly felt much more at ease.

When he injected the first dose of drugs--the anti-anxiety, I think--into my IV, he explained that it'd be like me taking 3 shots at the bar. "If you do that kind of thing," he said with a smile. My boyfriend asked if he got one too. The anesthesiologist quickly quipped, "Oh yeah. We all get one of these beforehand."

Almost right away, I began to feel hazy. My nurse and the resident returned and I was prepared to be wheeled away. I reached my hand out to my boyfriend who leaned down and kissed me before he was ushered out of the room. I was wheeled out after him.

The last thing I really remember is wheeling down the hall and the male anesthesiologist asking me if I was feeling doped up. "Very," I responded.

Twilight to Post-Op

The next thing I remember is waking up in the operating room. There were many people milling about and lots of sounds like things being thrown away. I must have said something because someone said to me, "We're all done."

"Already?" I asked blearily. "Yep," whoever it was said, "All done."

I was vaguely aware that I felt slightly crampy. I found myself in a recovery room and recognized that there was a man and a woman at the curtained door leaving. "Thank you!" I called out to them. I have no idea who they were. That guy might have been my doctor, but I thought at the time it was the male anesthesiologist.

The post-op nurse rustled around getting my room ready for me. She cracked open a disposable heating pad (Really useless. I was pissed that I had been told not to bother bringing my own electric heating pad. I'd recommend bringing one from home just in case.) and punched a few things in the computer.

My hazy drugged-up brain made a few connections. Surgery done. Recovery room. Something to tell recovery nurse. What was it? RhoGAM shot!

"Have I gotten my RhoGAM shot yet?" I asked the nurse. "Or does that happen later?"

In a tone that sounded like she was exasperated and placating me, she said, "Just lay back, okay? I'm going to take care of it." I felt brushed off and felt like saying, 'Hey, your co-nurse told me to tell you that, okay? I'm just doing what I'm supposed to do,' but I was too out of it for crankiness.

She gave me an extra disposable heating pad for my back and then went to retrieve my boyfriend from the waiting room.

When she returned with him, the recovery nurse explained that her shift was ending and she'd grab my new recovery nurse.

The new recovery nurse brought with her narcotic painkillers, which were a godsend in the face of useless heating pads. As she reviewed my chart, I asked about the Depo shot.

"Are you getting one of those?" she asked. I looked at the dry erase board behind her where two notes were written for my case: "RhoGAM, Depo."

"I'm supposed to, yeah," I said, feeling really frustrated at this point.

"Your doctor didn't order it for you," she said. "Are you sure you aren't supposed to get it at your two-week follow-up?"

"Yes."

"Hmm... Okaaay," she said putting the paperwork down. "I guess I'm going to have to take care of this." She alluded to my going home soon, though at that point I didn't feel like I could sit up straight.

When she left, I finally let my frustration go in the form of some tears. My boyfriend agreed that things were strange and disorganized feeling. We were given some time alone where I began to feel much better, munching on graham crackers and sipping water and ginger ale.

After about two hours in recovery, my recovery nurse came back with the RhoGAM and Depo shot. While she put the RhoGAM in my IV and then gave me the Depo shot (butt shot! haven't had one of those since I was a kid), my boyfriend got our car from the parking garage to pull up in front of the hospital.

When I was alone, I slowly dressed myself and tried to process everything. I had been waiting, hoping, the whole time I was in recovery that I might see my doctor. I wondered if I had met him when I was drugged up and also wondered why I hadn't seen him during pre-op.

A wheelchair and nice dude came to wheel me away from my recovery room, past the nurses' station where both my pre and post-op nurses wished me good luck, and then into the elevator. I felt uncomfortable and made chit chat about the weather with the nice dude.

Once in the car with my boyfriend, I broke down in tears. I felt like I had been holding in emotion all day, just to get through everything. I am still processing what I most felt. Sadness, relief. It all came out as tears, regardless.

Mostly, I felt so confused by what had happened. I had just had an abortion, and I had no idea who had performed it on me. No one had ever said that everything went okay. I just assumed so because here I was in the car with my boyfriend with some pads and a heating pad to take home with me.

We sat there for several minutes as I let this feeling release and my boyfriend assured me that everything was okay with me but that what had happened was not okay. I have a post-op appointment in two weeks with the nurse and other professionals who I saw yesterday for my laminaria insertion and last week for my consultation. I plan to talk to them about the frustration and disappointment in how things were handled today. I'll be interested to hear whether I did meet the doctor in a drugged-up haze or not at all.

