I pushed the heavy door and entered the building. The door chime loudly announced my entrance and the people in the waiting room slowly turned their heads to look at me. The atmosphere in the room was as sad as I expected it to be. I sighed and joined the line of people waiting to talk to the receptionist. While waiting, I checked my papers again, to make sure I had everything I needed. I had my driver’s license as a form of ID and a copy of my medical history. My mind was all over the place so I was still anxious that maybe I forgot something. I checked the line. There were three people in front of me. Although it was a small clinic, I noticed that it had a lot of people waiting. And even if I hated crowded spaces, I took it as a good sign, because a famous clinic meant good services were being provided. My friend, who was a nurse, recommended the place. She said she knew a few of the staff and that it was very welcoming, but I didn’t see it.
After the longest ten minutes of my life, it was finally my turn. I hesitantly placed the documents on the counter. The receptionist checked my name and my ID and looked up my appointment. Then, with a smile on her cherry coloured lips, said:
“Oh, I see here that you have an appointment with us at three. Did you bring along your- “
Before I could let her finish, I was searching through my bag.
“Yes, I know I have it here somewhere, just give me a minute.”
I searched with my hand and eyes among the piles of trash that was abandoned in my purse and thankfully found what they were looking for. I grabbed it and handed it to the receptionist, who added it to my file for the doctor to see.
“Alright, then.” said the smiling receptionist with perfectly styled bob hair. ,,We are unfortunately running a little bit behind and your appointment might be pushed back. Fill out this form of consent and take a seat in the meantime. We are very sorry for the delay.”
She handed me a form and a pen and I moved out of the way to make space for the next person in line. I found an empty pink coloured seat next to a small coffee table in a corner of the waiting room and started filing out the form. I was half out of it, my mind as blank as it was on my way there. I didn’t read the form thoroughly, but I knew what it said. It was just to make sure they had my consent and to spare the doctor any trouble if anything went wrong. It was also suggesting alternatives, just for a clear conscience and perhaps the political argument that came with doing such a procedure.
I went back to the receptionist and handed her my filled in form, which she added to my file.
“We’ll call your name when it’s your turn. Again, we’re very sorry for the delay, it’s just such a busy day!”
I made my way back to my seat and took a look around the clinic to clear my head a little. The pink theme didn’t apply only to the chairs as the ceiling was the same shade. Pink, with clouds painted on it, almost like a nursery. The receptionist’s desk was also pink and white, sharing the soft tones of the room. I checked the time. It was almost three. I came half an hour early to make sure I was there on time for my appointment, but I doubted I would start at three.
“They’re pretty busy today, right? There’s people who have waited for over an hour to go in.”
I was startled, and rightly so, as I couldn’t identify the voice that spoke for a few seconds. I turned to the direction the voice came from only to see the woman that sat on the seat to my right smiling at me.
“Yeah, I guess.” I mustered up the strength to say.
She reached out her hand for me to shake it and introduced herself.
“I’m Makayla Davis, nice to meet you.”
She was on the bigger side and had a shirt with a floral design. She seemed older than me, probably in her forties or late thirties. Her hair was tied behind her head and she seemed way too happy to be in a place like this. I took her hand and shook it.
“I’m Jennie Johnson. Nice to meet you.”
Her handshake felt warm, in a way.
“Today, it’s actually my birthday.” she started.
I did the polite thing and congratulated her. It was a horrible place to be in for your birthday.
“Really? Happy birthday!”
“Thank you, dear. You know, it’s actually my eighteen birthday today.
I looked at her completely stunned for a few seconds. I was rightfully shocked, as she seemed way older than eighteen. Maybe she was born on a leap year, I thought, but then scratched that as it was the middle of the summer and mathematically it still wouldn’t have made sense. I was trying to craft the perfect response in my head, trying not to be rude. I thought maybe she had a condition and didn’t look her age. After a few seconds of painful silence, she started laughing at my surprise and I started to think she was crazy. I looked around and spotted an empty seat that I could’ve run to and while I was making my escape plan, she calmed down and spoke again.
“You must think I’m crazy, right? How could I be eighteen?”
I smiled and nodded, politely. I wasn’t really up for a conversation, but I admit, I was curious.
“Well you see, I have two birthdays. One is in the spring, in March, and it’s the date when my mother pushed me out and gave birth to me. According to that one, I’m forty.” she said, with a smile. “And then, my second birthday was eighteen years ago today. It was a birth of the soul, of the spirit. It was when I turned back to Jesus Christ. And that’s what I’m celebrating today.”
I think my smile faded a bit upon realizing what she was doing. I heard of people like her before. I looked away from her judging eyes and said:
“I know what you’re doing, alright? It won’t work. Not on me. I’ve already made up my mind. I’m going through with this.”
Only now I noticed the golden cross that was hanging down from her necklace. I wasn’t going to be one of those people that doesn’t go through with it because of some religious awakening. No, I thought about it for weeks and my decision was final.
“I wasn’t trying to change up your mind, dear, I was just sharing my joy with you. It’s a wonderful thing to be born again.”
I felt embarrassed, as if I judged her too quickly, but still remained cautious. I knew she was most likely not here with an appointment. I turned my head away from her and went on my phone to make the time pass. After around ten minutes, I heard her voice again.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you decide to get an abortion?”
Taken aback by the question, I took a moment before answering. It wasn’t your usual conversation starter, but then again, what was usual about this whole encounter?
