CHALLENGE
You’ll have intense cramps,
just like giving birth. You’ll
be bleeding, sometimes
throwing up, and there will
be a lot of pain involved.”
It’s a clear decision,
logically. But there’s
something so real about
a surgical procedure that
prevents you from forgetting
it. In the end though, my
common sense overcame my
fear of needles, and I opted
for the surgical procedure.
According to the nurse, I
had to have a ride home from
the clinic because I would be
in no shape to drive after the
anesthesia. I knew I had to
do what I had been afraid to
do: tell my best friend.
We’re closer than best
friends, really. Noelle is
practically my sister. But
she and I had talked about
abortion before, and it
seemed like we were on
opposing sides of the issue.
I didn’t want to put her in an
uncomfortable situation by
needing her so desperately
for something she didn’t
approve of.
As I drove, I grew
anxious. I tried to hold back
my sobs, but my whole body
shook. I hyperventilated, and
the air in my car felt thin and
stale. All the air in the world
seemed insufficient.
I don’t want to go through
with the abortion. I don’t
want to have a baby. I want it
to end.
I texted Noelle to tell her
I needed to talk. She asked
me to give her ten minutes.
Seven minutes later, I
drove to the rooftop level of
a parking garage and picked
a spot.
I shut off the ignition and
got out.
I walked over to the edge
and looked over. It was at
least a five-story fall.
With only my phone in
my hand, I hopped up onto
the ledge. I sat facing the
mountains with the pretty
view, not the concrete where
I hoped my life would end.
I put my hand on my
stomach where the nurse
this morning had pressed the
ultrasound doodad into me,
right where my embryonic
baby was, and I began to cry.
My phone rang and
Noelle’s face appeared on
my screen. I swallowed hard
and answered.
“Hi friend,” she said in a
cheerful voice, as she always
does. With those two words,
my entire world collapsed. I
couldn’t do this. Hearing her
voice, I knew I couldn’t take
suicide as a way out.
“I have something I
need to tell you,” I said
surprisingly steadily.
“Okay,” she replied
cautiously.
“On Wednesday I found
out I’m pregnant. I went to a
clinic this morning, and they
said I’m six weeks along,”
I said quickly. I paused
slightly. “Tomorrow I’m
having an abortion, and I
need you to come with me.”
She didn’t say anything
immediately.
“This isn’t a funny joke,”
she said with more anger
than I’d ever heard from her.
“It’s not a joke,” I said,
trying not to cry.
“Seriously, this is kind
of fucked up,” she said,
her anger growing. “Why
would you even joke about
something like that?”
“Noelle, it’s not a joke!” I
shouted, my voice breaking
in agony. “I wish it were, I
really do. I wish I could say
I was kidding and you could
be mad at me for a few days.
But I’m not joking. This is
so real, and I can’t handle
it alone, and I really, really
need you right now.”