It’s been nearly three months since I’ve blogged here, and it isn’t that the abortion has slipped out of my mind so much as I had to let it go for a while. In the intervening time, D. has come back into my life, but just as the same issues of anger and abandonment are cropping up, and he is refusing to talk to me, I’ve signed up for a post-abortion support group at the Chicago Women’s Health Center, which starts Sept 18, and I’ve reached out for therapy at the Family Institute. I’m tired of depending solely on friends to make it through such a difficult time, and I’m beginning to fully grasp the concept of being powerless over many things.

I’ve had a headache for at least eighteen hours, a dull pressure permanently furrowed into my brow and periodically accompanied by nausea. If I didn’t have an IUD, I’d think maybe I were pregnant, but the realization that I’m not doesn’t prevent the flashbacks of when I was, the day I spent alone in the hospital because D. couldn’t or wouldn’t come to stay with me, the days after when all I could do was curl up on the couch and watch mindless television in the hope that blathering idiots would take the focus off of the churning in my stomach, the cloudy morning M. drove me to the clinic, the sunny mid-day we spent afterward that I’ll never remember because I was too far gone on Ativan.

I don’t know if I’m ready for Sept 18, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. The support group lasts three weeks and includes some grieving rituals, which I know will be helpful. What I fear is reopening old wounds, in particular the deep sadness and guilt I feel over my first two abortions, both of which were second-trimester procedures. But it helps to know I’ve found a safe space in which to expose this raw feeling, since I’m tired of wincing every time I’m in a rough spot, and something else triggers something that rubs up against them.

I am hopeful for the future. I am grateful to have come this far. I don’t know what lies ahead, but I know I will work to make my life better. And in that sense, even though I don’t know if I’m ready for next Tue, I’m just going to have to be.

Today, the magical thinking begins. I am pondering the list of reasons I don’t have to and my (perhaps delusional) optimism is worrisome. In this state of mind, there are no (good) reasons I can’t have a baby: surely the financial, emotional, and physical factors (not to mention the shaky state of my relationship with D.) are incidental, irrelevant facts, fragments of information not necessary when weighing my options.

And, of course, when I mention to D. that perhaps we need to reconsider, he doesn’t argue. What does this all mean? I wonder. I’m notorious for accepting jobs, responsibilities, projects, that I then push aside because I’ve overestimated my ability to handle them (in addition to my regular work, children, etc.). But a baby isn’t a freelance job I can drop at the last minute. How, exactly, can I think about this at all rationally? I feel as though I am working through the stages of grief in my decision-making process: Denial? Check. Anger? Check. Bargaining? Well, wouldn’t you know it…I’m right there.

I am amazed at how much positive energy has been directed my way over the last 24 hours. If yesterday I felt alone, today I feel as though I’ve jumped off of a highwire expecting to crash but have instead found myself cradled in familiar surroundings, comforted by people who love me, protected fiercely by those who most realize my vulnerability. I am still scared. I am still reeling from the jump. I am anxious about whether I’ll survive jumps to come. For now, though, I am less damaged than I’d feared I’d have to be.

I am grateful to my friends: R., who has been drawing on her own experiences to show me there is hope; M2., for offering to go with me on June 5, and for telling me she’d support me no matter what; K., for checking in to make sure I was okay; and V., for listening when she was dealing with her own problems.

And I am grateful to D., whose break this weekend brought him to realize that he hasn’t been as supportive as he should be, for looking at me with tears in his eyes, for taking my hand in his, for listening to me, for asking what I needed from him to make it through to the other side.

Thank you all.