Termination

Page 1

Hi Page One. I'm Jane. Nice to meet you. 5 years ago today, I was left on the steps of an abortion clinic, you know. AFTER, and for over two hours, waiting for my reluctant ride, my boyfriend. This is good though. It’s this exact circumstance, this exact situation, that forces you to either make better choices, or at least ask yourself, “how did I get here?” I am so grateful for those bad choices though. So grateful . . . because those choices culminated into unforgettable lessons... at least within the context of this journal entry. I wish I could tell you this was my first abortion. I thought for a long time repetitive bad decisions characterized me as a slow learner. But really, it’s all contextual. And the fact that I'm still alive means I learned quickly enough, didn't I. I called him to relay what I considered to be bad news...... that I had inadvertently conceived, despite the odds considering our less than frequent encounters, and of dating a desperately inadequate lover........ the last part I left out, of course. His first question was , Is it mine? In my experience with Hollywood Movies and other failed fiction, I find this question rarely falls from the mouths of great men. I feel compelled to mention that we were dating exclusively. I hung up on him, he called back. As a woman who's never had any interest or even considered motherhood, I made clear the outcome that was not up for discussion, we agreed on that at least.

The Drop off

He agreed to be the chauffeur and to his credit attempted to be thoughtful and attentive on the scheduled day. Although I didn't realize at the time how glorious and extraordinary his level of selfishness was. Was it obscured or was I oblivious? We had only been dating 3 months, and he had never been asked to show a thoughtful side; I guess I assumed it was there all along.

I am not a girl who requires a lot of attention or even conversation - aside from growing up rather isolated, both socially and geographically, people have been a learning curve for me, something I still struggle with today. Side note: People. Not humans; humans I understand, humans are animals you can explain in scientific studies; people are the application of those studies and frankly more often than not, I’m not all that thrilled with the application. Spoken like a true introvert I suppose. I listen considerably more than I speak, and if people just said what they really mean I certainly would not be writing this story. But I digress... now back to our regularly scheduled abortion.

. Whether he was doing his best to be as emotional support is neither here nor there, this is not a story of heroism or valor. It's a story of two people at their worst in a difficult circumstance that many have lived through. Once plans were laid, he went into the waiting room with me and intended to wait. The attendant instructed that the full waiting time may be as much as 2 hours. Not wanting to wait that long in an uncomfortable waiting room of any clinic much less "abortion", understandable, he left to run errands and would return in 2 hours. Today, I don't believe they would allow the accompanying party to leave during the most minor of procedures, so this policy in retrospect was unprofessional, at best.

The Pick Up

The next thing I remember is being escorted groggily into the waiting room where he was not. It had been less than an hour it turns out, and predictably I was not allowed to recover as one might have hoped. I felt as you do when coming out of a surgery where $500 gets you only so much time and anesthetic, nauseous. I just wanted to get out of there. The thought of sitting in a semi-glossed, beige-painted, folding-chaired, fluorescently lit waiting room where nothing inside that room exists in nature, including the nurses, was a thought I could not bear. I don't know how long I waited in that room, but eventually I went to the nurse and told her my boyfriend was waiting downstairs, a lie. She hesitated a bit knowing he was supposed to be there with me but let me go anyway as I seemed that sincere. I kept thinking I would run into him in the hallway, or the elevator or the next hallway, or the entry way. I made it to the outside steps, beautiful steps to a beautiful building as passersby jogged, laughed, ate and made their way about the city unknowingly. I scanned the traffic jammed streets and sidewalks for him, and I waited. I sat on the steps. I laid on the steps. I leaned back on the steps. For 2 hours. During this time, I must have looked like death itself because 2 separate women about 30 minutes apart touched me on the shoulder and asked if I was okay. I wonder if one or both happen to know what happened on the 3rd floor. Maybe. I think about them as much as I think about that time, that day and that boyfriend. They showed as much care as the boyfriend that day and more than the paid caregivers. When he did arrive, he was shocked to see me on the steps. Turns out he had gone back to his neck of the woods to pick up his dry cleaning. Traffic in the city is terrible you know. There's little left of this story; we broke up soon after. I'm sharing this with you so that anyone who reads this knows that this sort of thing probably happens a lot and you are not alone, or weird, or terrible, or dumb . . . or alone. On any given day, we can all be Jane.