one word: tired

Even though D. and I almost never talk about the abortion (and the weeks before and after, when we weren’t communicating that often), I feel like it’s become a metaphor for all of our problems. All the things that happened when he found I was pregnant — disconnection, abandonment, anger, blaming, guilt-trips — crop up in smaller forms in other disagreements, and I am nearly at my breaking point. I tell myself, I should have been able to get pregnant and have an abortion (that we chose together) without my boyfriend abandoning me. And today — after a disagreement — I find myself saying, I should be able to be disappointed and angry at something he did without him refusing to talk to me. Am I in a relationship or am I in a power struggle to see how quickly my spirit can be beaten down?

a healing choice

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.

4w3d

It’s been more than a day since I’ve seen or talked with D., who told me Friday evening that he needs “a break” until Monday. I don’t understand the idea of stealing away to lick your wounds when it means leaving a fellow wounded person behind alone. He always comes back after a hiatus, but the fact that he takes them when I need him the most is beginning to make me numb.

A few days ago, I e-mailed my friend M., who has some experience with herbal abortions, to get advice on what I should do. Her advice was fairly simple, including not only “natural” abortion methods, but also suggestions on how to cleanse my body and mind:

First I’d suggest taking a long hot bath by candlelight. Shower first to get all clean; exfoliate, scrub, cut your nails, get off any old junk. Then fill a tub with hot water and a generous handful of sea salt. The salt will extract toxins from your skin, rebalance the salinity of your cells, and neutralize the out of whack vibrations you’ve picked up or created in the past few days/weeks. Basically it sets you back to zero – clears your system and spirit. Don’t think about anything during the bath, but before hand, as you slip under the water (til just your face is out), drop the question into your head of what you really want to do. Don’t try to answer it – just soak with it and let something rise to the surface. Usually by the time you get out the answer is peacefully clear to you. Sometimes you go to sleep and either dream the answer, or wake up knowing it. That’s the first thing I recommend, to get right with yourself, balanced and be sure.

If you decide that this is not the time for you to have a child, what you do will depend on how far along you are. If it’s only a few weeks, one of these two should be very effective:

1) 6000 mg of vitamin C a day for several days. Get the tablets and just mega dose for several days, until you’re sure everything has passed.

or

2) Very strong ginger tea 8-10 times a day for several days. Slice up some fresh ginger, put it in a mug with boiled water, let it steep at least 15 minutes. Drink it when it cools a little; add honey and or lemon if you want. It should be strong enough to be good and spicy. Keep at it until you’re sure all is done.

Perhaps I’m too brainwashed by Western medicine, but the herbal methods scare me a little bit, and so I’ve avoided trying them. For same reason I want to avoid a medical abortion, I can’t see myself dosing and then sitting around and waiting for my body to respond. It isn’t that a surgical abortion is much more appealing, especially given that my doctor’s family planning clinic doesn’t offer any anesthesia, but when I’m already struggling with feeling alone and abandoned, I’m not going to put myself in a situation where I will randomly and spontaneously abort. No, I need predictability and order and a plan.

Nonetheless, I did take the first part of M.’s advice last night. I took a nice long shower, scrubbing everything until I couldn’t scrub any more. Afterward, I relaxed and watched some television, ordered a soy cheese pizza, and forced myself to eat, since I’ve had no appetite since Wednesday. And right before bed, I drew a bath with a generous helping of lavender sea salt, where I soaked for quite some time. For an unknown reason, I took the last pregnancy test I had in the house before I climbed into the tub. Of course, I’m still pregnant.

The answer didn’t float to the surface. I went to bed, hoping I’d dream something significant. Instead, I woke to the sound of the “L” at 7am, the alarm clock at 9am, my cell phone at 9:15am. I am now awake, lucid but lacking clarity, alert without any more answers than when I climbed into the tub last night.

4w2d

I don’t know how I can do this. It’s the right thing to do, the only thing that can be done, but at this point I can’t figure out how I will have the strength. If I had money, or energy, or fewer existing medical problems, it would all be so much easier. But I don’t have any of those things, and neither D. nor I are ready for this. Does that make me immoral? A coward? Emotionally weak? I don’t know. Right now, I just want a hug.