At the very least, my cramping is very minimal right now. The painkillers are helping me tons, as are my electric heating pads. My boyfriend and I ate some soup that my mom made for me and watched a movie together. I'm pretty sure I will sleep really, really well tonight.

Day 1 Update 3

2011-03-14T21:15:00.000-07:00

Still feeling relatively good. Haven't had any spotting yet, so I took off the pad. Cramping was seriously minimal for a good portion of the evening, though it has returned. Rocking the heating pad once more.

I'm not scheduled for surgery until 3 PM tomorrow. Yet, as it would be if surgery were six hours earlier, I can't eat or drink anything after midnight. (A sip of water with painkillers at 9 AM is OK.) Serious bummer. For the last several hours, I've been drinking water like a mad woman about to trek out on some spiritual desert pilgrimage.

Have I mentioned that one of my pregnancy symptoms has been thirst?? Yeah. Bummer.

I'm allowed one last meal and liquid at midnight, and I'm planning to take advantage. Considering staying up later too so I can sleep in and avoid some of the hunger and thirst tomorrow morning/afternoon.

Feeling relatively calm now. I've definitely had some emotional moments today, but I'm feeling supported and relaxed.

Day 1 Procedure

2011-03-14T18:32:00.000-07:00

My boyfriend and I returned to the hospital's family planning clinic, where we had been several days before for our consultation, for part one of the D&E procedure: laminaria insertion.

Upon arrival, I needed to pee immediately (surprise, surprise), so by the time I left the restroom, they were ready for us to come back. The nurse directed my boyfriend to the same consultation room and then took me to take some final vitals. I joined my boyfriend in the consultation room, and we waited.

The head nurse eventually came in, cheery and spunky as ever. She went over some logistical details and made sure that I didn't need the services of a social worker or chaplain.

She rattled through more details:

I'd need bloodwork done before I left today, after the laminaria insertion.
I was prescribed an antibiotic (Doxycycline), a narcotic painkiller (Norco), and 600 mg Motrin (you're kidding me, right?). I could place the prescription downstairs at the pharmacy before going for the bloodwork.
The attending doctor wouldn't be in today for the laminaria insertion (she gets in later in the afternoon), but everyone else working on my case would be there: the resident who I already met, and the fellow.
The remains of the fetus are incinerated. ("Ok?" she added, glancing up at us. I swallowed hard. This information felt out of the ordinary run-down of things, but I suppose it's all part of the process.)
I'll be in some pain, nothing worse than a bad menstrual period. Call if I bleed through more than one pad an hour or have a fever of over 100.4.

Okay? Okay.

And off we went into the exam room.

I disrobed my bottoms while my boyfriend sat in a chair next to the table. I lay down and he held my hand.

The resident, fellow and head nurse all came in, and the fellow introduced herself to me. I liked her immediately. I liked all these women, I realized, and I felt a kind of calm and confident tranquility that surprised me.

To get things started, the resident explained she'd have to search inside of me to find the exact location of my uterus. Easy enough. She applied lubricant to her hand and began pressing inside of me. I sucked my breath in--it was surprisingly painful for me. I expect this is something that varies from person to person. For me, I perhaps shouldn't have been too surprised. I've found sex for the last couple weeks, when my cervix is hit, seriously painful. Lying on my back at night had become painful as my belly had swollen. I suppose it makes sense that physically spotting my uterus might be uncomfortable too. Fortunately, it was all over before I had much time to process the discomfort. She apologized for the pain when I sucked in and explained that we'd next do a local anesthetic.

More than anything, I was nervous for the shot of local anesthetic. I've never had any sort of anethesia except for general anethesia. I'm unreasonably scared of all needles. I'm kind of a baby. I focused on breathing while they inserted a speculum.

"Here we go," they warned me. I squeezed my boyfriend's hand hard, and... nothing. I didn't feel anything. No pinch. No burn. Awesome.

There was some shifting of the speculum before they said, "Okay, we've got to do one more local anesthetic on the other side."

Shit! I thought. Another one?! Is my cervix superwoman-sized? This I was not expecting, this is awf--

"Okay, it's done," they said. Again, I had felt nothing. Awesome!

They waited a moment for the anesthetics to take hold and explained that they would be inserting three laminaria into my cervix. Not many, they said. I took their word for it and made sure not to glance over and see what the laminaria might look like.

The room we were in featured some of the lovely gray, rainy skyline of our city, so I stared out the windows and thought hard about my boyfriend's hand. They started the first laminaria, and it felt fine. With the second, I winced, and my boyfriend began to stroke my hairline with his fingertips. I relaxed. With the third, the cramping began, and I thought back to a yoga instructor who taught me an amazing breathing exercise. I breathed, relaxed, and it was over.

