I was 16 and in sixth form at a prominent high school. My boyfriend, 17, attended one too and was a star athlete. That same year I applied to university while he fielded scholarships from overseas. We thought we were gonna be married. You know…young love. Anyways, the happily ever after dream turned into a reoccurring panic attack when I found I was pregnant. Luckily this was near the end of CAPE Exams.
He was stressed. I was focused. I couldn’t have this baby. And as easy as I made the decision that I couldn’t have it, it still rested heavily on my shoulders.
What if I killed this baby and I couldn’t have any more? What if when I achieved all that I’m supposed to achieve and I’m ready for a family with a great husband… Will God punish me by making me barren?
I was the first to go to university in my family. University had already accepted me I was just waiting to turn 17. My whole family was on my back. My boyfriend and I pooled all our savings and I did the D&C. That’s the fancy medical term that they use. Dilation & Cutterage. Dilate your cervix…reach in and scrape out what is in your uterus. The pregnancy was early but I was still devastated. I did the procedure and left as soon as I could. I couldn’t look at the building anymore. I would spend extra taxi fare to avoid that building on any commute.
Three months later I had the worse urinary tract infection of my life. My kidneys were on fire. I was fainting. My boyfriend carried me to the doctor. Our family practitioner, known to my parents from long ago, told me I WAS STILL PREGNANT. I wanted to die. He said he couldn’t do it. Not without my parents’ permission and now it was too far along for him to do it. My parents had to know! He wrote a letter to them for me.
Yeah…of course, I know girls got pregnant at 16 and made it. Figuratively of course. But what quality of life did they have? Even if I was gonna soldier on and deal with my responsibility. The child would have severe birth defects because of the previous (failed) abortion! How would I live with myself having knowingly deformed my own child?
Guess wah now? Another abortion procedure. This time at a hospital-grade private entity. Costing my mother thousands of dollars. 50 or more at the time. This was when $50,000 dollars was a lot of money. I stayed there for 3 days. My mother has never spoken of it since. And I’m thankful that regardless of how disappointed she was, our relationship was balanced enough that I could come clean with her and get help instead of trying to use a hanger to pull it out or throwing myself down a flight of stairs.
Did that first doctor do it on purpose? I don’t know. I know though if it was a less taboo topic I would’ve gone back for a post-procedural checkup as you have to do on any other occasion. I wouldn’t have wanted to so badly forget the day and forget the smell of the drugs that put me to sleep before he started. A standard of care would’ve been guaranteed.
I figured karma would get me somehow. That the fact that I had to subject myself to that twice told me that God wasn’t pleased with me. Not at all. A close family member said, “ You don’t share this with anybody, go ah yuh grave wid it”. I asked what if I’m married and I can’t have anymore? She reiterated “To yuh grave”. A man will leave you if you can’t have children….even quicker when you let him know it’s your fault why.
Dancehall music was always there to remind me bout the ‘baby duppy dem’ and how much of a social pariah I was for having “dash weh a belly”. But when I wanted to cry about the whole thing I told myself that both that baby and I would be social pariahs because I wouldn’t be able to take care of him/her.
Was it an easy decision? Fuck no! And fuck anybody who thinks that doing that is an easy way out. I live with my decision every day. Or more so my parents’ decision to trust that I should be given another opportunity to make good on my hopes and dreams. I wish others were given that chance.