When I was nineteen years old, in October of 2005, I found myself in deep, passionate love with my twenty-one year old boyfriend of one year. We had just celebrated our one year anniversary and I thought he was the one. Six months earlier I had suffered a miscarriage and was devastated by the loss, and he was there for me through it all to comfort me. I thought if we could get through that so young, we could get through anything.
About three weeks after our one year celebration on October 30, I found myself feeling a little different. My breasts were swollen, my tummy was queasy, and I could not stop running to the bathroom. All of this was too familiar since I had been pregnant six months before, and I realized I was having the same symptoms. So without telling anyone I headed to Walgreen’s to buy a home pregnancy test. I took it right as I was on my way out the door for college classes and it read negative. I thought, “Phew! That is a relief!” Or was it? I had a gut feeling something was not right. So when I got home from school I decided to take the second test. This time it seemed to take forever to get the results. Finally it read positive. Naturally I had to go back to the store to get two more different tests to make sure, and of course they too read pregnant.
At this point I was nervous and unsure of what to do because I was so young and I had all my dreams and goals at the tips of my fingers. I had a great dance career and was planning to move to New York City for a Broadway dance internship. I also was casted to star in an independent film in Omaha, my hometown. The film was about a teen who becomes pregnant and gives her child up for adoption. Then years later, when the adoptive parents die of cancer, the mom fights for custody of her daughter back. So I had all these things lined up, but really didn’t seem to care because I was excited about being pregnant again and figured I'd have my supportive boyfriend to go through it with. However, this was not the case. When I broke the good news to him this second time he just gave me a blank, unemotional stare, then began to cry, tears streaming down his face. He was saying how are lives were over. Then he asked me if I was even sure I was really pregnant, and I said, “Well, if you don’t believe, me let's go to Planned Parenthood and get a test.” So we did and of course I was pregnant. The lady who worked there and did the test said, “So have you decided if you're going to keep it yet?” I didn't know how to respond to that thought. It hadn't even crossed my mind. I just threw out the first thing that came to mind. "We haven't decided yet," which was ridiculous because I didn't agree or believe in abortion. Then she handed me two pamphlets, one about abortion and the other about adoption. We left.
I was having severe pain in my left side so they told me I should seek medical help from my gynecologist to make sure it was not an ectopic pregnancy. During the ultrasound I was anxious to see my baby inside, but it was too early on in the pregnancy to see anything except a little dot which they explained was the egg sac. It was not ectopic. Then we returned home and opened up the abortion and adoption pamphlets. For some reason we both thought adoption would be worse than abortion because we'd always have the feeling of knowing we had a child but never being able to be a part of its life, growing and learning. It could destroy a person. But I told my boyfriend how I thought abortion was just as bad because it was murder and he vaguely agreed. My mom then called and said she needed to talk and I knew she had somehow found out about the pregnancy. Maybe the empty pregnancy box in the trash or something else tipped her off. When I got home she and my dad had a medical bill from the ultrasound that read first trimester. So I told them it was true and I got the same blank, disappointed look that I got from my boyfriend. Then my mom said, “Just get an abortion and go live your dreams in New York.” I was shocked because my mom was very religious and I couldn’t believe she just spit those words out in such a semi-sarcastic way. Why was no one happy or excited about the new life living inside of me? After all, it was just as much their DNA as it was mine. However, none of them seemed to feel the way I felt, which made me second guess my own opinions.
I began journaling to get my real thoughts out where no one could judge me or tell me I was wrong. Weeks went by and my mom seemed to see how hard this was on me and decided to change her statements. She decided she would back me one-hundred percent no matter what I chose. Then she threw out random ideas about how she and my dad would raise the baby while I went to New York or filmed my movie, if I wanted, or how my boyfriend and I could live there until we could afford our own place. This was all nice but it was already too late. The first reaction she gave me was and will forever be instilled in my brain, and I was angry and bitter about it. So I did everything I could to ignore her and block her words out, even if she was supportive now.
As the days passed it seemed like the talk of the baby disappeared. Everyone seemed to want to just pretend it didn't exist and ignore this precious life growing inside. Except for me, of course, who was going through morning sickness and anxiety. I felt more alone than I had ever in my life even though I had people around me. I felt like I had no one I could turn to for help or advice. The only words I ever heard were, “If you’re going to have an abortion you better hurry up and do it. Otherwise it'll be too hard on you. The sooner the better. The earlier on it's done makes it easier, blah blah blah.”
So I went ahead and scheduled my abortion for Friday, December 16, 2005 at an Omaha clinic my gynecologist recommended. The morning came and I just felt sad and confused, kind of like I was in a fog.