Incredibly, it was not that bad. I had been so nervous, and here it was over.

They helped me sit up and answered some questions for me: I'll be a full centimeter dilated at the time of surgery. I really, truly did not have to worry about going into labor, they promised me. But the fellow explained to me the difference between my cramping and what labor contractions would feel like. Then she reassured me not to worry.

The resident and fellow wished me luck, said they'd see me the next afternoon and left. The head nurse offered me a heating pad, which I refused. I quickly remembered that I had wanted to ask about masturbation and tossed the question at the head nurse, who seemed baffled and didn't really answer me. Oh, well. She left my boyfriend and I in the darkened room, lit by the gray sky outside, to relax and talk as I curled up on my side.

I'm shocked at how smoothly and relatively unpainful the whole thing was. So relieved and feeling optimistic.

Day 1 Update 2

2011-03-14T14:04:00.000-07:00

Took that narcotic pain reliever, and though I was temporarily knocked out, sleepy by it, I'm feeling even better. I'm rocking two heating pads at once: front and back. There's been no bleeding so far, and I'm regretting not having bought pantyliners for day 1. This pad is foreign feeling.

Have been lying down most of the afternoon, reading, watching the news. My boyfriend has been lying by my side, working a bit. We watched some YouTube footage of the destruction in Japan from the quake and tsunamis. Very upsetting footage. Donated to GlobalGiving and the Red Cross, and it felt good to know I could help in some small way somehow.

The boyfriend has to leave for a few hours this evening for work. My parents are coming by in an hour to bring me flowers that I actually bought myself and promptly forgot at home. Best girl friend is coming by this evening to eat dinner and play boardgames with me. Feeling very lucky to be so supported.

Day 1 Update

2011-03-14T10:37:00.000-07:00

I'm typing on my iPhone so this will be short.

I'm currently curled up in a recliner with a heating pad on full blast on my back. It. Feels. Awesome.

The first part of the procedure was not nearly as bad or scary or painful as I expected. All in all, it was uncomfortable but not excruciating. Probably the worst part of it was the initial finding-the-uterus-by-hand feel-out that the resident did. The pressure in that was really as bad as anything else in the procedure. I didn't feel the needle on my cervix for the local anesthesia, and I didn't feel anything besides some pressure and slight cramping during the laminaria insertion.

The boyfriend and I stopped for breakfast on the way home. Cramping is there for sure, but nothing worse than a bad period day. It didn't prevent me from enjoying eggs with toast, grits and orange juice. Mmmm. Orange juice...

I've had some Motrin, and in an hour will take some more intense narcotic painkillers. I also may take a nap.

2011-03-13T21:51:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy weekend. I don't feel completely prepared for tomorrow, but I'm not sure one can really feel prepared for something like this.

I decided to tell my parents. There's been a huge wall between us, and it's been very painful to keep this from them. If they didn't live with me, I might not have shared. I'm so glad I did. They were nothing but supportive. My mom made me soup and food that the boyfriend and I can keep on hand. So helpful.

I also told my exboyfriend, who remains a very close friend. He's in tune with me enough to have picked up over online chat that something is seriously up with me. He's expressed concern several times, and I alluded to a surgery but was vague. Today he called, asking me if we could talk about what was going on, so I shared. He was shocked but supportive. His lady friend just started a three month cycle on oral contraceptives, so my news hit home for him too. (Not that I think that's why I got pregnant. I'm pretty sure it was just unluck of the draw.)

Heading in for part one of the procedure tomorrow. I'm nervous, but I will be okay.

Procedures Scheduled

2011-03-11T16:49:00.000-08:00

I am scheduled for Monday and Tuesday. So thankful for that. No more waiting, no more observing the changes in my body. I am so thankful.

Bright and early Monday morning, we start the process. On Tuesday afternoon, I am in surgery.

Can I get pregnant while on my period?

2011-03-11T14:57:00.000-08:00

YES.

Yes you can, I am here to tell you because I did get pregnant while on my period... after taking birth control regularly for 5 years.

My former OB/GYNE told me at my first ultrasound that the odds of getting pregnant on birth control, during your period, are 1 in 1000... hence the blog name.

But I visited my new and awesome gynecologist earlier this week, and she gave me some different odds after we pulled out her contraceptive efficacy chart: 2 in 1000.

I tried to visualize what I might look like. I pictured one thousand women standing in some beautiful pastoral field, and there's me and some other girl practically bursting with pregnancy like the two omens we are of "perfect" birth control use.

