Tag Archives: personal

January 20, 2012 · 9:24 am

The First Time I was Pregnant for a Day

Okay so obviously it wasn’t really only one day. I was actually three-weeks-and-a-day-pregnant when I found out. The decision was an easy for me; it simply wasn’t the right time. So the day after I found out, I took steps to have a medical termination and this is how it all happened.

Tuesday, 14h15

Stood in Clicks looking at the array of pregnancy tests:  disposable, electronic, early pregnancy, twin packs and more. I went for the one in the pink Toblerone shaped box. I only got it to put my mind at ease after being less than responsible with my pill on a recent month of travel and then having some great break-up sex with my recently ex-boyfriend on my return. Then I got cracking with my Christmas shopping to distract nosy shoppers’ eyes from the anomaly in my basket.

15h30

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Got home and dumped shopping bags on the kitchen counter. Kept having to stop myself from thinking, “I’ll just have a quick wee and then I do the test.” Ripped open the packet with distinct diagrams to the effect that “one line = exhale, two lines = knocked up” and peed on the stick. My home phone started ringing, “Bugger!” I galloped to the lounge with my shorts and panties around my knees, “Hello?”. A fax tone responded: beep, beep, beep. I glanced at the stick: one line. Then, as the liquid travelled further up the window, as inevitable as a wave claiming the beach, a second line appeared. I realised I was still holding the phone, begging the fax machine on the other end to take the second line away, “No. No no no. Please no, please, please no.” The two bold lines remained. I wasn’t just me anymore.

15h32

Phoned ex-boyfriend hyperventilating.  I bellowed, “I’M FUCKING PREGNANT!” with absolutely no rom-com charm. Sat on the floor in t-shirt and panties, crying into a towel and staring at those two lines in absolute disbelief while ex-boyfriend came rushing over from work.

He was totally lovely – everything anyone in my position could have asked for. He was tender and respectful and concerned and absolutely supportive in every way of every choice and decision I made.

17h00

Went back and got another two tests. All positive. Like cherries on a slot machine, “Bing! Bing! Bing! You’re so freaking pregnant!” I sat looking at the three tests for ages. I kept returning to them, mesmerised. Ex-boyfriend worried that it would make me sad.

19h30

Phoned my best friend who laid it down in ecological terms: “In nature, when an animal is carrying a baby and the time is not right – there’s not enough food or there’s danger – the animal naturally aborts. This is your beautiful body and it’s your right to choose what happens to you. Right now, what’s inside you is a group of cells.The is just not right and you’ve chosen to do what’s best for you. You are so brave; you’ve made a really brave decision. We are all here for you.”

23h00

Couldn’t sleep. It was four days until Christmas and I had no idea how long any procedure would take. Googled local clinics and decided to see my GP first thing. Lay next to ex-boyf and talked. He kept making me laugh by pretending to fall asleep mid- sentence.

Wednesday 7h00

Woke up and stared at the ceiling alone for ages before ex-boyf woke up. Felt the numbness of disbelief trickle into a warm, magical feeling of wonder. I felt special. I still didn’t even consider having the baby but just the mere fact that I did it. My body was made to get pregnant and I did it. It felt quietly wonderful.

Got up and phoned the GP. Made an appointment first thing.

08h30

My normal GP was on leave for Christmas and so I had to see the other doc in the building. As I announced that I thought I was pregnant, the turd responded with “Oh wonderful! That’s such exciting news!”

After clarifying the situation, she gave me a list of recommended Gynaecologists who “deal with this sort of thing”. After trying most of them only to hear that they were on leave, I found a Woman’s Wellness GP who would see me that afternoon but I needed an ultrasound before then to make sure it wasn’t an ectopic pregnancy.

11h00

Sat in a gown in a tiny room drinking water for an hour before my bladder was full enough for the technician to use as a lens to see into my uterus. It was totally like the movies: cold gel, what looked like a roll-on deodorant, a black and white screen.

13h00

Met with the new gynae-GP. She was amazing. She invited ex-boyf in but I decided I wanted to do it by myself. She explained everything clearly without being judgemental or condescending. I had found out so early that I could use the medical method which involved taking a series of medications which terminates the pregnancy and induces a period over two or three days. She was thorough with understanding my emotional state, my support structures and my decision-making.

