It's all over.

Callie had an abortion today. And she is fine, she really is. She seems like she feel alright, both emotionally and physically. I am glad that she made it through. The lack of ambiguity is good - for me, as well as for her.

I am so relieved for her, that it is over, that she is okay, that she made the decision on her own and was actually not swayed by my emotional baggage.

I feel pretty much okay, which is of course not what is relevant to HER, and I don't expect it to be. I do realize though, belatedly, that I have some crap to work through.

Which makes perfect sense and all. Maybe here is the right place for me to tell my story. Maybe that can help me work through some of the residual emotions that clearly came to surface when I learned of Callie's unexpected pregnancy.

I became sexually active at age 14. That's pretty young, but at the time it didn't seem young at all to me. I was horny, and in fact had been since about age 12, believe it or not. I felt tingy and hot and all that fun kind of thing, my hormones surging and puberty smacking me hard in the head and making me dumb.

I was therefore thrilled and delighted to enter the realm of the sexually active. It was a happy and exciting time for me. I dated a guy for a while, maybe 10 months or something, and he was my first (omg, I loved him! We should get married! When, like, we're 18 and finish high school!) He and I were very careful, and responsible about having safe sex. We ALWAYS used a condom, and we didn't have a problem. I eventually broke up with him, more because I felt like I didn't love him anymore, than any other reason.

After him, well, I wanted to explore the world of love, and life was all stooopid high school and friends and what not. I didn't sleep around much, either, I just knew I was interested in boys and wanted to be free to meet them, date them, whatever.

My parents at this time, I should mention, went from bad to worse. Much worse.
They fought constantly, and I really didn't appreciate them much. They were always at one another, and separated at this time, simultaneously electing me as the go-between. I was the messenger girl, back and forth between them. I was unhappy with this arrangement and I rebelled and started drinking and taking drugs (pot, acid, and once in a while, shrooms).

Right around the same time, my grandparents (who were my other adults who loved me and took care of me) died. I was very sad about that. My grandmother was my after school companion most days, and when she was gone I really missed her a lot.

My parents both worked a lot, and my older brother was off to college. This left me with just my friends and that was where I was in life. A sad teenager with a broken family and just my friends to help me along. In spite of all this, I was a straight A student.

I loved my friends-- especially one or two girls who were my best friends. I had dumped this boyfriend of mine, so that I could be free. I dated a guy here and there, nobody super special. I got involved with a guy from school, he was about a year older than me. His name was Paul. Paul had a pretty serious drinking problem, and he and I were kind of drinking buddies. He also was a good source for me to get stoned, as he knew people he could get pot from (and eventually he would get other stuff as well).

My reputation in high school at this point was as a fucking brilliant student who was oddly enough also a total druggy. I suppose that reputation was well deserved. Paul and I went all the way eventually. I didn't really want to, with him, but he was jealous of my past boyfriend. It was as though he thought that if I would have sex with Brian, why not have sex with him? Truthfully the reason was that I really did not feel as strongly about Paul as I had about Brian. He was just a guy I liked getting stoned and drunk with.

That sounds really lame, and it probably was. He and I did also like the same music, though, and we both liked writing poetry. He also had something special that I did not have: "normal" parents. His parents were married to each other, and seemed to like one another. I liked his family. His mom was in fact very nice to me, and she was happy that I was her son's girlfriend because she knew me as a good artist and brilliant student. My grades were, of course, proof that I was smart. She knew Paul was a screwy kid, and she thought I would be a good influence on him.

Anyway, between the being drunk together a lot and smoking a lot of pot, and dropping acid in homeroom.... well, I got less vigilant about my initial feelings that I would only have sex with guys that I felt very strongly about. Paul was so horny, and well, I guess I was too. We started having sex regularly. It was okay. I can't say he was very good but I wasn't really picky.

Somewhere along the way, I had a sex education class which said that women are only fertile for a period of about three days, and that this occurs a certain number of days after the menstrual period. This is an example of sex ed really not making the right kind of point. Or maybe I just took away what I wanted to hear. What I concluded was that IF I was REALLY careful and ONLY had sex when it wasn't during this magical three days window of fertility, then I could dispense with using condoms.