Since I'm not about to rally that picture into existence, here's an infographic I threw together:

CRAZY, RIGHT?

You can't help but feel cheated when you've been "responsible" but still wound up knocked up when you look at that chart.

And it's not like I've always been perfect about birth control. Unlike a few of my friends, I didn't set timers on my phone to take the pill at the exact same time each day. But particularly in the last year or more, given my very active sex life with my boyfriend (we are crazy about each other), I have been diligent. So that image is killer.

I am posting this because I remember asking that question myself years ago and hearing that the chances were so slim, so unlikely. I remember my best girl friend, the only friend I've told about my planned abortion, telling me that it could happen years ago.

So if you're like me and have an awesome boyfriend who still loves sex during that special time of the month, and you've maybe wondered about your chances of getting pregnant are, here I am to tell you.

Just imagine me, one of those hot pink, knocked up ladies up there warning you: Yes, you can get pregnant on your period. So please be careful, take extra precautions, and know that just because your odds are good does not mean that they will work in your favor.

What Happened at the Consultation

2011-03-11T13:53:00.000-08:00

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.

Thank You, Abortion Providers.

2011-03-10T21:56:00.000-08:00

Today happens to be Abortion Provider Appreciation Day. I read about it on both Blog for Choice and The Abortioneers today. The Abortioneers wrote a fabulous thank you note, which I have quoted below. While I've always respected the brave men and women who provide safe and healthy abortions to patients, my true appreciation has only just begun.

From the bottom of my heart I thank all abortion providers for all that they do. You endure harassment, even death threats, new laws restricting your job, news articles denouncing you and what you do, and even more. Through all of this you continue to go to the clinic, day after day, to help women access choice.

You spend hours calling funds, discussing her finances, and looking for ways where you can discount the cost. You do all of this to help low income women access choice.

You volunteer your time to answer phone calls, before, work, after work, on your lunch break, on the weekends. You listen to her story and try to give her as much money as you can to help her. You participate in activities to fund raise more money. You do this to help women piece together they money they need, so they can access choice.

You get up early to wait outside the clinic and are yelled at by protesters, pushed around, harassed. You do this to help women get into the clinic.

All of those that work in abortion care - doctors, nurses, counselors, receptionists, clinic escorts, local funds, and all of those that I missed. You are amazing. You are the reason women have access to safe, legal abortion care. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

The Bump, the Emotional Pull

2011-03-10T15:56:00.000-08:00

Somewhere in the last week, a switch got flipped. While just over a week ago, I could not have fathomed being a mother to a child, I now consider whether I could, what I could do to make it work. I am suddenly okay with becoming a mother at 26, which has always struck me before now as far too young for my own life.

There are tiny moments, encapsulated from reality, where I am struck by happiness. And as soon as the happiness hits, it's flooded out by loss, anger, frustration and guilt.

It's indescribably painful and lonely.

For me, the most startling and most difficult part of the last week has been watching my belly go from zero to 60 in a matter of days. I am a tall, slim, relatively-toned woman. I have fat on my body to be sure, but I've always been a very hourglass-shaped woman. My waist and middle have always been tinier.

On Wedneday, the day I read the at-home test, I saw no sign of a belly.

Thursday, the next day, I thought that I could maybe detect my uterus was pushing up from my pelvis, though I thought I was imagining or looking for things.

Friday, I again thought it looked like my belly was being pushed, particularly later in the day, but it was nothing too drastic.

But by Saturday night, getting ready for my boyfriend's birthday dinner at his mom's and attempting to put on various dresses, I realized that there was no question: I definitely had a bump. I stood in the mirror staring at it, trying on different clothes to see what hid it and wondering if I was panicking for no reason.

I mentioned it to my boyfriend when I picked him to go to dinner, but he didn't respond much. And suddenly I felt very alone. Here I am, seeing serious evidence that I am pregnant, and it's still not real for my boyfriend. We didn't really talk about it that night because my car broke down (rain-->pours) and we stayed with his mom that night.

But by Sunday night, it was even bigger. This time I showed my boyfriend.

"This wasn't here a week ago," I said.

"It wasn't here three days ago," he responded, his voice full of shock. And suddenly I felt like we were more on the same page. We marveled at my stomach, rubbing it and repeating over and over that it didn't feel real.

So many of the blogs I've read describe the frustration of feeling lonely, experiencing pregnancy symptoms alone, isolated from your partner, and working with your partner to feel on the same page or fully supported. It's definitely lonely. This potential life is inside of you, not him. How could he know?

