The pro-choice author of a book that compiles women’s stories talked about how she felt right after her abortion:
“The abortion proceeded without many problems, although I ended up in another emergency room that night, vomiting violently for no apparent reason. Emotionally, I felt fine. My clinic and told me to expect mild depression over the next 10 days as my hormones changed, but that night and all that week I felt nothing…
She went on an airplane to take a trip.
As soon as I settled into my seat on the plane for Denver, everything changed. I stared at Haroon [her boyfriend] as he waved to me from the airport, and I felt like we had been ripped apart. He had been through the whole abortion experience with me and now I was flying halfway across the country to a place where no one knew my secrets. I was shocked at the waves of emotion passing through me. I thought I had felt so little because I was clear about wanting an abortion. I now realized that the emotions had been there all along, only I hadn’t let them come forward…
In Denver, I had nothing to say to anybody and withdrew into my own private hell…
I wanted to know if I were going crazy, if I would always feel so fragile and volatile, flying around in the storm of my emotions. One moment I felt furious – at life’s unfairness, at doctors, or at anybody who rubbed me the wrong way. The next minute, I was overcome by loss. At the same time, I didn’t feel entitled to grieve and I didn’t understand why I should want to, since I didn’t regret my choice. All I knew was that my world turned upside down and that I couldn’t get back to the way I used to feel.…
She did a homework assignment that came back with a bad grade and rude comment.
The next day, the directors held a meeting to air our gripes about this assignment. I worked up the courage to say something, but was interrupted by a student with frizzy hair. She told me I better get used to the way employers are going to treat me and that this was the real world and did I expect to be pampered all my life?
I said nothing in self-defense, feeling my face get hotter and hotter. When she finished, I ran to the bathroom and let out gasps and splutters and tears. I knew that this was an inappropriate place for an outburst, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. Finally, seeing myself in such bad shape, I decided to stop hiding in the bathroom like a criminal.
When the meeting ended, I asked the directors if I could speak to them. They made room for me between them on the couch. I launched into my story and began to sob. I didn’t care that I was drawing so much attention to myself. I was uncorking my secret and someone was listening. The directors felt I needed a therapist. But it was 6 at night. Who was available? They decided that the only recourse was the emergency room, where I could see a psychiatrist. I consented, but was scared. Had my life come to this?”
Eve Kushner Experiencing Abortion: a Weaving of Women’s Words (Binghamton, New York: The Haworth Press, 1997) xvi–xviii
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