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Angel in the Sky

Baby Bussard

I remember the morning I took the first test—I was shocked, amazed, doubtful, scared. I immediately ran into the living room where my boyfriend stood, showed him the test, and he said, “What is this?”

I then replied with, “I’m pregnant.” He gave me a hug and a kiss and was just so ecstatic about the news! But there, I was feeling alone and afraid—alone because none of my friends had even started thinking about having kids, so who would I talk to when I needed someone? And I was afraid because I didn’t know how my body was going to react, or how anyone would react. How was I going to afford this?

I went back and forth in my head about my options. I went to the doctor to confirm the pregnancy around five weeks gestation. Hearing those words, “You are pregnant,” just ripped me apart. Now I know, I must sound heartless because most women never get the chance to have children or have fertility issues, but I just could not stop thinking about what my life was going to become. Call me selfish, call me a fool, but I had to seriously think about what was really going to happen.

I then asked the doctor if I could have some brochures about options. As I looked through at the different options and places and procedures, only one seemed clear. I mean, how can I go through an entire pregnancy, feel the child, go through the emotions, and then just give it up? But I knew I couldn’t afford this. I knew I was too selfish to have a child. The only other option was an abortion. I know, it’s such a dirty word, but really it depends on how you look at it.

I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do in the Lord’s eyes, I knew it just wasn’t fair to not give this child a shot at life, and I knew the joy I was giving up; but I think God is forgiving—and this child would have been loved, yes, but there would be no room, no opportunity for extracurricular activities due to funds, and they would have been around a lot of arguing.

The more and more I thought about it, the more it took away from me. All the hormones and anger, the crying and exhaustion. I was running on a thin line. I finally was riding in the car with my boyfriend and just went off and started screaming, “I can't do this anymore!” We pulled into the Walmart parking lot and he just hugged me and kissed me and told me it was my body, my life, and I needed to do what I had to.

The next day, I made a phone call to get prices and information on an abortion procedure. I called my mother and told her what was going on and that I needed help paying for it. Now, most mothers would have steered their daughters against this kind of thing—especially their first grandchild—but not my mother. I know she only wanted me to be happy and did what she thought was right for me, but most of the time I feel like she only did it because she didn’t want to see me struggle, and because she didn’t want to see me gain more weight.

Anyways, as the story goes, my mother sent me money, I went in for my initial exam, bloodwork, and an ultra sound. It was the most awful, most emotional experience I had ever been through. After the first appointment, I wanted nothing more than to get this over with before my emotions took over and I changed my mind. The next day, I went in to meet with the doctor, and at that time, took the first pill to end the gestation. There was no turning back at this point. Later that night, I took the pill that started the process of ending this child’s life.

I thought that everything was done because there was a lot of blood, but little did I know, two days later, I was sitting at work when it’s almost time to go and I get this sharp, stabbing pain in my lower back. I wasn’t out for another two hours and I finally got home just to realize what was happening. I remember thinking, “If this is what labor is like, I don’t want any more parts of it.” I went to the bathroom after laying down a bit and not being able to eat because I was in so much pain and blood was pouring out of my body. I thought I was going to fall out. It was all I could do to keep from falling, leaving my back against the cold wall. I sat on the toilet, looked down, and slowly knelt down on the floor. I reached in the toilet, scooped up the tiny eight-week-old fetus and just held it and cried and sobbed and hyperventilated. My boyfriend came in, picked me up, and put me in the tub—he even cleaned up all the blood and made sure I had some clean clothes. He held me tight and told me things would be alright.

No one prepares you for this; no amount of reassurance and comfort can prepare you for the emotional toll this takes on someone. Body. Mind. Soul. I had been so upset, pissed, and short with myself, so mean to myself for what I had done and I do regret it in some ways, but I know now it was for the better.

Three months later, and here I am today. I still think of what could have been and what might have been, but I’ve come to realize that dwelling on it is not going to make the pain go away. In some ways, I do feel like my child is watching me, looking out for me, and I know he or she understands my reasoning. I know they are with God now, and he will not let anything happen to them. I hope they are dancing, laughing, and playing in the sky. And this thought alone, believing they forgive me and believing they are still with me, keeps me going and heals me everyday.

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