But I am suddenly showing. And showing a LOT. I think that this huge change brought us together more. What tiny pregnancy symptoms I alone was identifying are eclipsed--almost literally--by my massive swelling belly. And that is a real, tangible thing that both of us can touch and feel and react to.

It's continued getting bigger, and last night--after our appointment, after celebrating my boyfriend's birthday with his dad and some friends--my boyfriend and I spent time looking at it and talking more about how it makes us feel and how it makes us feel about our decision.

For one, we both admitted that it is emotionally and physically arousing. We wondered what biological reason there is for us to be drawn together sexually by a baby bump. He wonders if it's a territorial instinct for him, and I think I have a very basic biological "You're-a-powerful-man" response toward him. I haven't read any other women planning to have abortions describe this feeling, but I haven't found that many second trimester abortion blogs out there. Any other women out there in my situation??

The bump also draws us together in our relationship emotionally. We feel drawn together. He feels a strong desire to protect me, and I feel a desire to be protected by him. Where no desire to be parents existed before, there's excitement. And you can't help but look at the bump as, yup, a miracle. As my boyfriend put it last night, "I want to take a picture of it... but I don't, I can't."

Finally, the bump makes us both incredibly, incredibly sad. It's heartbreaking. To feel all these things in a very real way, to see this physical manifestation of our feelings, and to choose that the responsible thing for us and for this potential life is not to bring it to term. The weight and pain of the choice weighs so heavily that I literally feel exhausted and can almost feel pressure on my chest and shoulders as I think about it.

So, even after our appointment, I feel ambivalence, fear and sadness. Not that I didn't expect to. We've accepted that it's just going to continue to get harder. My belly will grow for the next 5 or 8 days--however many days until I can have the procedure, and we will still feel reactions to it. I'm sure that those feelings will linger, change and evolve over time, but right now, this is the most difficult thing I've faced.

Second Trimester Abortion - Life and Liberty for Women's take

2011-03-10T11:48:00.000-08:00

This article is an excellent resource if you are like me and facing a second trimester abortion.

It offers a lot--reasons why women have second trimester abortions, the right's emotional manipulation of the second trimester woman, how the numbers of second trimester abortions could be lowered while still respecting women's rights.

14 weeks

2011-03-10T10:52:00.000-08:00

When I had my ultrasound at my former lousy gynecologist a week ago, she estimated my pregnancy at 11 or 12 weeks along. Somehow, I knew she was wrong.

It's 13 weeks, I told my boyfriend. I know it.

Of course, I fell down the slippery slope of worry and what-if over the next few days, contemplating what I would do if I was 16 weeks, 18 weeks. What if my period in December was a fluke? My boyfriend would reassure me, set me straight, I'd look at the calendar, count the weeks, Google pregnancy symptoms and feel my growing belly, and I'd still say to myself, It's more than 12. It's 13.

Turns out I was exactly right.

When we met with the nurse yesterday, she informed me that my new ultrasound put me at 13 weeks and 6 days yesterday. Today, Thursday, one week after that first ultrasound, puts me at exactly 14 weeks.

"You knew, didn't you?" she said in that isn't-the-body-amazing voice. (I had mentioned to one of the now-faceless nurses who did my ultrasound, took my vitals and talked with me, that I had doubted my OB/GYNE's dating.)

"I guess so," I said, completely bewildered. I did know. How did I know? I didn't know for three fucking months that I was pregnant and suddenly I can pinpoint to the day my progress?

If I count backwards, that means we conceived the night of my birthday celebration. For all the WTF, fucked-up-ness of this entire scenario--getting pregnant while menstruating, I suppose this kind of makes sense. Looks like the boyfriend and I really know how to throw a party.

But it was reassuring to hear that I am not further along than that. It's still awful, and it still feels like a nightmare, but it puts to rest my irrational concerns.

Consultation today

2011-03-09T11:54:00.000-08:00

I am going to the hospital today to talk about the procedure and have some tests done. I don't trust my crappy gynecologist anymore, so perhaps her estimation of my progress was wrong. My biggest fear at this point is that I am further along in this pregnancy than she thought. It's a bummer not trusting medical professionals.

We'll do an ultrasound to get the exact date or close to it and then discuss what is necessary to terminate the pregnancy, based on what they see.

I feel strangely numb today. I guess that I have maybe gone into some kind of detached place to protect myself. I have been a wreck these last few days. Last night I stood in front of the mirror for almost an hour rubbing my belly and looking at a profile that was not there a week ago.

I measured my belly, and it is at 36 inches at its biggest after a full day, probable bloating, etc. But even still, how is that possible? My waist in mid-January, measured for a bridesmaid's dress, was at 31 inches.

