My appointment was 8am on a Friday morning. I showered and made sure to wear something in “2 pieces” as was instructed. I was starving, partially due to the fact that you aren’t supposed to eat or drink anything 6 hours before, and also due to the fact that I had to eat in order for me not throw up – as is what usually comes with morning sickness.
Having some time to kill I decided to google “feelings after an abortion”. Most of what came up were Christian websites with women posting awful feelings, and how they only felt right years later after coming to know “God”. Others felt regret, agony, shame, and about 95% ended with the words, “I will always wonder what it would have been like…” I could almost hear them crying through my computer screen – and I cried. I felt none of those feelings yet, what I did feel was fear. Fear of feeling all of those feelings, and pain mostly.
Walking into Planned Parenthood can be a scary experience even if you aren’t there for anything major. About half the time, (more so on weekends), there are protesters there. They hold up giant pictures of dead fetuses, get on their knees and pray, and hand out flyers. I was lucky not to run into any of this at 8am that Friday morning. It would have been the last thing I needed.
When you walk in, you have to put all your stuff on a counter for the security guard to look through, and you have to walk through a metal detector. The lady at the desk asks for your ID and if you have an appointment, then gives you a sort of “hall-pass”, and instructs you to go to the second floor and the second window for me specifically. I took the stairs, and they virtually lead right into the waiting area where in front of me sat about 20 women between the ages of 15-30. Some had kids, some had boyfriends, and some were just alone. I walked to the second window - which is the “Surgical Services” window, showed them my pass and sat down.
This is where all the waiting begins.
Waiting is probably in the top list of “worst things” at Planned Parenthood. All these women sitting around you, some clean, some not so clean, some sleeping on their boyfriends shoulder, some crying, some talking loudly on the phone or to their children. I tried not to look around very much, and mostly focused on The Colbert Report, until they called my name.
A rather large black lady took me to a room and sat me down in a weird chair that looked like one at a dentist’s office. She informed me that she was going to prick my finger so she could run some blood tests. They determine whether or not I’m allergic to certain things, and it’s also another way to determine if you’re pregnant or not. I was scared already. I didn’t want to feel pain right then, even if it was a tiny prick. I told her that I had seen my grandfather do it a million times before when he takes his diabetes tests, and she laughed and told me it would be no problem. She swabbed my finger with alcohol, and pricked me. It hurt for about a split second, then worse when she had to squeeze it to fill an entire tube of my blood. I then had to pee in a cup, which was somewhat difficult since I was so thirsty and hadn’t had anything to drink since the night before. She told me I could go back in the waiting area, or sit on a bench right outside the door I was already at. I took the bench. Going back into the waiting area was the last thing I wanted. It took about 30 minutes for them to come get me again, and it was now ultrasound time. This was my second ultrasound in 2 weeks – they don’t bother me, what I really hate is how cold it is in the offices all the time, and having to be half-naked from the waist down is awful. This was also a vaginal ultrasound, and the lube is ALWAYS cold. When this was over, the nurse instructed me to wait again and that my next step would be counseling. After another 30 minutes, they called me in. The counselor sat me down in a chair and was very straightforward the whole time. I’m sure everything she asked was required, because she did it with no emotion whatsoever.
“Now you understand that taking these pills will cause an abortion and this is the decision you’ve decided to make?”
She had such a monotone voice, no sympathy, not even in her face.
I had to sign a bunch of paperwork about the dangers of an abortion. I even remember one part of it saying that if something were to happen to me during this that the father could be considered responsible or something like that. I didn’t ask questions I just signed everything I needed to. She then told me that then next step was a pelvic exam. This is when I began asking questions.
“Uh, I’m sorry, a pelvic exam?”
“Yes, Dr. Rosen will perform it and a female nurse will be in the room with you.”
So pelvic means butt, or butt bone, or something like that. And this is what I thought when I was waiting again; that he was going to stick something up my butt. I was freaking out. Silently, of course. I walked into the room and was again instructed to strip from the waist down. I wrapped a small sheet around me, got situated on the bed, and Dr. Rosen came in with a female nurse and introduced himself. He threw on some latex gloves, some cold lube, and stuck two fingers up what was NOT my butt. He sort of pressed around my stomach, and it lasted about 10 seconds. He said he was just feeling around my uterus to feel the pregnancy or something. I was just grateful that a pelvic exam was not what I thought it was going to be.
Again, more waiting. When my name was called again, I was led to a room in the back of the hallway known as the “Recovery Room”. It’s a little weird for a recovery room. There aren’t any beds; instead they have these really comfortable leather recliners. I mean, they are comfortable, and they recline to about the length of a twin-sized bed. These are probably the only good things about this room. In the far corner, there were 4 of these recliners with women lying on them. Curtains were drawn around each one, and I could only see their feet hanging out. They were all shaking, crying, and moaning. I wanted to walk up to one and hold her hand and ask her how she was feeling, and if there was anything I could do. It was so awful to sit there and hear all of it.
After a while a nurse came up to me with a brown paper bag. It’s literally an abortion kit to go. They give you a large package of Ibuprofen, a bottle of antibiotics, a bottle of the rest of the abortion pills, several papers, including a COMIC of the exact instructions for taking the pills and how you will feel, and prescriptions for anti-nausea meds. She then handed me the first pill, and a cup of water, and walked away.
