I found out I was pregnant on a Saturday afternoon while I was cleaning my apartment. I found an old pregnancy test under the bed and laughed to myself and set it aside while I continued sweeping. An hour later, I felt the urge to pee and thought it would be funny to do the pregnancy test. I set it on the side of the bathtub and scrolled through Twitter while I sat on the toilet. I glanced at it. Two lines, as expected.

Wait, what?

Two lines means pregnant, right? Okay, not what I was expecting. I knew work had been crazy and I had missed a couple pills but the pregnancy test was old. Probably a false positive. Obviously. But I knew false positives were rare. I sent a photo of the test to my friend.

Her response: the fuck? Do it again.

So I did. I went to the pharmacy and bought three more tests. One expensive, brand name one and two cheaper ones. Came home and did all three. So now I had four positive tests. Double lines and plus signs everywhere. My immediate thought was how do I get rid of it. My next thought was, should I tell the father?

The father and I had a huge fight just two nights before. We argued on the phone and I got so upset that I threw my phone at the wall and the screen shattered. I had blocked him. And I meant it that time. He was blocked forever. But now I had to unblock him.

But not yet. First, I told another friend and asked her if she knew where I could get an abortion. She gave me the details for a gynaecologist who had done the procedure for a friend of a friend. I called the number. The office was closed on Saturdays.

I sighed and unblocked the father. I told him about the tests, that it was his and that I was looking into getting an abortion. He was surprised, said he supported my decision and offered to pay for it. He asked about my mental wellbeing and we talked for a bit.

I began searching online. Frantic googling. I found a website that sent abortion pills to women in countries where abortions are illegal. I was skeptical, but all my research checked out. It really seemed legit. The site sends the pills to you for a donation. You give whatever you can, even if that’s $0. I signed up and spent the $0, just in case my trip to the doctor didn’t work out.

The following Monday, I called and scheduled an appointment with the doctor. I was wondering how to bring it up to her, seeing as it’s illegal and all. I felt like I was buying drugs, having to be covert and overt at the same time. When she asked what brings me here today, I told her that I’m pregnant. She clapped her hands. “Congratulations!” I chuckled nervously and didn’t respond.

I did another test. The fifth one. Positive again.

Her: Okay, we’ve confirmed that you’re pregnant. Will we be looking into prenatal care?
Me: Not exactly… I wanted to know what my options are. It’s not a good time for me to have a child. I don’t even really want to be a mother.
Her: I see. What does the father think?
Me: He feels the same.
Her: I understand. Before we can talk about your options, let’s see what’s going on down there.

She told me to get in the other room and undress from the waist down to do an ultrasound. I never imagined that I would be doing one of those. I couldn’t see much on the screen. It just looked like blobs. Or a Rorschach test. She told me I was at seven weeks. I put my clothes back on and we went back to the other room to talk.

She told me that since I wasn’t very far along, I could do a surgical abortion. She said that I had a few weeks to think about it, but try not to pass 13 weeks. I told her I didn’t need any time and asked for the next available appointment. It was the following Wednesday. She told me the procedure would cost $50,000.

I told my boss I would need Wednesday and Thursday off. I was pretty close to her. She was worried and kept asking if I was alright and what I needed the time for. Like, she was perfectly okay with me taking the time but she was concerned that something was wrong. I ended up telling her. She was supportive.

On Wednesday, I wore a dress that I now refer to as “the abortion dress” in my head whenever I wear it. A friend came with me, though we are no longer friends. People drift apart. That’s okay. I saw a girl who looked about 17 in the waiting room. She was there with her mom. I wondered if she was there for the same reason I was.

I got called into a room, but my friend wasn’t allowed to come with me. I removed my underwear, pulled the dress up to my waist and put my feet in the stirrups. The doctor sat in front of me and a nurse was to my side. I was told that my cervix would need to be injected and that it wouldn’t hurt. It did hurt. Next, she inserted the vacuum tube inside me and turned it on. I began crying. It was physically painful and emotionally overwhelming. The nurse hugged me. The whole thing lasted less than a minute, I think. When it was done, I asked if they could call my friend. She held me while I cried.

By this point, I was in excruciating pain. My uterus was contracting. It had expanded to hold the tiny fetus and now it was contracting. It subsided, but there was still a dull cramp. I finally got up and put my underwear back on. Morbidly, I looked in the sink and the trash can to see if I could see I’m not sure what.

It was over and I was glad. In pain, but glad. In all $78,000 was spent. $8000 for the initial visit, $50,000 for the procedure, $8000 for a follow-up visit and $12000 for medication - painkillers and antibiotics.

I found out I was pregnant on a Saturday and by the Wednesday, I wasn’t anymore. Those four days were the longest of my life. I felt like a parasite was inside me. I went about my days as normal while an existential crisis took place in my head. I have never felt anything but gratitude about my procedure. Gratitude because it was safe and accessible and that I had a choice. Gratitude because I had support. Gratitude because I was able to be in control of my destiny.

A week after the procedure, I received a package. It was a book. I opened the book and in between cut out pages was a tiny plastic bag filled with pills.