Today I am wearing stretchy pants because my jeans were becoming painful yesterday. I hadn't washed the jeans for fear that they'd shrink, but even still I sat all day yesterday them unzipped at work and then unzipped at my weekly trivia night with my friends. Yup.

...
Yeah, just thinking about the consultation while writing this entry, I've become shaky and scared. Guess that detchament thing wore off fast.
...

I still feel that there are only two scenarios I would bring this pregnancy to term:

First, if there is some reason that I face heightened risks or damage to my future pregnancies. Being unable to have children has been, irrationally, a fear of mine for a while. I know I want children. I don't want to hurt my chances at having a healthy pregnancy.

I understand from what I've read about various surgical abortions online that the risks to future pregnancies are very low, but given my odds of getting pregnant in the first place, I'm not one for playing with numbers right now.

Second, I am scared that I am farther along. For me, I think there is some line where I could no longer choose abortion that falls before the legal limit. For each person, this point is different. I suppose I'm talking about the point where life begins. I'm not really equipped to tackle that right now, but it's something this blog will discuss in detail, I am sure.

I'm picking up boyfriend now to head to the hospital. Here we go.

Support

2011-03-08T19:07:00.000-08:00

In dealing with my feelings and ambivalence about my choice, I found this video remarkably helpful. I am lucky that I have relationship with a great therapist who I’ve seen for several months to help me work through my feelings, but I hope that this video might be helpful for someone who might not have someone to talk to.

Abortion Clinic Days has a series of videos for people of different faiths or non-faiths for guidance.

Finally, it's International Women's Day, which seems like an appropriate day to start this blog. Despite abortion's taboo place in our culture, I am thankful that I live in a country that allows me to choose what is right for me, my body and my life.

How I got my values, got here, got knocked up

2011-03-08T17:00:00.000-08:00

My views and how I got 'em

I was raised by liberal parents in one of the reddest counties in the country.

I don’t remember discussing pro-choice values with my family, but I do remember when abortion would come up in my classes at school. Somewhere along the way, I developed my pro-choice beliefs and debated with my classmates about the true value of life, a woman’s rights and what a government can and cannot control about its citizens’ physical bodies. I can count on one hand the number of students who agreed with me.

When these pro-choice/pro-life conversations came up, I always added as a caveat or a conceit (to the pro-life students or to myself, I am now not sure): “But I could never do it myself.”

And that’s the line I’ve been towing—more or less—ever since.

Sex, the pill and staying"unpregnant"

When I became sexually active in college, my college boyfriend and I had many discussions about birth control and abortion. We both equated staying unpregnant with being responsible. I took oral birth control, riding a rocky hormonal road on triphasic pills until I settled into a monophasic pill that worked for me, albeit all while zapping my libido. That ex-boyfriend used condoms as an extra precaution, mainly because he didn’t trust my reliability with my pill or the pill itself.

We were responsible young adults, going to a top university, with stellar records behind us and bright futures ahead of us. Pregnancy in college and at the beginning of our professional careers was simply not an option. It didn’t exist as a possibility, as far as I was concerned, and thus, abortion didn’t exist as a difficult possibility either.

My current boyfriend is my second sexual partner. We have been together since December 2009. When we began dating we had the usual birth control discussion. We talked about our options and when he brought up his past experiences with abortion—two of his exes had terminations, I repeated my line to him: “You should know: I could never do that.”

I countinued taking my monophasic pill like normal until September 2010.

Horrible terrible no good very bad infections, lousy and lazy gynecologists, and changing my menstruation schedule

In the summer of 2010, I started to have almost monthly vaginal infections. I’ll spare you the details, but it was not pleasant for me, my body, my boyfriend or our sex life. I remember sobbing, frustrated and wondering what was wrong with me.

My instinct told me that these infections seemed to be related to stress, maybe diet and my period. In September, I made yet another appointment with my gynecologist, intending to truly tackle the problem this time instead of just getting another prescription to fix its symptoms.

When I visited my gynecologist, Dr. S, I asked her about diet and stress. She scrunched up her face and quickly said, ‘Oh no. Your diet would not affect this system,” which seemed strange to me. Really? What I put inside me doesn’t affect my body? Even this part of it? Dr. S didn’t address the stress issue.

After an examination, Dr. S decided that I might have herpes based on some scarring she saw around my vagina.

Dr. S is manic in her bedside nature, rattled through a couple options, and then said she wanted me to begin taking my monophasic pill for three months straight, skipping periods. The blood’s lower pH levels could be throwing my vagina out of whack, she explained. Eliminating the period might eliminate the problem.

