5w0d

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.

4w4d

I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself, tired of worrying how I’ll cope if D. can’t give me all the support I need.While my perspective on the world remains colored by sadness and loneliness, I’ve begun to take steps to make sure I’m okay. Working on my relationship with D. is obviously necessary, and there are lots of things that need to be addressed if we are to “make it” as a couple, but I’m tired of putting so much energy into the process. Let me get through to June 5, and then I’ll worry about us. Right now, it’s too much to cope with.

And so I told a couple more friends, hoping for support, which is coming in spades. Today, C. listened to me talk for forty-five minutes or more, offered lots of empathy, and allowed me the time to work through some things out loud, figure out for myself that it isn’t that I don’t want to have another baby necessarily; it’s that I can’t have one with D., or at least not right now. If I could move to Montana or otherwise steal away from D., hide this child from him, trick him into not knowing, I’d do it in an instant. But beyond not being able to live with myself if I did any of those things, I don’t think I’m ready to wed myself (literally or figuratively) to this man for 18 years or more, when there is already so much uncertainty about our relationship.

I’ve also contacted the Chicago Women’s Health Center, which offers both crisis counseling (pre-abortion) and a post-abortion support group. I’d called to sign up for this summer’s post-abortion group, knowing in advance that I’d need it, and I suspect the counselor on the phone could tell I needed a bit something before that point. I’ll be seeing her this week, and I’m glad services like that exist. Before my last abortion — which was just after 9/11, a point in time where everything was turned upside down — I went to four “options counseling” sessions at Planned Parenthood, which was extremely helpful. I’m hoping these sessions will offer the same sort of clarity.

The main thing is that I no longer feel I can’t make it through this without D. by my side. And not only can I survive on my own, but I will if I have to. I’m not scared of that anymore. I’m also planning on going away for a couple of days over the holiday weekend with my younger son, just to get away from the city and reconnect with nature and my inner goddess, so to speak. Just me and the boy, finding our way in the world.

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.

4w1d

There is too much arguing and too much negative energy. I am tired, and not just because hormones and a growing blob of cells are sucking all of the life out of me. I have had a headache since Tuesday, since before three tests confirmed I am pregnant. I have had cramps since the tests came positive. I have been crying too much at too many things. Most of all, though, I am scared.

Tonight was the first time we’d touched each other since. We were both apprehensive, each thinking the other never wanted to touch us again. When D. kissed me, he said it felt like the first time, and I believe he might have been right. We had changed since the last time. We’d become the sort of people who had to make tough decisions amid anger and tears and across great distances, in spirit if not in fact. We’d been the exception to the statistical probability, the one- to two-percent failure rate “with perfect use” that doctors warned about. And also: we’d become the couple who, three months into dating and falling in love and dreaming of years in the future, made an appointment to have an abortion.

4w0d

I almost didn’t make it onto the bus today. And I had to make it onto the bus, the #11 Lincoln Avenue that would take me to the #8 Halsted, which would take me to my doctor’s office. After a morning of fitful chatting online with D., I almost couldn’t take the loneliness anymore. I huddled on my couch and cried until I had the sense to contact V., who I knew would talk me down from my hysterical ledge. I cleaned myself up, engaged in a sufficient amount of numbing repression, and began my journey. Along the way, I decided that if D. didn’t hug me within two minutes of seeing me, I would either spontaneously combust from inner sadness or break up with him.

I’m glad I was numb, walking to the bus stop through Lincoln Square, the proving grounds of our relationship: The theatre in which we saw our first movie together, the coffee house where we’d eaten waffles a half-dozen times, the indie record store where the clerk knows both our names. This is MY ‘hood, though, one he could just easily abandon as an old pair of socks or jeans that no longer fit. I couldn’t escape, and any way I turned, I saw his face, felt his arm around me, could even smell the scent of his neck as I leaned in for a deep embrace.

The bus ride was interminable. He’d be waiting for me at the end, standing outside of Jamba Juice, probably texting me because I was running a few minutes late, because of all the crying. Men on the bus ranted about governments and revolutions and the injustice of CTA bus drivers over- or undershooting bus stops all across the city, and the only thing I could think was “Baby. Pregnant. Fuck.” On the Halsted bus, out the window: fancy shops, upscale chain stores, gaunt women wearing $500 shoes carrying shopping bags, Latina nannies pushing Anglo babies in $1,000 strollers while talking on cell phones. It was all in stark contrast with my thoughts: I was a bruised and damaged woman, pregnant and alone, facing the prospect of an abortion, years after I swore I’d never go through that again. And the man who was at the end of that bus line, the man with whom I’d fallen in love despite myself, the man from whom I needed the most support… well, he was the last person on Earth able to do much of anything other than wait just under two minutes to give me a hug when I finally arrived.

3w6d

It all began as a passing thought last week in the shower, thinking that there was an awful lot of hair going down the drain, something that happens only when I’m pregnant. Or perhaps it began with noticing how often I had to pee. Or when I realized I was a day late (today) and took the test that would show two thin blue lines. Maybe it was the dream I had a few days ago, in which I was lactating and sprayed milk across the room while D. sat tacitly and nonchalantly watching the whole spectacle. But none of these things, really, mark the beginning. No, the start was when I told him on the phone and was met with near silence. And it had definitely begun when I told him I’d spent most of the afternoon huddled in a ball on my bathroom floor, crying, and all he did was tell me he needed time and space to think.