“Uhm, I just don’t have the financial or emotional stability to raise a baby on my own.” I said, thinking of my own mother. ,,No baby should be raised by a single mother and have to bear that responsibility.”
It wasn’t the case that I thought no woman should ever attempt and raise a baby on her own, it was just that I was certain I couldn’t. I didn’t want to follow onto my mother’s footsteps.
“Being raised by a single mother isn’t the worst situation a baby could be in.” she simply said.
Her words angered me a little. She didn’t understand the experience of being raised by an only mother, or what it took, she spoke like that only to cause me to change my mind and to achieve some kind of spiritual Christian accomplishment.
“Yeah, well, it’s pretty bad. When you have a single mother trying to make ends meet on her own, it puts the child in a position where they need to grow up on their own. I don’t want that for my children.”
She sighed and I felt as if she didn’t understand what I was feeling. I looked down at my feet. I was finally talking to someone about what I was thinking and feeling.
“Life isn’t going to have perfect circumstances, dear. And you don’t have to do it on your own just because the father isn’t there.”
I felt as if it was getting harder to breathe. I couldn’t stop now, I had to say everything that was on my mind.
“I don’t want my whole life to end at twenty-one. I have to get my masters and to get a high paying job and to get married before having children. I have goals for my life.”
She nodded and I felt like crying. I knew she judged me so I felt the need to explain myself.
“I know I’m being selfish, okay? I just don’t want my children to blame me later on. I want to be better than my mom, to prove to myself that I can be better.” I took a breath of air and continued. ,,I thought about adoption, I really did. But I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I knew my child was raised by someone else, never knowing me.”
I didn’t even know what I was saying at that point. My thoughts were as messed up as the inside of my purse. And besides that, her silence only meant one thing: judgement. I took a deep breath and looked at her. I was determined to keep my cool no matter what. She was looking at me with nothing but compassion in her brown eyes and I had to turn away to keep myself from crying.
“Go ahead” I said. “I know you want to say something.”
“Well I think you already said it all.” she said. “Only thing I can add is: What about the baby’s will?”
Classical, I thought.
“Well, I know best. I’m the baby’s mother.”
Saying those words felt surreal. It felt as if all that was happening was real. It felt as if it was an actual baby you could hold and we were seriously deciding it’s future. However, the baby wouldn’t have one. And I would never get to hold it. And that thought made my eyes fill up with tears.
I felt a heavy hand on my back, calmly stroking me. It reminded me of my mother.
“Be the baby’s mother, then.” she said. “Stop trying to play God, worrying about everything and trying to control the outcome because in reality you can’t. No one can. So, stop trying to be God and be the baby’s mother.”
I could blame it on the fact that I haven’t eaten in preparation for the surgery, or on the fact that I bottled everything up for weeks, but the truth was I started crying out of guilt. Out of guilt and out of relief, which is a weird combination and it made me bury my face in my hands and sob quietly, in public. I stood there for a good few minutes with this strange woman’s hand on my back, gently stroking me. In between sobs, I looked at her and asked, in desperation:
“What am I going to do?”
She smiled at me.
“Let the real God handle that.”
Easy for her to say, I thought. She wasn’t in my position. She didn’t know how hard it was. I tried to stop crying and to pull myself back together by taking deep breaths. In and out.
“There, there, it’s going to be alright, dear.”
She kept stroking my back with firm movements. The weight of her hand on my back was there, a constant in the mess that was my head. I began to wipe away my tears when a loud voice that I recognized as belonging to the receptionist said:
“Ms. Davis we have asked you numerous times to stop bothering our customers! I’m gonna have to ask you to leave!”
Her eyes seemed cold now and her smile distant. She wasn’t the nice receptionist that greeted me anymore. Makayla got up.
“Wait! She wasn’t bothering me!” I found myself saying.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Johnson, she does this to a lot of our customers. Doctor Brown is ready for you now.”
I got up. Makayla didn’t look upset at all by the accusations. She calmly smiled at me and said:
“I’ll wait for you outside.”
And with that, she headed towards the door and left. I wiped my face and also got up. It was now or never. I went up to the receptionist’s counter.
“I would like to cancel my appointment.”
She smiled, thinking I wasn’t serious.
“Ms. Johnson, don’t let her get in your head. She comes here every day except for Sundays and tries to talk people out of it. It’s your body, your choice, remember that.”
I shook my hurting head.
“I know that. And I choose to be a mother and keep my baby. I would like to cancel my appointment.”
Her smile withered away faster than I anticipated it would.
“Alright, then.”
“I would also like my ultrasound back.” I stated.
She searched for my file with no will to do so and pulled out the ultrasound to give it to me.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to reschedule your appointment?”
I shook my head.
“No, thank you.”
I took the envelope from her and opened it with shaking hands. I never got to truly look at my baby, out of fear. Fear that if I would see my baby, it would actually become my baby. I held the black and white photo of my baby and tears flooded my eyes once again. I turned around to leave, still holding the picture of my baby.
Outside, the woman with two birthdays was waiting for me. Her face lit up when she saw me, as if she was expecting me, which I’m almost certain she was. She didn’t look as strange in the light outside. She opened up her arms and within seconds, I was being hugged by her.
“It’s going to be alright, dear. God will work it out.”
And in that moment, while I was in her arms, I really believed He would.
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