My boyfriend was not comfortable with this decision. “It’s not natural,” he said. “You’re fighting with nature.” I pointed out that the pill itself fights with nature, and as I began the new schedule, I was relieved to find that the infections went away.

It did feel wrong to go without a period, but I wasn’t too worried. I took my birth control daily, though not as spot-on as to the same moment each day. Come three months later, I got my period in early December.

Following my period, I got another infection. Frustrated, I scheduled an appointment at the same office but with Dr. S's colleague, who had treated me once before in the summer of 2010, Dr. D.

Dr. D's bedside manner was calm, collected and reassuring. The antithesis, it turned out, to Dr. S. When I saw Dr. D in the past, she questioned the herpes diagnosis, said she wouldn't want to prescribe any herpes medications based only on a blood test, suggested scarring could be related to an intense sexual experience or two, and wanted to wait to treat me for anything until I had another infection and she could take a culture.

But when I saw her in December 2010, Dr. D suddenly said that she wanted me to take a herpes blood test to determine our next course of action. If the results were positive, then I would go on herpes medication. If they were negative, then I would begin using a topical cream for my vagina meant to thicken and toughen its skin. Problem with the cream is that it actually thins your vaginal skin before thickening it, and ultimately, you can't use it very long because it will eventually thin the skin again. Uh, what?

I reminded her that she once said that she didn't want to rely solely on herpes blood tests. (I have oral herpes/cold sores, and hence my blood test would come back positive.) She had wanted to take a culture (which she wasn't able to get that day) for positive results.

"I just don't want you to suffer anymore," she said. I took the paperwork for the blood tests and left, vowing to find a new gynecologist for the next time I might need one. I continued taking my birth control pills.

A new, shiny, better holistic gynecologist

In February 2011 I had another infection. This one seemed easier to track its causes, but I decided it was time to see a new doctor and at least get acquainted.

I found a holistic doctor who has integrative medicine training and an acupuncture license, in addition to her western medical degree. By the time I saw her, the infection had cleared up with the help of some Monistat, but I was still psyched to meet this doctor.

We first talked for almost a half hour about my diet, my life, my routines. I felt like I was talking with my therapist. Based on what I shared with her, she decided that stress (I hate my job, my finances are in terrible shape, and my parents have been living with me for six months) and diet (I eat fast, on the go, out a lot and lack nutrients) were probably seriously affecting my system. Infections could be related. We decided to do some tests.

First she did my annual pap smear (All normal, which in hindsight seems weird. Do pap smears not tell us we're preggers?) and some blood tests (Again, too bad we didn't test for hCG.). She was right about some nutrients and levels being seriously low, so I planned to make an appointment to discuss supplements with her.

A few days later on Sunday, February 27, I started my first placebo pill for my next menstruation. I waited until Wednesday for my period. It did not come.

Two pink lines

I've always been one of those girls who freaks regularly that she is pregnant. Like plenty of ladies out there, I've gone out and bought pregnancy tests, peed and stood shaking until a lovely single pink line appeared or the words "NOT PREGNANT." Sighing with relief, I'd tuck the stick back into its box, wrap it in tissues should anyone visit me and go back to life as normal. Pregnancy tests had become a way of reassuring myself that I was not, in fact, pregnant.

This time felt different even before I got the positive results.

It had been too many days waiting for my period, for one.

I had a pregnancy nightmare the night before I found out. Pregnancy nightmares aren't exactly unexpected for me, but this time, I woke up at 6:30 AM having to pee like the dickens. After running to the bathroom, I tossed and turned in bed with a knot in my stomach for two more hours.

While I hadn't had morning sickness, I hadn't been nauseous, I hadn't gained weight, various teensy-weensy physical things suddenly seemed to scream PREGNANT:

Only a few weeks before, my boyfriend remarked that my boobs and nipples were looking bigger.
I had also noticed that my breasts sometimes hurt when I showered and were more sensitive in general.
I felt somewhat bloated. But I had recently made a big effort to start drinking tons of water and attributed bloating to suddenly drinking dozens more ounces of water each day.
In early February, I had been hungry all the time. I felt a combination of hungry and full a lot of the time. But I have a shifting appetite anyway and it was the heart of a cold, snowy winter. I figured my body was doing its instinctive hibernate thing.

I spent the morning at work obsessively Googling pregnancy symptoms until, tortured, I went to the grocery store and bought a pregnancy test. (Self check-out line, naturally.) I went back to work and tried to calm my nerves, decided I'd take the test when I ran home to borrow my parents' car for the evening.

