The following post is a memoir involving ethical discussion and may offend certain viewpoints on abortion. Please be forwarned of this delicate content and should you find personal altercation with issues raised you can email me personally firstname.lastname@example.org or exit site and go to a nice one with happy rose coloured glasses attached.
It is the weekend now and this part of my memoir is quite emotional, as you would understand.
I am also going through some health challenges, therefore I may take time to reply to personal emails. I assure you that I will live through this. That's what heroinegirl is all about.
Be Strong and if you don't feel it today, then pretend it tommorow.
No one can be bothered to tell the difference.
I remember the day of the abortion.
It was a sunny day and I started it with a prayer to god.
The Ex and I, prayed often. We never prayed for better heroin or perhaps more income. We prayed for better days. We prayed for forgiveness from our parents. Forgiveness from the lord and we prayed for our love. We would both crouch down on our knees , head bowed in zealous persuit of our abdication, whilst I spoke to God of things we were grateful for. Things like each other. That we hadnt gotten a disease, that we never shared needles. Prayed for his guidance. Begged for mercy and love.
Now, I'm not an avid attendee of church nor does religion play a huge role in my life. But the miracles in my life - The times the rain just stopped, the sanctified moment that my tears finally made sense and the extrinsic times I felt loved - were in those precious moments with God. Believe in whatever you need to. Believe in yourself enough to have faith in whatever leads you, whoever you feel is listening.
The night before the abortion, I had planned the course of sordid events meticulously.
My dealer was going to give The Ex and I a lift to the abortion clinic, after we had scored.
I was told that I would be too groggy to go home unattended.
I remember looking at the baby pink pamphlet my counselor had given me. I read it cover to cover. I needed a pair of socks. I had none. I needed a spare change of underwear. I had none. I needed sanitary pads, I had none of them and no spare money to get any.
I felt the tears well up. The shame. This just wasn't happening. Yet it was. The Ex just held me that night while we sobbed quietly in his arms. This was something we couldn't go through together. So we ended up getting really stoned. It was all we had.
I had no one to go to , no females particularly to console me or nuture me and I was scared. What if i was too doped up and they wouldn’t give me anesthetic? Would I hear the vacuum noise my girlfriend had described? Even worse - Would I feel it ?
Would I remember it?
To have my womanhood invaded and violated in the most irreversible way ever?
All of a sudden I wanted anyone, even The Stemother to come along with me , cuddle me and tell me it was all going to be ok. As only mother's can.
But that was never going to happen.
I had rung Stepmother to ask and she remained silent on the phone. My sobs not hardly reaching the distance we had already formed in our hearts, much further than the phoneline itself.
After a sigh on the phone, it just went dead.
That's how I felt inside as well, so it evened out.
We had not spoken for over ten months, each too proud to admit what had happened in both of our lives. We both felt we had failed each other. Maybe we had. Maybe we were just human.
I remember as I brushed my teeth that night (with my luxurious new toothbrush) I looked deep into my eyes and beyong the deep blue pinpricks I saw a fire still burning.
I slapped my face hard. One cheek then another. I was just repeating this until I saw my burning red cheeks come to fire. The spirit in my eyes was infailable. I would wake up. The girl was still there. Through my dishelvedness, I still saw my one shot of freedom, and I let her be heard. So I screamed. Loud and Proud.
I gave myself a hard look in the mirror and I acknowledged the girl staring back at me.
For now, that was the hardest thing to do.
The next day I opened the door and saw a small plastic bag. A handwritten note. I saw hearts. I saw smiley faces. I saw a pair of socks. I saw a nightie . I saw magazines , lollies. It was from the Streetkids around town . But I was not alone anymore. You never give up. Never give in to the sadness - you never know who is falling in love with your smile. I wore those socks with pride.
Out of all the girls in the clinic , I held my head high. I smiled at all the doctors. I remember waiting with The Ex in the waiting room. The clinic was modern and more like a day hospital. Nurses moved purposefully behind carefully drawn curtains. I would crane my head to perhaps see someone who had been through the process. What was I expecting I don’t know - wheelchairs ? Tears. I saw plenty of them, it was like the piped music was muted sadness, it echoed from the artifical walls and too tight smiles of the nurses.
I saw many worried mothers soothing some very young daughters. I remember parents coming to collect their dazed and confused daughters, still wearing their socks and nightgowns. Most were teary and emotional. It was not a nice waiting room.
