stupid me, I pushed the door open at last and staggered inside. A dozen people looked up at me as I walked in, making me feel unaccountably ashamed to even be there. But I quickly noticed most of them were young girls like me. I was appalled to see that two of the girls had an older woman with them--who apparently was their mother! These girls were probably under 18, and needed a parent's consent. The idea of my mother ever coming with me into a place like this was unthinkable. What mother would do such a thing? Most of the girls had dead eyes, which is probably how my eyes looked too. It was plain none of us wanted to be here, or to be faced with what we were faced with. Yet the truth was, every one of us had made choices with our boyfriends that put us here--choices that could have been made differently. We weren't here by accident.
"Can I help you?" asked the receptionist as I came up to the front desk.
"I ... I ..." I stammered, my voice cracking. I tried again, in a whisper so as not to be heard even though everyone knew why I had come. "I need to have a ..."
"Certainly," said the receptionist, mercifully cutting me off. Apparently she had witnessed this scene many times before. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked. I confirmed that I did. She did some quick checking, then said, "You're in luck. You can go straight in. You just need to have a simple test to verify the pregnancy, and to determine the gestational age. I'll have you fill out your forms once you come out."
I walked like a zombie through the door she pointed out. The test was quickly performed by a guy named Doctor Peterson, and confirmed my pregnancy as I knew it would. Dr. Peterson seemed nice enough, and said he would likely be the one to perform the abortion.
When I came back out the receptionist handed me a clipboard. "Here are some forms to fill out," she said. "Please make sure to fill out the medical release on page two. And please read this notice, regarding abortions under Pennsylvania law. By law you're required to receive counseling from a physician 24 hours before the procedure is performed."
"Really?" I said, letting out a huge breath of relief. That could be my excuse! The counseling would probably cost extra money for Bob and take extra time, and naturally it would be too much of an imposition ...
"The counseling can be provided here or over the phone, and is part of our total cost," said the receptionist. "Since you already met with Doctor Peterson who usually provides the counseling, he will probably do it for you over the phone. Do you have a cell phone? Make sure you list the number on that form, and he will call you 24 hours before your appointment. Once you bring back those papers I'll take a look at our schedule and see when it can be done."
"Will it be a long time before you can do it?" I asked, almost in hope. If it would be a whole month before it could happen, that could be an escape as well.
She must have thought I wanted it done fast. "We can usually do it in two to three days," she replied with a kindly smile, making my heart sink. "Are you in a hurry?"
"No," I gushed. "I was just curious." I took the clipboard and stumbled over to a chair where I started to fill out the papers. I noticed my hands were shaking as I did so.
"Is this your first, dearie?" asked a voice suddenly. Startled, I looked up to see a middle-aged woman smiling at me from two seats over.
"Yes," I said uncertainly.
"Don't worry about it, honey," she said gently. "I've had two done here. They're very good. You don't feel a thing."
"That's not what I'm worried about," I blurted before I could stop myself.
She smiled knowingly, instantly understanding what I meant. "Don't worry about that either," she said reassuringly. "This is your right. No one can force you to stay pregnant if you don't want to be. It's your body, not anybody else's. No one will be hurt by this. No one."
No one will be hurt? What about Jonathon? Wasn't he somebody, and wouldn't he be hurt? As if the woman could read my mind (and had been talking to my friend Clarice) she said, "Don't worry about it. It's not a life yet. It's just a blob of cells, nothing more. It won't feel anything. I've had two, dearie, so I know." She suddenly blinked rapidly for some reason, making me notice that she seemed to be wearing a lot of mascara.
I shook my head dumbly, then bent to the task of filling out the forms. They were not overly complicated, and merely asked the usual questions about my health history and whether I was on any medications. One form asked my age and the date of my last period and the estimated date of conception. It also asked the best time for the physician to call me, which I naturally put during the school day rather than the evening. Imagine getting such a call at home! Obviously I would skip class at the time of the call.