15h30

Took the first medication that would detach the foetus from the lining of my womb.

The procedure went off without a hitch. The doc was in touch on the phone every day; I hardly suffered any symptoms, in fact, I think family Christmas (which I went to the next day) was more painful! Ex-boyf sat next to me for three days straight while my body let go. It’s taken a while to process it all since then; you can’t rush figuring it all out for yourself. I’m grateful that the (second) doctor was so great. I only wish other girls in this situation could be treated so well; cared for and respected.

I told my family in my own time and in my own way. Maybe that’ll be another story.

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December 13, 2011 · 1:00 pm

The first time I do it

The first time I do it… It will be right. It will be smooth and well crafted. It will not take a toll on me that hangs. Tugging down my shoulders keeping my chin from pushing my eyes up to see the layers of building tops touch the sky.

The first time I do it… finally to a man. Finally, to feel equal and stand up to him, to talk back, to call him out. To be assertive. The first time I do it… it will be authentic.

The first time will be quickly forgotten as it will be the first day that I step into that skin. The skin that I have been crafting in my mind. This skin will suit me, it has come from my mind, representing my heart, what I think and feel and especially what I know.  The first time will befinally; and then, yes, then forgotten.

It simply becomes the way that I am. Every day. Not that one significant time that I acted the way that I would love for every woman to act. Every day, for every woman to feel free to act out against any one, especially men. To act out without fear of ridicule because we have the right. Just as one knows they are innocent.. I know that I am powerful. I have the right to be, feel and act equal.

I have the greatest desire to, for the first time… not cow-toe in inferiority, not be afraid of disapproval, not feel dizzy with the conflict between mind and behavior. I won’t care if I hurt his feelings nor will I be concerned with the interpretations of others of me: abrasive, harsh, bitchy, extreme, angry, bitter, cold, childish, pushy, touchy. I will be proud of my authentic assertion, and not ony the first time.

I know that finally, and for the first time, I finally will have found so much of me that I have been searching to know.

The part that woke me up from slumber inside of a relationship where the part of me that makes people laugh had vanished. The part that stands up for the women I know and love. The part of me that loves and trusts her womanhood. That part of me that has come out fiercely and courageously in the company of women.

Only was I able to stand up and confront the pick pocketer and the crafty thief on the bus when it was a woman and her son. Only was I able to take charge that time we were lost out on a mountain and the headlights went out.. when I was with my best friend a beautiful and successful woman. I know I have a Sergeant inside. I know she is there and she is GOOD and she has come around in the presence of women, but she has been trained so well to take her subordinate place in the presence of men.

After the first time my behavior catches up with what I know, I will for the first time stand up courageously without regard to gender. After the first time, I will not ignore the man’s hand quickly groping me on the street (again). I will not be reluctant, worrying about embarrassing him or the woman he is with. That poor old creep who sees me as the parts of my body that he has a desire to abuse will not be ignored by me. Nor will I again be quiet and polite to the man following me, inappropriate with his words about MY body. I will not tell him that “Today, I just want to be alone,” or “Yes, it’s because I have a boyfriend, sorry”.

The first time I do it I will finally be saying goodbye to the path of least resistance.

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November 29, 2011 · 9:26 am

The first time I realised I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was

I have always been seen as the strong one. The woman who doesn’t put up with the usual rubbish, who stands up for herself. I have always proudly called myself a feminist and condemned men who couldn’t respect that as idiots. I have always known my rights and been lucky enough to be raised in an environment where my rights were just as important as any man’s. I believed these things. I thought I knew how to react when push came to shove.

But for the first 25 years of my life, push never really came to shove. Sure, I encountered assholes, chauvinism and general horrible people. But I was lucky enough never to be forced to do something I didn’t want to do, or to be touched inappropriately or to be made to feel awful or uncomfortable in a situation. And even if I were, I believed I knew what to do. I had an unfailing confidence in myself. I never ever questioned that someone like me, someone strong, feminist and educated, might not be able to do this.

