My Abortion Was The Best Decision Of My Life

I was 11 weeks along when my gynecologist told me I was pregnant. I had been on The Pill since I was 18 years old and my period, since being on The Pill was non-existent. When it never came in January, then not again in February, it never crossed my mind that something wasn’t right. I had gone months before without a “period” — a quick splotch on my undies was usually all it was. Even before I was on The Pill (and after) I’m one of those women who is lucky enough to never have a menstruation that lasts more than two or three days.

The week before I went to the gynecologist and heard the news I had met my family in Punta Cana to celebrate my parents’ anniversary. I missed my plane at JFK. When I finally arrived in the Dominican Republic it was close to midnight and the only cabbie in sight was someone who fancied himself a psychic — something he told me within the first five minutes of me being in his taxi. Within the next 15 minutes, he told me I was pregnant, although I told him he was crazy. He also asserted that I had “the glow” of a woman who was, to use his words, “at the end of her first trimester.” Admittedly, I had noticed that I was somewhat puffy in the lower stomach, but I chalked it up to too much beer and pizza; and it didn’t help that the fella in my life at the time was a bartender. I don’t need to mention that the beer was free-flowing.

I told my sister what the cabbie said and we both laughed it off. When I returned to New York a few days later, I also mentioned it to my acupuncturist who shared her own story of getting pregnant by mistake. She said the dead giveaway was sore breasts. I laughed nervously when she said this. I had been sleeping and showering with a bra on for the last couple weeks, but assumed it was extreme PMS because, although more painful than in the past, it wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary. Since my insurance from my job had finally kicked in and I needed an annual pelvic exam anyway, I made an appointment. Read more…