Another Abortion

                               People had been asking when we were going to start a family.  Get married, have a family, grow older, retire and then die was the thinking of the day. 

            I seemed to be in a constant state of a tug of war.  Do I love my husband or not?  Do I want to have a baby or not?   Do I want to get pregnant or not?  My emotions seesawed like a teeter-totter.  Years earlier, my husband had made it clear he didn’t want children.  I had always believed if we were married and “in love,” I could change his mind.  I had gotten what I wanted most of the time and I figured I would get my way on this too. 

We were on rocky ground with our marriage but neither of us ever discussed it.  I had been on and off birth control pills for years by now.  Birth control pills made me feel funny inside so after a couple of months of beginning a new round of them, I would then stop taking them.  They also made me gain weight and I just couldn’t deal with that as well, so I became pregnant.  I was thin and liked the way I looked.  I was still carrying on my Dance Fever life having a ball.  I thought, “I could be pregnant and still be a hip chick.”  Yet, every Friday and Saturday night as I would leave the hotel, I would start thinking, “I just don’t know if I want to have a baby.”  I couldn’t bear the thought of having to stop the only thing that had really made me happy to be a mother.  I felt like I was in another life when I was at the hotel and I didn’t want to give that up for a life of the unknown.  I got scared and decided to abort the fetus.  I just couldn’t go on with the pregnancy.  A lie was conjured up and we told everyone I had a miscarriage.  I would always promise myself I would “do” life better, cleaner (by not having another abortion), and get away from the heavy, dark funk that loomed over my life, but I never seemed to be able to stop myself from myself.

            After the abortion, I was back at nightlife again.  Push came to shove and the dance instructor and I devised a plan and purposed to rendezvous one Monday.  He was to call and I would meet him wherever he said.  I laid in bed the morning of our clandestine meeting with one of the darkest clouds hanging over my life.  Thoughts of guilt and shame were rolling over in my mind as I lay there.  I watched the clock and waited for the call that much to my relief, never came.  I rolled over, took my meds, and went back to sleep. 

            I loved to sleep.  Sleep was an escape from reality.  By this time, I was also on a mild sleeping pill.  I was running from the big, bad wolf inside of myself and believe me; I tried everything I knew to run from it.  Nothing worked.  The Psychiatrist I was seeing didn’t help really.  I needed him to be available to me 24/7, not just once a week.  Medication didn’t help.  Drugs didn’t help.  Alcohol didn’t help.  Sex didn’t help (when I had to have it) and I wanted that less and less.  Not even all of the attention from the many men I was around helped.  I would get from one day to the next tanked up on meds, living for the next moment and event in my life.  I’ll be happy when…. 

            We were asked by my husband’s employers to baby-sit their three children while they went to Las Vegas to attend a hotel convention.  A week away from my surroundings was a welcome relief.  I eyed a book lying on the table by L. Ron Hubbard entitled Dianetics.  The book explained how you could think yourself into being happy.  Maybe this was my answer!  I began trying to speak and think myself happy but after several weeks of putting forth a good effort, nothing had changed so I gave up.  I would get my hands on something new and try it, only to be left disappointed and in a worse state of hopelessness than when I began.  I had failed again.

My Dance Fever lifestyle started to phase itself out as my husband was moved to another property location to manage.  However, I wasn’t ready to let go of the only thing that had made me happy so easily.  I had my dance instructor come to the new place but it wasn’t the same.  It was as if something was trying to stop all of this extra weekend nightlife.  As much as I tried and tried to hang on to it, my best manipulation didn’t work this time.

            The Psychiatrist I had been seeing for about three years suggested I start seeing his wife, who was a Psychologist.  What was that?  I feel certain he did this thinking maybe a woman would be better suited to help me.  He had certainly done everything he knew how.  I didn’t really like the thought of leaving his care but I had somewhat outgrown him, so I was open to his suggestion.   

            So, I began therapy with a woman doctor.  From our very first meeting, I knew we would not get along at all.  I would walk in the room and she would quietly stare at me until I would say something.  In other words, it had been determined that she was going to try a different tack with me.  She always made certain to remind me to leave my check on the desk beside the door, as she would state, “Our time is up.”  That made me resent her.  Wasn’t I more important than a dollar bill?  I had never missed a payment.

            I stopped taking birth control again and became pregnant.  This time however, I was determined the pregnancy would not be aborted.  I was going to have this baby, come “hell or high water” and no one was going to stop me even myself.  I stood at the top of the stairs crying telling my husband, “I am not going to have another abortion.”  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought having this baby would help me get on a stable footing in my life and I just wanted someone in my life who loved me unconditionally.” 

            I dreaded telling my new doctor I was pregnant but knowing I would eventually start to show, I had no choice.  I told her the news and the scowl that appeared on her face after hearing my news made it obvious she was not happy with this new development in my life.  I left her office that day and made the decision to stop all counseling. 

            Having something to focus on tangibly started helping me overcome the inner darkness I had always known.  I knew I was making the right decision because I knew I was not going to be able to enjoy pregnancy if I had to face her sour attitude week after week.  I had a knot in my stomach every time I had to go see her and “the ache” had returned as well.  This, coupled with her attitude about money, only added fuel to the fire and I was going to put this fire out.

            I went one day specifically to tell her I was going to quit therapy and did not intend on returning.  I did not beat around the bush.  I told her bluntly and boldly that after I left that day, I would not be back to see her again.  She was clearly taken aback but said she wanted to see me at least three more sessions so we could “wrap up.”  I reluctantly consented.  When we met again, in the middle of the session she said, “You should not be having a baby.  You are not fit to have a baby.”  I left there that day, went home to my husband, sat on the steps that led to the upstairs and just sobbed.  He told me to call her and tell her that I would not be coming back and that is what I did.  After four abortions already, I did not want to hear I was unfit.  I really hated her.  I had never hated anyone in my life before her.  Who was she to tell me that I couldn’t have a baby?