One day after reading the draft report from Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito to overturn Rowe Wade, I felt like I was marching to the Montana State Capitol in support of reproductive rights. I came to listen to join others who were also angry, shocked and scared. I expect a consolation, the one that comes from solidarity with others.
I didn’t expect to see my vote that day. I will not reveal the details of my past that I thought I always kept secret.
There was a small brass band at the rally. Some brought signs. Progressive lawmakers in the state of Montana have made a common call and response: “When do we want reproductive freedom? now that! “I saw a woman dressed as a waitress, second as the late Judge Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I hung behind the men, women and children in the semicircle and listened to the conversations.
Earlier, two women talked about the need for abortion. Each of them had complications and then had to fight possible prosecution. They felt ashamed and afraid. One of them was afraid to admit she had an abortion so doctors in the ambulance ward removed the appendix. The local Pride event organizer in our small town invited us to participate in the upcoming election today.
There is a lack of these powerful narratives of trauma and forced shame, narratives that are now a reality in states like Texas – and that could be the future for every American woman and man with a uterus.
I don’t remember me going in front of people.
I face several hundred people. “My name is Rebecca,” I shouted at the bull’s horn. And the words flowed from me.
The story of my abortion is not painful. Lacks drama. I have no scars on him, physical or emotional.
I am 20 years pregnant. I have no plan. I was in college, in a semi-serious relationship with someone I loved but I knew, I knew deeply that he wasn’t going to be my life partner. We went to Castro to dance, very drunk, we talked all night about postmodern poetry and philosophy. None of us are ready for a baby, nor do we want to.
We made a stupid mistake. We were 20 and in a hurry after dancing to techno and swimming in Rome and Coke. We’re usually enthusiastic about condoms, but as my high school sex teacher repeats every week throughout the semester, “You need it once.”
I didn’t do this until my period wasn’t usually late. I went to the nearest pharmacy and bought a test. I went straight to the back bathroom and was stunned and tired all over the place. I still held the stick and deliberately didn’t look back until five minutes had passed. The instructions say you should look carefully for even the weakest pink line. Nothing faded in that disgusting pink line that shone on me.
“I was angry with myself for being negligent. I don’t want to face. “But I haven’t had a baby yet.”
I was angry with myself for being negligent. I don’t want to face. But I never thought of having a baby. When I told my girlfriend that night, she stopped, looked at her hands and said rightly, “I’m here to support you, whatever you decide.” I told her I would call the abortion clinic the next day – I did. He caught me that night. We are sad to be in this position, but our hearts and minds are clear.
We barely earn rent and eat enough calories. Each of us has at least a year before going to school, just to get a degree. After that we were both planning to graduate from school. We loved each other, but we never talked about the future-what might happen after the hire, after this semester.
I made an appointment at a local clinic over the weekend. I asked my boyfriend to come over to me. I want to shake hands early and I have to go home.
We didn’t have to go through the baton of protesters who opposed the election. I paid a waiting room fee. Women of all ages sat on faded but comfortable sofas and chairs. The females are black, brown and white. Some have small children.
The staff and nurses are kind and efficient. They called me to explain what was going to happen. They did not have to utter state -taught speech and warned me that I might regret this abortion. I have never heard any lies about the increased risk of breast cancer or future pregnancy problems. I no longer need to have a transvaginal ultrasound. No one spoke about my “baby” and did not look up the fetal heart rate status.
The staff asked me if I was sure this was what I wanted to do. I am. Passed procedure: speculum, manual test, cannula insertion. I can hear the sound of the apparatus removing the contents of the uterus. I felt pressure and tightness, but hopefully I wouldn’t feel the pain of menstrual cramps. If it hurts, they say, I have to say. They told me what could go wrong, from the risk of infection to bleeding. I signed the consent form.
I came back alone when I was called. My girlfriend offered me to come with me, but she was mine. When the middle-aged doctor greeted me, I had been naked for years, covered from top to bottom. He seemed polite and re -explained what was going to happen. He put my feet in the mess. The abortion has already begun. One of the nurses shook my hand. Another helped the doctor and told me what to expect next. “Everything went well,” the doctor said. He put a hand on her shoulder. I slowly got dressed and headed to the “recovery point”.
I joined the other women in the crowded bed. We have hot water bottles to help with the kidnapping. Another nurse checked my blood pressure several times. I have a sheet that lists normal signs and symptoms. They gave me a number, if I needed anything they called me. I had heavy menstruation for a few days, usually with slightly worse seizures than menstruation. I dropped two ibuprofen.
I went back to class the next day and went back to work the next day. I didn’t feel the change. I’m not sad. I was actually excited, the chest immediately returned to normal, I was excited about the return of my own body. I never dreamed of babies crying. It looks like another minor medical procedure.
Fourteen years later my husband and I accepted our son into the world. (My ex-girlfriend, on the other hand, has two beautiful children with her husband.) When I was pregnant with my child, I was in a stable relationship. My husband and I can support our child – emotionally, financially, logistically. We are ready – more than we are ready. We were so happy when he was born.
What happens if I give up this routine care? What if doctors force me to read scripts that fill me with doubts that aren’t mine? What if the abortion process itself is traumatic (transvaginal ultrasound for no reason)? What if I happen to run into a “crisis pregnancy center” and tell a lot of lies? What if he told me about abortion? Or what if the fanatics of this religion inspire such guilt that has haunted me for years? What if you needed an abortion now, not 30 years ago, after a six -week break in Texas or Mississippi?
“Women and men are missing the simple experience I had 30 years ago. I made a personal decision with the doctor. I was able to get out of a regular medical meeting unscathed. I graduated from college, started my career and met the love of my life ”.
I did not consider all these details when I spoke to the people gathered at the demonstration. I focus on what matters most to me. Women and men in the womb are missing the simple experience I had 30 years ago. I made a personal decision with the doctor. I was able to get out of a regular medical meeting unscathed. I graduated college, started a career and met the one I love in life.
One in four American women over the age of 45 will have an abortion. They use this medical procedure for a variety of reasons. They deserve everything I have experienced: safe, regular medical care. They deserve to move on with their lives. It’s something women are missing, or have been missing in so many states, even before Alito casually told American women how easy it is to have a baby these days. Firefighters seem to be waiting for unwanted children. What else do we need?
We often hear painful stories of why abortion is necessary. In women who discovered in the last pregnancy that their babies were severely disabled and needed a late abortion. About women whose abortions took place before Rose. These are the stories we need to hear.
But for women like me it’s less important to speak out loud. We did not suffer; We were not traumatized. We are women who have chosen for ourselves what is right in our lives. Other women may make different choices.
When I finished speaking at the gathering, I began to tremble strangely when your nerves could not keep up with the truth. I hugged him and thanked him for my story.
Abortion is a personal decision. A woman should do this in consultation with her doctor. This is not a shameful decision. I always thought of letting me have an abortion. But now I feel the time has come to clarify what is missing in every American woman. I refused to be embarrassed. I’m grateful. And I fear the future.
Rebecca Stanfell is a freelance writer. Lives in Helena, Montana.
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