Reminder

Abortion

A woman in pale blue scrubs holds a T-shaped wand covered in a clear jelly, resembling the fairy godmother from a well loved storybook and asks the woman on the table if she wants to see the screen.

The patient nods, unsure of why that is even a question in this place. She has felt the lukewarm lubricant on her belly before, back when she was prepared. The room had already been decorated in neutral colors with a wardrobe full of a hundred fabrics and blends. The monitor’s movement yanks her from the planned moments, back to this ill-timed inconvenience. She expects to see something tangible and obvious, something that would make her stomach kick in a recognizable way.

Yet, there was nothing. The fairy’s wand traveled back and forth across her abdomen; she gestured to the screen and circled an empty black hole in the green waves. A measurement was announced and a timeline was given.

 The patient grew annoyed, she was well aware of who and how and when. She tried to assure herself that the fairy godmother had not intended to be judgemental, but it is easy to feel looked down on when a young woman walks in those doors alone. 

The patient was given directions to a room, where she sat for what felt like hours. A male doctor called her name and escorted her to an office. She instinctually closed off her body and prepared herself to hear the opposite of her decision. He spoke with kindness and informed her of the process and options. He handed her tye-dye lunch sack and outlined the contents for her. A cup of water and a small pill was placed in her hands and he waited for her to swallow it before continuing. He wishes her well and holds the door for her. 

As she walks outside, she notices the hidden building, covered in deep red, seasonal foliage. The sign is hiding and plain colored, to not attract any unwanted attention. What is done, is done and she was ready to move on and leave this piece of her behind.

The sounds of children laughing and playing in the daycare center next door overwhelms her and she races to her car. Silence consumes her on the drive home because it is a silent battle. She tells no one she came here and yet she is a different person for knowing that this clinic exists in her hometown.

Once home, the pain of loss develops low in her abdomen. Her hands clutch her stomach and she pretends she is fine. The children she wanted race around her feet, yelling her name and begging for all of the attention she has left. Her mind eases at the fact that she no longer has to disrupt the schedule and balance of her home. The children who fight for attention will not have to split it a third way. They have everything they need and want. 

And yet, the mother cannot help but wonder who she could have met in 8 months. How could she judge something so fragile that didn’t get the chance to exist? 

At work the next day, she feels grateful that she doesn’t have to take another unpaid leave. There is no risk of losing her promotion coming up, something she has worked so hard for.  

Any yet, the employee cannot help but acknowledge that this promotion could have allowed the financial support to give a decent life to the tiny black hole she saw only for a split second.

At a restaraunt with her spouse, she exudes love and lives in the moment. She remembers the struggle they went through after the youngest and how they will no longer have to start over. 

And yet, the wife and spouse could have loved this child like the others. They are wonderful parents. Her spouse should have been given the opportunity to know about this possibility of creation that she has permanently destroyed.

At night while she sleeps, she dreams of peace and happiness. There are no nightmares fueled by stress. Her choice is hers and she is confident with the decision. She understands she chose her life first. She is needed here. She is loved here. She still exists here. She is not done here.

And yet, the survivor guilts herself into believing that she will never forgive herself. That the pain of this will grow over time and she will regret her decision. A decision that she hides because she lives in fear of others knowing. If others know, they will look down on her and disown her and not be so understanding because mental health isn’t a concept her old school family and friends can understand. She is trapped like a caged bird who can no longer sing. Once a holder of no secrets, she is closed tight and left to go on by herself. 

Where is the peace? Where is the sign that this was the right decision? Where are those who marched in the streets? Where are those who voted for choice? Where are those whose voices spoke for those who cannot? 

She feels invalidated, discouraged, unworthy of the support that exists out there, yet she can not find it in her hometown. She wonders how she will move on after this week of her red reminder. 

A reminder of what could have been. A reminder of what should not have been. A reminder that things are fine the way they are now. A reminder that room could have been made. A reminder that there is enough love to give. A reminder that energy is not as expendable as love. A reminder that her relationship could have faltered with another. A reminder that her relationship could waiver if she told. A reminder that she is not alone. A reminder that she could feel so much worse. A reminder that her life is important, too. A reminder that any life can be just as important.

And yet, she feels nothing. For now.