I found myself shivering as I filled it out, and I'm afraid some of my responses were not very legible I wrote so fast. I suddenly had an overpowering urge just to get out of there, and especially away from the "Dearie" woman who kept looking at me. I finished the form with a flourish and took it back quickly to the receptionist. She smiled at me as she took it and asked, "Shall we schedule your procedure now?"
A procedure. That's all it was. A procedure. It was not an abortion or taking of a life. It was just a simple, common, everyday medical procedure. "Yes," I said quietly.
"How about Friday?" she asked. "Dr. Peterson will be doing them that day."
That soon? That was only three days away! I suddenly felt a bit dizzy. "I suppose," I found myself saying. She quickly typed it in, then wrote my appointment time on a card which she handed to me.
"See you Friday," she said with an encouraging smile.
I didn't respond but turned and walked like a zombie across the waiting room. The "Dearie" woman winked at me, but didn't say anything else. As I approached the door I noticed one of the girls sitting next to an older woman who looked like her mother. The girl was crying silently to herself, but her mother looked very stern. Shoving open the doors I took my leave of the accursed place, dropping my appointment card in a trash receptacle as I did so. There was no way I was going to take evidence like that home for my folks to find. I knew when my appointment time was, and didn't need a reminder.
Oh, how I hate this journal! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! Why do I have to write how Jonathon was taken from me? Just to please my idiotic therapist? I won't do it! I refuse! Nothing can make me describe what happened at the end of those three days!
And yet here I am, describing it. I was a zombie. For the next three days I walked around in a cloud as if I wasn't really alive. People talked to me and I did things and tried to act normal, but everything felt foggy and distant. It was as if I was looking at myself from far away as I went through the motions of everyday life.
I was in the same cloud when the call from Doctor Peterson came through the day before the appointment. It came during lunch hour fortunately. I quickly grabbed Clarice and we headed out of the school lunch room and away from the school so no one would overhear.
Doctor Peterson spoke to me in a very kind voice and asked me lots of questions, wanting to make sure I wanted to do this, and that I understood I didn't have to do it, and that having the baby and giving it up for adoption was a very good option. There were, after all, many anxious parents who were dying to adopt.
But Bob had been on the warpath with me again the night before about how none of this could become known, and had dulled my mind so much that all I did was answer the doctor's questions like a robot. Yes, I knew what I was doing. No, I did not want to let the baby be born and offer it for adoption. Yes, I was aware that abortion could have an emotional impact upon me. No, I did not think it would be something too difficult for me to deal with. Yes, I was aware of the medical risks involved. No, I did not care to review any of the printed materials provided by the state regarding abortion.
It helped a lot that Clarice was there giving me support. We were sitting under an elm tree in the park across from the school. Her face was white as a sheet as she listened to the Doctor's questions and to my d
ull answers. The reason for her pallid look wasn't just because of the trauma she saw her best friend going through. Her own pregnancy self-test had finally come back positive just that morning. She would be facing a phone call like this herself very soon.
And then the call was over. I turned to Clarice with a questioning look in my eye. "Am I doing the right thing?" I mumbled stupidly. "Somehow, this doesn't feel right."
"It IS right!" Clarice assured me emphatically. "It's what you HAVE to do. You have no choice. It'll all be over soon, and then life will get back to normal and you'll forget all about it. You'll see."
"But Jonathon--"
"Don't give it a name!" cried Clarice, holding out her hands as if to ward off a blow. "It's just a blob of cells. That's all. It's NOT a life. Keep repeating that to yourself. They're just taking a few cells out of your body that you don't want anymore."
"I don't want them?" I repeated stupidly. "I don't want Jonathon? Why don't I want him?"
"We've been through this before," said Clarice in an exasperated tone. "You know the answers." She took my hand and roughly pulled me to my feet. "Let's get back to class and put this whole thing out of our minds." She yanked me along with her and headed back toward the school. But I noticed from the pinched look on her face