And then one day, it happened. And I failed myself. Typing those words still makes me feel sick.

It all started when I flight I took was delayed. I sat in the departure lounge watching the end of the Egyptian revolution on TV when the man next to me started making small talk. He was well dressed and much older. He spoke to me in a fatherly way. I chatted back and he offered me one of his chocolates, which I accepted. We walked to the plane together and were seated apart. To be honest, I was a little relieved. I like travelling alone, and I don’t like making awkward small talk for 9 hours, so it suited me just fine. Besides, some of the stories he’d told me had been a little off colour. I had a row to myself on the plan and drifted happily off to sleep.

I woke up four hours later to find him sitting at the end of my row watching me. As soon as I woke up he moved into the seat next to me and started chatting again. I was uncomfortable. He was in my space and I was trapped between him and the window. But I didn’t do anything.

As he talked, his stories got creepier. He started telling me strange things about prostitutes and massages he’d gotten in China. I started to squirm inside. When would he leave me alone? But I still didn’t say anything. The polite girl I’d been raised to be overtook the strong woman I thought I was inside. I figured he didn’t realise how he was making me feel. I rubbed my neck trying to get some of the tension out of it.

He noticed and offered to rub it for me. By this point I felt frozen inside. I didn’t want him to touch me. Every fibre of my being wanted to scream out loudly and have him removed. But somehow, I just couldn’t do it. I begged myself to kick into action but nothing happened. He started massaging my neck, before starting to move his hands downwards. I stared out of the window and tried to ignore him. I wanted to evaporate more than anything in the world. I couldn’t move, I felt like my voice had been stolen from me. I wanted to use it but I just couldn’t do it. I moved away. He kept pushing. Suddenly, he grabbed my face, turned it towards him and started kissing me, moving his disgusting tongue all over my mouth and caressing my back.

I finally kicked into action. I pushed him away and said no. But I didn’t shout or scream or attract attention as I should have. I was so mortally embarrassed and humiliated that I wanted to sink into the ground. The plane began to descend and he began apologizing. He thought I was interested, he thought we had a connection. I ignored him. He rested his hand on my knee and before I could shake it off, he grabbed me and kissed me again as the plane touched ground. Again, I pushed him away, this time more strongly and said no a little more loudly. He looked around to make sure no one had heard and then told me I shouldn’t have been so friendly. He apologized again, but somehow made it sound like it was my fault. I pushed myself as far away from his as possible, closed my eyes and prayed for it all to be over. I felt like I would never be clean again.

After what felt like forever, the cabin lights came on and passengers stood up to get their bags. He moved off quickly and I stood. Tears of anger, frustration and humiliation burned my eyes. It was over, but inside, I felt like the worst person alive. I was so upset about what had happened and so angry that he had taken advantage of the situation like that but more than that I was furious at myself. How could I have let myself down like that? Why didn’t I do something? Why did I freeze? As I felt my inside slowly unclenching, the reality of what had happened hit me and I started to feel the worst thing of all: guilt. I started to think it was my fault. If I was such a strong woman then what the hell had I just allowed to happen? Not only had I let myself down but I’d let the next woman he tried to do that to down. I’d let all the other women fighting against this crap down.

It’s been a few months since that flight now. I still feel my heart sink every time I think of that incident. I still feel the burn of shame and humiliation. I still feel the intense disappointment in myself for letting it happen. But I’ve also started to realise that no matter what happened, it wasn’t my fault. That lecherous old man was disgusting no matter what. And no matter what I did, he took advantage of the situation. His actions are the revolting ones, not mine. But even though I know this in my head though, it doesn’t change how I feel in my heart sometimes. I still sometimes feel like the biggest traitor to womankind in the world.

I wish I could end this story more positively but it’s an ongoing battle. I wish that man knew how much he’d changed my life and how much he’d shaken my core. He’s probably totally forgotten it ever happened. So, for now, there’s just one thing I hope and pray: that if something like this ever happens again, I’ll react. I’ll scream, I’ll shout, I’ll kick, I’ll punch. I may have let myself down once but I’m hoping this means I’ll never do it again. I just wish I could guarantee that I’ll actually be able to do it…

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