If I had the foresight that 2020 was going to be such a sick twisted joke of a year – a year full of disappointment and heartbreak – I would have braced myself for the mental and physical impact that it would have on me.
Let me preface this post to say that I am Pro-choice (for you) and Pro-Life (for me) until life backed me into a wall. I did what I thought would keep me from ever having to make this choice. I chose to get the 12 year Paragard IUD which had a fail rate of 0.8%. Not even 1%! There was no way I would have to deal with another unplanned pregnancy or so I thought until my period was almost 2 weeks late and I began to experience pregnancy symptoms.
Probably should’ve gambled a bit more this year because boy, was I on a freakin’ roll. I was the “less than 1 in 100 people” to get pregnant with an IUD. It’s been in place for 6 years and in November unbeknownst to me, it shifted up further into my uterus rendering it useless for protection. It was nothing that I did to make it move.
After yet another prompt from my period tracker to enter the beginning of my period, I made a doctor’s appointment for a pregnancy test and my symptoms were confirmed after I asked them to “check that mess again because ain’t no way.”
For a few hours (almost a day), I thought about keeping her but between my therapy appointment and talking to the father, I quickly changed my mind. I couldn’t bear the thought of having another child whose father wouldn’t give them the love or the family that I think children need to not be left with a void only to be fixed with years of therapy. And this is the part that cut the deepest knowing that if I did have this child, I would be failing yet another one.
I’m a firm believer in that you make your bed, you lie in it but the dad isn’t. Rather than have his life fall apart and own up to the part he played in conceiving a child, it was easier to encourage me to kill the child. I knew condoms were missing from the equation (just like he did) but I relied heavily on the fact that I wasn’t that special enough to be that one who birth control would actually fail and chile was I wrong.
My therapist reminded me of how much being a single parent took a toll on my mental health and how even 6 years later, I still hadn’t come to grips with it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle another round of parenting by myself. There was no way.
5 days after confirming I was pregnant, I was scheduled to abort. I didn’t see any reason to prolong the predicament. Alone on the ride home, I silently wished that I had died right along with my fetus.