I stared at the pill for a minute. Over the week, and from what the nurse told me, the first pill blocks the hormone needed to maintain the pregnancy. I had watched a video of a girl about my age going to Planned Parenthood, and when she came to the step I was at, she stared at the pill for a long time and sighed. I thought about her doing that, and the way I was looking at the pill, and then I swallowed it.
I had some cramping, and was instructed to lie for a while before I paid and left. Throughout the day the cramps got worse then eased. But nothing whatsoever was even close to what I would experience my second day.
The comic book instructions indicate that on the second day after taking the rest of the pills you will experience the following: cramps, heavy bleeding, nausea, vomiting, headache, and death. Just kidding about the last one. The first pill you have to take is the anti-biotic, then 30 minutes later, you take the anti-nausea medication, then 30 minutes after that you put the rest of the 4 abortion pills in your mouth. 2 on each cheek, and hold them there for 30 minutes. After 30 minutes, you swallow whatever hasn’t dissolved with a glass of water. These pills are gross. They are bitter tasting, and having them dissolve in my mouth was awful. By the end of the 30 minutes, I felt sick, and when I swallowed the rest of them with a glass of water, I got worse. Literally about 2 minutes after I swallowed the rest of them I immediately rushed to the bathroom and threw up. I could see some of the pills in it, and the entire glass of water. I called Planned Parenthood and asked to speak to a nurse, and explained what happened. She said since they had sat against my cheeks that I SHOULD be fine, but she sounded so unsure. I just kept telling myself, “I’m sure a million girls threw up afterwards, how could they not?” She instructed me to call her on Monday and let her know my symptoms, and that if I didn’t experience much bleeding over the next few days that there was a problem.
After I got off the phone with her I fell asleep for about an hour, and when I woke up, I was in the worst pain of my life.
The goal of those tiny 4 pills is to cause your uterus to have contractions, and expel the pregnancy. ACTUAL contractions. It felt like someone was stabbing me in the stomach over and over again. And at that moment, I really did want someone to do that. I managed to get myself to the bathroom, and that’s when I started to bleed. You are supposed to pass a bunch of clots, some big some small. I passed a total of 3, and assumed that after all that pain, that I had miscarried. When I stood up I felt dizzy. I grabbed the door to balance myself, and my vision began to blur and go black around the tips of my eyes. I began to freak out, thinking something was seriously wrong and that I would have to go to the hospital and tell my parents and everything was just all down hill from there. I got to my room, and literally fell on my bed. I had broken out into a cold sweat, but by 5 minutes, the dizziness and sweat had subsided, and I passed out again.
I woke up and the pain eased. The instructions actually tell you to take 4 ibuprofen. I had never taken that much in my life, but I did then.
The next day I was only spotting, and on Monday when I called Planned Parenthood back and spoke with the nurse, I knew something was wrong.
“You’re only spotting?”
Since my follow up appointment was the next morning, she told me to just wait until then. The follow up appointment was nowhere near the hassle or wait of the first appointment. About 20 minutes of wait time, and they immediately got me in for another vaginal ultra-sound. I couldn’t see the ultra-sound screen, but I could see the pictures it printed out, and I could hear something coming from it this time. I immediately sat up and asked the nurse what it looked like, she told me the physician would have to review them and told me to get dressed. He came in and faced me with a folder in his hands and said, “Ms. Wilkerson, I don’t know how to explain this any other way, but you are still pregnant.” He explained that since I had thrown up some of the medication, it most likely caused the procedure to not work as it should have. At this point, I was pretty much freaking out. I KNEW what the next step was, and that was surgery. ACTUAL surgery. The vacuum surgery. I asked him what the sound I heard coming from the ultra-sound was, and he said it was the heartbeat. I began to cry.
He went on to explain that although the child was still living, there was an extreme possibility of deformity, and that surgery was my best option. My appointment was set up for the following Monday.
This time my mother came with me, and never let go of my hand. I went through virtually the same procedure as I did the first time, but this time when I had the ultrasound, things were different. I couldn’t hear a heartbeat anymore, and when the physician came to me this time, he explained to me that I had miscarried over the week, and that surgery was still necessary to finish the procedure. I was numb.
I wanted everything to be over. I was tired of coming to Planned Parenthood, and reliving that first day. I wanted it all to end.
When it was over, they wheeled me into the recovery room, and I lay just like those 4 women I saw on the first day, with my feet hanging out, and shaking all over.
I was sore over the next few days, and felt miserable not just about that situation, but about everything else going on in my life too. I sat down and opened up a google webpage, this time I googled “ways to commit suicide.”
I prayed. I got on my knees and said, “God, take my life, or please show me your will. I do not want to live any longer.” Everyday after that, I began to pray for God to remove me of that pain, and from all the insanity going on in my life at the time.
Today I don’t feel like any of those women I read about on that first day. I don’t think about what it would have been, and I don’t think about it everyday like they do, or like other people I have met.
All of my friends at the time kept saying, “I’m so sorry Amber.” All I could say was, “It happened, and that’s it.” I just needed support. Support to keep myself going.
I still have an ultrasound photo that I keep in a journal. I haven’t looked at in a very long time, and don’t really plan on it. I hardly talk or think about it now, and sometimes almost forget that it happened.
But it did.
