My first "lover" (I use the term bitterly) was 27; I was 17. He was such a
wonderful guy that he was concurrently sleeping with my best friend (even the
night I lost my virginity to him). I was young, a victim of childhood sexual
abuse (untreated). I had no self esteem, was lonely, and craved affection and
nurturing. I had never even been on a date all through High School. He was
demanding and emotionally abusive and I once again became the victim.
I had been on "the pill" for a few years to treat a menstrual disorder, so I
considered myself "safe." My girlfriend, on the other hand, rarely used any form
of birth control. I wasn't completely surprised when she had fears that she'd
become pregnant. What did unnerve me, however, was that I, too, had missed my
period. There had been one time, about mid-cycle, when I hadn't taken my
"pill" at its usual 9:00 PM time - I'd waited till the following morning some 12
hours later. That was the closest I'd ever come to missing a pill.
At some four weeks after that "late pill," my girlfriend and I decided we'd
better have a pregnancy test at the local "family planning" clinic (AKA Abortion
Broker). This was in the 70's - when you couldn't get instant results. You had
to leave a urine sample and come back later. So we went. We left our samples. We
bought cheeseburgers and milkshakes and talked. What would we do? The thought of
being possibly pregnant secretly thrilled me. I felt "grown up," as though I'd
affirmed my potential as a woman.
The "lover" was adamant. It was abortion or loose him. The pressure was
indescribable. I had consuming fears of telling my parents. I was weak and
afraid. I'd always been the "good" girl, the apple of my father's eye. He'd had
a serious heart attack only a few short years before. I felt sure I would be
responsible for another one. . . one that might kill him. To complicate matters
further, I had experienced a rash about two weeks into my "pregnancy" - it was
not known whether I'd had German Measles.
I was frightened, confused. I sought counsel - after much fear and
trepidation - from one of the religious brothers at my high school. He
pressured me to have an abortion! My God - if only ONE person would have
taken my hand, talked to me, told me there was a way out . . . just one. It's
years later, as I write this now, and I have tears in my eyes. Sixteen years and
it hurts more now than it did then.
We went in for the results and "counseling." They called my girlfriend first.
She was in there for about 10 minutes with the "counselor" when they called me
in. I saw her there, with a Kleenex, crying, and I knew she was pregnant. I
wasn't even worried about myself - I couldn't really believe I could really
have become pregnant - after being three years solid on the pill, only 12 hours
late, and I'd even had a "period" the few days before. The "counselor" handed
the box of Kleenex to me and said "Well, then, when will we schedule the
procedure?" No "You're pregnant"; No "Let's discuss the options." Just "When
will we schedule the procedure?" I was told that, since I was under 18, I
wouldn't have to pay for the "procedure." Welfare would pay. We would have to
apply to the DPSS and fill papers. My parents need never know. They would "take
care of everything." Liars. Damn them.
A few years later, the clinic was closed down for fraud. It seems that a
group of nursing students had gone in and posed as "pregnant's". The urine
samples were from the male students. They were given positive test
results and pushed into having "abortions."
I will never know the truth. My sin was committed. But I will never know for
sure if a baby died because of my sin. It is a hell that will haunt me to the
end of my days.
By the way. . . the religious brother later called me a murderer.
Quick, numbing, painful, cold . . . all overseen by an attractive, pep-talky
young "den-mother" type who gave us lots of strokes and praised us for doing the
"right" thing. She also patted our hands as we wept and told us that it was all
over - and that we shouldn't cry. I left there feeling as though I owed the
woman a shot at the Nobel prize.
As I have said, it has been an experience from which I will never recover. I
have hated myself so much that I have gained 150 pounds since that day. My fat
is a wall, I know. I've been sexually promiscuous to the point of degradation. I
can't accept a loving relationship from any decent man. (The "lover," by the
way, found another reason to drop me anyway.)
I have tried therapy - the therapist was anti-life so it did not help. I've
tried prayer - I made my confession ten years later. That did help, although my
inability to accept God's forgiveness (should I say unwillingness? I don't know)
has made for a constant struggle in my life.
It has killed the life and the innocence within me. I have never completely
trusted any man (or my own feelings) again or since. I still feel tremendous
loss, pain, and remorse. I am bitter, though I know that if it ever happened to
me again or to anyone I love, I would fight to my last breath to save that poor
and innocent angel. No more abortions. No more killing!
Talking about this has been more painful to me than you will ever know. . .
but I'm doing it - re-living this pain - in the hope that if I do, one
person could be saved. . . at least I would be saved, really. . .the innocent
baby and the confused, hurting mother. God bless you.