Hello, rhythm method. I had a calendar, and I'd keep track of my period, and count out the days carefully and make it a five day window just to be safe. Then we'd only have sex when it was "safe".

I got tired of Paul after a while and his drug problems became more and more serious. We got arrested at one point, or at least taken in but not charged with anything. A smack on the wrist, so to speak. I visited Paul one day in the hospital, where he'd landed after he was out with some rough types, and he'd been smoking crack with them. He'd wanted to try it, is all, he'd said.

This seemed too low for me, and I decided that I had enough of Paul. I broke it off with him and was ready to chill with the drugs. I did NOT want to try crack, or coke, or any of what I considered bad and hard drugs. Pot was fine (frankly, I still enjoy it now and again and I still think it's fine) and LSD was pretty weird and I'd had enough of it to know what it was like. I realized that there was a limit to how much I wanted to be a druggie. I didn't want to be like Paul. He was out of control. I was done with him.

I figured out that I was pregnant about a week after I dumped Paul. I was extremely upset and didn't want anyone in my family to know about it. I think I deliberated about whether to have an abortion for about five minutes. I wanted one. PERIOD. There was no fucking way I was going to have a baby at age 16. I didn't want to get together with Paul again, and I didn't want to have a baby and go through the humiliation of that at school. I wanted to keep doing well in school, and be successful in life. I had just started to clean up my act, and I didn't want to go the pregnant teenager route.

I had some money saved up, and I made some phone calls. The state I lived in did not (at that time) have any restrictions on first trimester abortions. I found a place that could do the procedure, and I had enough money ($230). My friend's friend had a car, and I arranged for getting a ride to and from the doctor.

My best friend, Maria, and her friend with the car, went with me on a Saturday morning. We told my mom we were going shopping.

The doctor was a big man, from somewhere like India or Pakistan. I have no idea, actually. I don't remember his name. I just remember he was reassuring but foreign. The procedure was over quite quickly.

I laid down, it's such an embarrasing position, of course, feet in stirrups. I was awake the whole time, and he told me to stay still. I breathed in through my nose, trying to get some laughing gas. Maria held my hand. I was so glad that it was over quickly.

We went home, and I told my mom I was feeling a little sick and I went to bed. Slept a long while and felt pretty okay. I had told Paul about the pregnancy and about the fact that I was not going to be pregnant for very long. I told him and he wasn't too happy about it.

When I called him up that Saturday to tell him that it was over, he was an asshole. He spoke rudely to me and I called him out on it. "Well how am I supposed to talk to you when you just murdered my baby?!" he asked me. I hung up on him. I cried and cried and cried. Silently. Into my pillow. Nobody knew.

A few days later I developed a fever. I was really worried, and called the doctor. I got antibiotics, which was tricky getting them filled and all without anyone knowing about it, but I managed. I got better.

I didn't have sex again for about six months.

Getting pregnant and having an abortion changed my life -- for the better. I stopped drinking so much, and I didn't do drugs as often. I decided I had really better not sleep around with people and I would absolutely NOT have unsafe sex with anyone ever. Unless, of course, I wanted to have children, which I thought I might one day want to do.

Life went on. I was chastened. I was sad and felt sorry for myself. I would sometimes brood about the pregnancy and imagine (with a shudder, with horror) what my life might be like had I not had an abortion. All in all, I was glad that I had been able to have an abortion. I was proud of myself that I was able to get it done and without my parents even knowing about it. I was proud that I came through it, and got my shit together.

I graduated from high school, went to college, got good grades, graduated, went to grad school, had a career, got married, had two kids. Life is good. I am glad I am where I am.

Once in a while, I think about that pregnancy. I think that if I hadn't had an abortion, I'd have an eighteen year old child now. An adult would be my child. I don't think I would have a college degree, or the life I have now.

I keep reminding myself that pregnancies do fail, pretty damned often. Infertile women know this fact well, as they struggle to get and stay pregnant. The loss of a five week old embryo is really not that significant.

There are many, many humans in the world. I don't think we need one more eighteen year old than there already are.

So that's my story. I'm okay. I think Callie will be okay too.