Why I Hate The Word Abortion

LimeWire.ai@mrcjzjwy98 [Author's Image]

My story title might seem completely biased to you my readers, but when you are traumatized by the effects of an abortion, not your own, but when a very close friend of yours life was affected to the point of death. You cannot think of an abortion without the word hate attached to it. I urge you to read this with an open mind, reserving your judgment and some compassion and empathy towards me.

Twenty years ago while volunteering at one of the local Missionaries centers here in Kingston, Jamaica. I met a young woman by the name of Tina, she was in her mid twenties. She had a son named Negus about seven years old, and a daughter called Thursday, five years old. When the children were not in school they would accompany her to the center. She was still living with her mother, and had the children for a Rastafarian man who wouldn’t support them. She relied on what little she got from the center.

We quickly bonded, and we would visit each other’s home. This was when I came to know that Tina was having a clandestine affair with another young man, he worked and was supporting her. But two years into their relationship, she learned that he was a drug addict. Her mother Catherine found out too. And this resulted in frequent arguments with her mom. Her boyfriend wasn’t like a jerk or anything, I mean I actually kinda liked him a little. But, her mother’s nagging had destroyed what little self-esteem she had left.

**************

She sat on my bed, while I stood at the iron board ironing my three boys’ school uniforms. Stone-faced, Tina told me of her plans. She was going to have an abortion.

“You’re the only one I’ve told.” she said to me with determination.

I wished Tina had never told me.

I pleaded with her not to do it. But, Tina was more certain about getting this abortion more than any other medical, or problems she might have had. She only had hypertension as far as I knew.

LimeWire.ai@mrcjzjwy98 [Author’s Image]

I came to understand that we are living in a society where most pregnancies are desired. With the numerous baby showers I have attended. But, this pregnancy I am now writing about, wasn’t desired, especially within the context that the father is a drug addict.

Tina saw a problem, her financial instability, her partner’s addiction and her mother’s constant nagging, but never a child.

Because facing the reality that having this child, another mouth to feed, would always be the source of her frustration and too much to bear. Who was I to question the validity of her reality?

But I blatantly did so in her presence.

What choice do we give that unborn child?

Why should they pay for our mistakes with their life?

If all those fetuses had a choice in our decision making would they choose death?

Her wide-open eyes rolled in her head several times, as if to say that I was accusing her of not allowing her unborn child to live. We are responsible for our choices. No one has the right to remove that choice. I know that I was being selfish at that point. But only because I cared for her.

"We are all supposed to have freedom but what freedom can there be when we do not have autonomy over our own bodies." she said in defense.

And this was the premise she was holding on to, to justify her decision.

***************

When is being selfish the right thing to do? Never, I silently console myself.

“It’s no big deal, just a few clots, some blood and a little pain. In a day or two I will be good to go.” she said confidently.

“Are you sure?”

"Yes, Ms Daphne explained it to me already."

I, knowing deep in my heart that this was a child, a real growing baby. And having her dehumanizing the child inside her womb was heartbreaking.

Fetuses are life, their cells divide, multiply and grow into what we know as human beings.

I agree that we are entitled to make our choices and mistakes. So at three months pregnant [first trimester] she participated in not only aborting her unborn child, but taking her life.

So, I set the iron aside, to give her full attention. Then asked her how she was going to go about doing it.

She casually said to me, you can just go to Miss Daphne for pills and do it in the privacy of your own home, without ever telling anyone, if you don’t want to go to a doctor to get your abortion done. It was simple, cost effective, and private. Daphne Wright, a pleasant, over-weight, middle aged woman, worked at Harvey’s Drug Store as an assistant. And was always available and reliable in supplying whatever is needed, whenever any of the females in the community wanted to correct their mistakes.

A little on the ignorant side of this whole abortion thing, I asked her why she needed to go to Miss Daphne. When she could use the Phensic and Pepsi method. She started laughing at my suggestion hysterically, then told me that the Phensic and Pepsi method was a myth.

These back door doctors, pharmacists, and assistants as I came to know them, didn’t care about their clients. And couldn’t care less if the mother dies in the process.

This abortion had to be kept a secret, was her final words to me as she left me that day, and went home, to a secret that she took to her grave. And one that I am only sharing now as I write this story.

Jason How Image

Three years later another young woman from the community met a similar fate. This time she name Miss Daphne before she died.

This tragedy helped me see that Tina was not alone in this experience.

The problem was that “You’re The Only One I’ve Told,” became very traumatic to me in the end. It brought so many emotions up for me to untangle and make sense of. No matter how much I wanted to hate her, for making that fatal decision and ending her life, I can’t. In the end while I tried to cope I realized that I grieved only for her and not the aborted fetus. I also learned that people sometimes regret their decision of having an abortion. Tina was never one such person.

In the long run it took me five years to process what happened, grieve, and reach a sense of closure.