The Grief of Abortion

I killed my baby. That’s the constant thought running through my head as of June 12th.

I had made up my mind as soon as I found out I was pregnant - I would get an abortion. That was 5 weeks ago. I was only 2-3 weeks pregnant.

I’ve always been against abortion. Not for other people - just for myself. I told myself I wasn’t allowed to do that and if I ever got pregnant I would have to take the responsibility.

My parents lost two children. I didn’t think it was fair to take a life after I saw my mum deal with the heartache of missing her first two children on their 20th birthday.

To make myself feel better, I just told myself it was okay as it wasn’t a life yet. 2-3 weeks is such an early stage pregnancy - chances of miscarriage are very high, maybe I would even suffer a miscarriage before I went in to get my abortion.

Maybe I got my hopes up, maybe I hoped that I didn’t have to be the person to end it. The only thing that kept running through my head was ‘I’m only 22... who gets pregnant at 22?!’

And I know a lot of girls, some even younger than me, go through this. On a daily basis. And some people are in less fortunate situations than I was.

I was lucky to have supportive friends and the father of the baby... but all I wanted was for it to end as quickly as possible - not give myself a chance to get attached because I was scared to be in the position that I currently am.

Over the past 5 weeks my life has unraveled on a personal and professional level. I’m struggling to make it through a day without crying, break downs are becoming a regular thing and I’m slowly pushing everyone away from me.

I don’t care about myself, I hate myself and so should they.

I tried to get an abortion at 5 weeks. I asked to get the abortion pill and do both parts of the procedure in one day. I read online it was possible - although a slightly higher risk of failure. 1.5% to be exact.

At 5 weeks I found out my baby was 3.22mm, the exact distance between a door and its frame if it’s placed correctly.

I haven’t looked at doors the same since that day. It’s such a stupid thing, but it affects me so much.

I remember texting my friend and the father, 4 hours after I took the pills ‘IM BLEEDING!!!’ - but I knew something wasn’t right.

I had a gut feeling, the same gut feeling that told me to take a pregnancy test in the first place.

I had a follow up scan planned 9 days after I took the abortion pill... I laid on the table at 8:26am, by myself, hoping to get good news.

My heart dropped when the nurse said ‘The pregnancy sack is still there...’ she took a sharp breath before repeatedly whispering ‘it’s got a heartbeat, it’s got a heartbeat, it’s got a heartbeat...’

All I could do was cry. But she had to get on with work so she explained my options...

Try the abortion pill again. Or get a surgical abortion - the safest way!

I tried to read through the notes she gave me while explaining to the father what was going to happen next... but my mind wasn’t taking any of it in.

My mind was racing, wondering wether I should ask to keep the scan - wondering what my baby looked like... it was a life now.

Something in me had a beating heart and I was about to take that away.

I didn’t have much time to think and got an appointment scheduled in the next day. I’d get a surgical abortion with local anaesthetic.

On the way to work I googled what a 7 week pregnancy entails: it has a brain, facial features have started to develop the only thing that makes it seem less of a human is that it still has a tail which will now slowly start to disappear.

I shouldn’t have read up on it.

I went straight to work from that appointment to distract myself. I thought it’d be best if I don’t think about it.

When the father checked in to see how I was doing I tried to joke: ‘like I wanna kill myself along with this baby! Haha! It has a heartbeat now by the way!’

I don’t think it hit him the way it did me. I don’t think he experienced the pain of realising this was something we had stupidly created and were about to kill.

So I told him ‘don’t worry. It’s my problem now.’ And it was. And it still is.

I’ve never felt more lonely in my entire life than I have in the past 7 days.

Tuesday afternoon: I made my way home from the hospital. Tried to ignore how horrible the entire thing was.

I tried to forget the screaming and the crying and mostly the intense pain I felt throughout.

Wednesday: I went back to work. Got on with life as you’re supposed to.

Thursday: I feel like this is where the cracks started to show. I was exhausted getting home from work, I felt under a nauseating amount of pressure and I just wanted to hide away and cry. Not see or speak to anyone... and at the same time all I wanted was for someone to ask if I was okay so I could say ‘no, I’m not...’

I wanted a hug. I wanted to feel like someone felt my pain.

Friday: I broke down at work. I broke down on the bus home after I was sent home from work. I broke down when I got home.

I tried to talk to my mum about work without her understanding why I was so upset... she doesn’t know about this because I’m scared she’d feel the same disappointment I’ve felt throughout this situation.

Life has ways of kicking you when you’re down - so when I flew off my bike in the evening, I figured that was a very literal way of life kicking me.

Saturday: I went on a bender to forget. Alcohol and drugs.

Sunday: I finally realised that my behaviour all week had been toxic, why I was reacting so strongly to everything... my life was falling apart and there’s nothing I could do to stop it.

I feel like I’ve destroyed everything I’ve worked so hard to build, because I can’t talk about it. I want to talk about it but I can’t.

I just don’t want to be alone anymore. At least when I was pregnant, I knew I was never alone.

I feel bad because I didn’t want this baby, I feel bad that it’s now gone...

I wish I still had a scan... not for myself, but for the baby. I feel like I rushed it out of me - I wanted it gone before my birthday... everything about this has been selfish.

I just wish someone would see how much this has meant to me. My baby is gone and I’m just scared that one day I’ll forget...

I’ll forget about the date I found out - the day of the hackney half, May 20th.

The date of my first abortion - May 31st.

The date it all ended - June 12th.

My birthday is coming up in two days... and all I wish is for all of this to go away. And the harder I wish for it to go away, the more upset it makes me.

I should’ve loved this baby, even if it was just a little bit. I should’ve cared that I was pregnant for the first time ever.

But I know that if I would’ve done that, I wouldn’t have been able to let go... I wouldn’t have been able to give it a good life...

But now it has nothing at all...

I think I did love it. I found myself holding my stomach. I caught myself looking in the mirror when I ate a bit too much wondering what it would be like if I kept it.

I just knew it was wrong... wrong for the father, wrong for me, wrong for the baby... but this also feels wrong.