Meanwhile, The Ex and I were very stoned and trying to fill in our forms, turns out we were very late due to our dealer falling through at the last minute. The point was I was not having an abortion straight, so we waited until I had got on to go to the appointment.
So, I signed my life away and ticked the box to go under the full anesthesia.
Drug history. Tick this box. Tick.
Sexual Health Fine -Tick .
How do you feel?
The questionnaire asks you.
Scared ?I ticked the box.
Responsible ? Tick. Sad ? - Tick
Pressured - Cross.
I think they put that in there to trick you.
"Describe one word you feel right now ?", said the paper.
I wrote in capitals - STRONG.
Never forget your own strengths. If life punches you down. GET UP. If life drags you down. GET UP. You only get one time to do your life. There is no blooper reel.
After a brief consultation with a nurse, harrassed by myself whether my combination of methadone and heroin that morning would mess with my anthesetic? It was main concern. I was told " No - I would not remember anything."
I would wake up fully dressed and then be released thirty minutes later. Sounded ok.
The nurse tugged on the crook of my arm. It was time to go. No more waiting.
I kissed Justin goodbye and went off with a rather cute doctor in the direction of the ultrasound room. Whilst I lay on the bed, the doctor smoothed on the gel and I politely asked him if I was allowed to see the baby.
I wanted to say goodbye.
It was respect thing I stated calmly.
He only looked alarmed and tilted the monitor away from me. "We don’t recommend it" he said quietly.
I remember thinking no matter how hard I wanted to be brave, this was going to hurt, in ways I hadn’t thought of. I held my own hand tight and shuffled down the hallway in my immodest cotton nightie and socks. It felt ironically like death row.
I remember feeling like a teenager; however it could not be further than the truth. I was old, so old now, and this was my walk of shame. My heart was beating like no other.
The doctor welcomed me through big plastic doors and swept towards a rather empty room. My head was giddy with anxiety and my heartbeat was barelling through my bones.
Except for a dentist chair, the room was sterile and bare, only a male doctor and a female nurse gesturing before the chairs. I felt like a guest at some horror tea party. It was enough to send me into a fit of nervous laughter. I noticed a gas tank and some sharp medical instruments. I felt giddy. However I was smiling bravely and I introduced myself to them all. No more morning sickness ! I quipped. No more granny smith apples! I was smiling bravely and I concentrated on my breathing. The nurse held my hand briefly then prepared it for the drip. The doctor told me in his soft booming voice I was the bravest girl he had seen for a long time. I started to get a bit teary , hot splashes soaking though the hospital gown. Then I remember he was telling me to smile and to count to ten. One. Two. Then it was black. Then it was over.
My eyes opened slowly. I waited to feel a searing pain between my legs. Nothing.
A huge smile spread over my face. I did it! I wasn’t dead! I felt like I was the strongest girl in the world.
What where all those girls crying for? Dear me. The nurse came over immediately, “Well done sleepyhead" and she handed me a glass of water. I shifted up in my bed and I groggily realized they had put a pad on under my underwear to stem some "light bleeding" she informed me.
There was no complications and everything went according to plan. I remember thinking how embarrassing for a second and then the nurse telling me to rest. Rest for now. Then she was gone, moved behind the curtain to another girl sobbing quietly. I remember fading lights under my eyelids and I slept soundly, for the first time in a long time. I remember as promised, thirty minutes later I was free to go
All I wanted was a hug from The Ex. But - before I did this there was something I had to do. I remember saying to the nurse that I had left one my magazines in the waiting room.
She offered to go get it, but I said I wanted to try out my "bed legs" anyway. I remember walking back into that room. I remember smiling at all the nervous girls waiting in the room. Pasty faced boyfriends, head hung low in disgrace.
"You’re all going to be fine"I spoke in calm and reassuring tones.
Don’t be scared. It’s going to be over.
“Just Look at me” I twirled, a little bit giddy still from the anesthetic but still very much alive (hehe). I remember at least two girls smiling as I left their shocked mothers mouths agape. The mothers thought I was a nutter. But I didn't do it for the mothers.
I did it for the team.
They weren’t that scared anymore. And that was worth something. That’s what it’s all about. Giving back. In these times of peril can come great triumph. Believe it.
What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.
Peace and Light