        
|
|
| |
I was fifteen years old. I had sex with an older man (4 years) who I had only known for a short amount of time. After we had sex, my parents found out and I was in major trouble. What they or I didn’t know was that two months later, I would kill my baby.
I let a month go by and I missed my period. Slightly worried, but not too worried, I waited for the next month to come. Still no period. I was at my father’s apartment when I started crying uncontrollably. I knew what was happening. I knew in my heart I was pregnant. I couldn’t do this alone, I needed someone. My mother hated me anyway from the time I was twelve and I couldn’t make any good decisions according to her, so that left my dad. I went into his bedroom and asked to talk to him. My younger sister was watching TV in the living room, and I’m sure she heard me crying. I told him everything. I told him I thought I was pregnant and I didn’t know what to do. He suggested we buy a test to make sure. So we did and I took both of them. They were both positive. This just added to my hysteria. He asked me what I wanted to do.
I said, “Well, mom will KILL me if I tell her about this. She will kick me out of the house, and never take me back. My half brother and sister would completely alienate me and my life as I know it will be over with. She can’t know that I’m pregnant.” He tried reasoning with me and to no avail. He suggested I move to Florida with my older sister and have the baby and put it up for adoption and move back home after it was done. “Dad, I can’t do that. Mom will know, I’ll have to leave school, my friends and my family, I can’t do that.” It seemed the right choice was to terminate the pregnancy. To understand this dilemma, I have to tell you that although I wasn’t brought up in a strict religious background, my father is a devout Catholic, and the situation at hand was something that he never thought he would have to deal with. After all, he expected so much more from me.
He took me to planned parenthood to confirm the test results. Positive. Again, I cried and cried. I never thought I would be a statistic. Never. The nurse told me what my options were, and although me and my father never formally discussed it, we both knew what decision was going to be made. We were given information on the procedure as well as a name of a “reputable” surgeon in the field. The nurse helped me make and appointment for the following week. We left the office and I couldn’t speak. I was afraid, worried and ashamed I had to put my father through this. We went back to his house and I curled up in his armchair and cried. I told him I should tell the father, but he said it wasn’t a good idea and didn’t want me to contact him ever again.
The night before the procedure, my mom made me dinner. I had to make every effort to act normal, so she wouldn’t know what was up. I must have started to have food aversions because I took one bite of food and a swig of soda and I threw it right back up. Food aversion or nerves and sickness because of what I was about to do.
The next day, I went to school and he picked me up in the morning. We drove to the office, filled out the forms and they called me in. The doctor took an ultrasound and showed me the black blob on the screen, assuring me it was only a glob of tissue at this point. He told me since I was on the verge of my second trimester, I should go under anesthesia because the pain would be too much. The procedure was briefly explained to me and the nurse led me to the back rooms of the building. She handed me a gown and told me to wait for her to let me know when I could enter the dressing area. I walked past the dressing area and I saw a small girl, no older than thirteen or fourteen sitting on the bench on her gown, eyes wide open, waiting to be called into the operating area. Her name was called and it was my turn to get undressed and into my gown. I waited there just as the other scared girl did when I saw someone walk past me. I looked away. My name was called. The nurse led me into the room. It was cold and the only thing I could see was the table and the typical doctor’s office stuff. I guess they hid the machine and other tools. I was hooked up to an IV and put under anesthesia. I fell asleep. I couldn’t see what happened, or hear it or even know. I remember waking up and being walked to the outpatient bed.
I laid there for a while, very groggy and cloudy. I had no idea what was going on. The nurse handed me a sanitary napkin and helped to the bathroom. I remember feeling like I was getting my period…the thing I had missed so badly two weeks ago. Then, just blood. I stuck the pad to my underwear, wiped, pulled up my undies and the nurse advised me to get dressed. My dad was waiting at the back door for me and they helped me into the car. I felt like I had been brutally beaten and raped afterwards. He took me for a bite to eat, then home. I laid on the couch at my mom’s house, pretending, but still feeling like I was ill. The bleeding kept up for about a week, and then it subsided. I tried to deny what I had done and reasoned with myself that it was the only way.
Years passed, and I got in contact with the man who was the father of the baby. I told him everything and he was completely distressed. He told me he would have taken care of me, the baby and we could have made a life for ourselves…even if my mom didn’t like it. This was unsettling for me, especially after all of the pain, stress, heartache, depression and self-loathing I had gone through.
Two more years passed, and I actually ended up marrying this man. He is a devoted and loving husband, and he would have been an amazing father. Every day I regret I took this life away from our baby and us. The baby deserved a chance to live, and we deserved a chance to show the world what love is capable of. This year, she would be eight years old, with her own personality, thoughts, feelings, ideas and talents. But that isn’t the case due to my stupidity and selfishness. Please, if you are a teen and you are pregnant, seek help. If your parents won’t help, or your boyfriend won’t help, there are so many organizations that can. Please don’t make the mistake of ending a life. The only one that can play God is God, and God doesn’t give you anything you aren’t capable of handling.
I can only hope someday me and my husband are able to have a child that we can love and raise and give him or her the chance we never gave our other baby. I ask her and God every day to forgive me for my actions, and I hope they do so I can see her in Heaven someday.
coleman propane griddle
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