I couldn't relax, and by 4:00 PM I ran home (my office is close), greeted my parents and carried my purse into the bathroom with me, announcing that I wanted to take a quick shower. I turned on the water, did the test and waited for about 30 seconds. My heart pummeled my chest, so I decided I would jump in the shower for the rest of the 3 minute waiting period.

Standing in the shower, I counted the seconds. 120, 121, 122... and tried to ignore how much the water was hurting my breasts. When I got close enough to 3 minutes, I opened the shower curtain and stared at the test where I'd left it on the sink.

Two pink lines.

I don't remember much after this moment, but I do remember feeling like I might pass out, that my head was spinning and trying to think clearly about what to do. I don't remember exactly what I did do. I know I changed clothes and then, thinking it would be weird to go back to the office in different clothes, I changed back. Smiling, I told my parents I didn't need their car for the night anymore. I felt like I was outside of everything my body was doing. Even my voice sounded foreign. I called my girl friends and canceled our plans, claiming to feel like I was coming down with something. Then, I texted my boyfriend.

4:30: Hey. Where are you?
--no response--
4:37: I call, no answer.
4:38: I call, no answer.
4:45: I call, no answer.
4:55: Can you give me acall asap? xo
5:00: He calls and I say that I need to talk to him as soon as possible.

Twenty minutes later, he's getting inside my car. Because of our living situation--he has roommates and my parents have been living with me, we have very little privacy. It seems that talking in the car is the best solution.

When he sits down, I am trying to hold it together and trying to remember how I decided I would tell him. Before I say anything, he says, "It'll be okay."

It'll be okay.

These are the first words I am hearing about this pregnancy, and he doesn't even know it yet. I break down into tears. He pulls my head down and repeats, It'll be okay. I realize he assumes that I haven't gotten a job that I applied for and I need to tell him right this moment. "That's not it," I say. "I'm pregnant."

His grip on my hand loosened and his mouth dropped. He was quiet for a long time.

I wondered if he was thinking back to when I told him my line,“You should know: I could never do that.”

But things change drastically when you are faced with reality: a home pregnancy test sporting those two bright pink lines, a boyfriend who you adore but is not yet your partner, a financially-unstable job that pays you so little you can barely support yourself, no savings and plenty of debt, an emotionally-unstable and inconsistent home environment, living out of a bag and bouncing between your boyfriend's basement apartment and your parentally-occupied apartment.

Suddenly that line I was towing loses its weight in the reality of the moment.

Tomorrow I have my consultation to discuss abortion options and make sure this is what I want to do. Still can't quite wrap my head around the fact that this is happening.

How I'm writing this blog

2011-03-08T15:01:00.000-08:00

I'm am starting this blog almost a week after finding out I am pregnant. I feel like I have a bunch of entries to write to encapsulate the last six days of my life, and I want to try to keep the order right.

One thing I found in a couple of the limited abortion blogs that exist out there is that they're a bit disorganized. I understand why. This experience is draining in every sense. I feel overwhelmed by changing emotions--fear, anger, sadness, happiness, total wonder. Sorting through all those feelings, let alone sharing them, zaps me. I am sleeping okay, except for waking up early each morning having to pee, but I still feel exhausted all the time.

But I feel that it's important to share this experience and that it's important to keep it as organized as possible for anyone who might read it. Since I didn't start writing this blog right away, and I feel like it's ingenuine to backdate the entries since my feelings are constantly changing, I'm going to do my best to fill in the gaps, starting now.

Pregnant

2011-03-08T14:31:00.000-08:00

A week ago I wasn’t pregnant. A week ago I woke up at my boyfriend’s place, got dressed, put on my make-up, went to work, and then met up with friends for dinner, a beer and trivia. A week ago I went to bed and wondered why my period had not yet come. But it was not until that night's restless sleep-frought with pregnancy nightmares and interrupted by a sudden and frequent need to pee-that I was very worried.

This week I am pregnant. This week I am, according to my initial ultrasound, 13 weeks pregnant.

This pregnancy was not planned and, statistically speaking, should not have happened.

This blog is meant to follow my experience as I make the most difficult choice I have ever faced. I have Googled "abortion blogs" and "unplanned pregnancy blogs," and I found a few that inspired me to add my story to their chronicles. These blogs have helped me feel that despite how scared, confused and upset I am, I am not alone.

I am writing my experience in hopes that it adds one more voice to the chorus of women who have bravely shared their stories. I am writing my experience in hopes that it helps someone like me down the road.