Today’s the day… My abortion appointment. And the truth is, I’m nervous too. Like, sick to my stomach, on the verge of losing my breakfast all over the cab of Graham’s truck, type nervous. And I can’t seem to get out of my head. I barely slept last night, mostly because I don’t really know what to expect when I get there, or once it’s done. I took a gander at Reddit to try to prepare myself, but what one person experienced is so vastly different from the next. So, I genuinely have no freaking clue what to expect, which, naturally, makes my anxiety even higher. I could’ve popped a Xanax, but I didn’t. I don’t think it’s very good to take while pregnant. Not like that should matter, given where I’m headed, but I don’t know…it felt wrong. So instead, I’m raw dogging the unknown.
It doesn’t help that there’s a gnawing feeling in my gut, making me question if I’m making the right decision. Will this be a day I look back on and regret?
At around four, I gave up trying to sleep and walked down to the beach, hoping the saltwater air and the sound of the waves would help me relax. It didn’t. The drive to the clinic takes about three and a half hours, so Graham was at my house at six o’clock sharp, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with a breakfast sandwich and a smoothie he called the “Wonder Woman Smoothie.” It was dark pink and pretty good, even though I didn’t really feel like eating anything. I still don’t know what was in it, but it’s probably better that way. He’s a freakishly chipper guy in the morning, which I’d normally appreciate because I’m a morning person too, but not lately.
Lately, it feels like I’m running on an empty tank. I’m constantly tired, but it’s so much more thanjustbeing tired. It’s a bone-deep exhaustion. I got home from work yesterday and passed out on my couch for three straight hours. I don’t ever do that. Then I had to talk myself into taking a shower before bed, because I knew I wouldn’t want to do it this morning. I’m surepart of it is being pregnant, but I’m like five seconds pregnant. What is there to be so tired for? Mostly, I think it’s the stress and anxiety I’ve been feeling from everything.
The news, and the decision I had to make.
How behind I am in my studies. And honestly, the only thing saving me from having a full-blown breakdown about that is the fact that I’m ahead of where I should be. So, I’m nottechnicallybehind, but it feels like it.
The dread I felt about telling Graham earlier this week really took it out of me, too. Mostly because I had worked up the situation in my head, thinking it would be a heated, explosive argument, so I prepared myself to have to defend my decision.
And of course, I appreciate how supportive and kind he is. I appreciate how he insisted on not only coming to the appointment, but driving me too. In reality, Graham’s probably relieved this is what I decided to do. I mean, he’s a widower with a toddler, for crying out loud. Having a baby with me would turn his entire life upside down. But thinking he’s relieved stings a little, though I don’t know why. It doesn’t make sense. I told him to support the decision I made, and he did. And thisiswhat I decided.
I keep going back to the other night at Graham’s. Getting Ellie Mae cleaned up after she got sick. Talking to her softly as I got her dressed. Her watching me with such a sweet expression. Babbling at me as she fought falling asleep while I was rocking her. Even though I had no clue what I was doing, it felt…natural? I don’t know if that’s even the right way to put it. It was such an intense feeling, this fierce need to make her feel safe and secure and comfortable, to calm her down. And I did that. She was upset and crying, and I was able to soothe her and get her to sleep. And I know it’s different because she’s not my kid, and I only had to be with her for a short time. But ever since that night,I’ve been wondering if maybe Idohave a nurturing side to me, if maybe I wouldn’t be as terrible of a mother as I think.
If there is a small part of me that could maybe see myself doing it.
But I can’t go there. This is what’s best for all of us.
And it’s what I want… Right?
“Is the temperature good?” he asks, glancing over at me. “Want me to turn the air on?”
My throat is uncomfortably tight for some reason. “Yeah, it’s good. Thanks.”
Graham flicks his gaze to his phone propped up on the dash before shifting his focus to the highway in front of us again. “Shouldn’t be more than another half hour until we’re there.”
Worried my voice will crack, I don’t say anything.
“I can’t believe the closest clinic to us is inCharlotte,” he blurts out, clearly back on the small talk. “Blossom Beach is a small town, I get that, but there are bigger towns much closer to us than Charlotte.”
“Yeah, well, it’s impossible to find a place in South Carolina that’s willing to do it,” I mutter under my breath.“There are other ones in North Carolina that are closer, but none that could get me in quickly. Sorry, I know it’s not ideal, spending most of your day driving.”
“No, hey,” he murmurs. “I wasn’t saying that to make you feel bad or anything. I’m happy to be here.” Pausing, Graham clears his throat. “Okay, maybe ‘happy’ isn’t the right word. All I meant was, it’s shitty that there aren’t more accessible resources for pregnant people. You shouldn’t have to leave the state to get the help you need.”
I huff a breath through my nose. “Yup, that’s the patriarchy for you.”
He doesn’t say anything, but the silence is deafening. It’s not long until we’re pulling into the parking lot, and before we evenget out of the truck, I see them. The picketers. My stomach drops as I unbuckle my seatbelt. I knew the probability of them being here was high, butdamn, I really don’t want to walk past them. I’m too busy working on trying to calm down my racing heart that I don’t even notice Graham got out of the truck until my door opens and he’s standing there. Climbing out, I can’t help but wonder what he sees right now as he looks at me.
Does he see someone who’s confident in what they’re about to do?
Or does he see the storm swirling around in my mind? Can he read the terrified, second-guessing thoughts all over my face?
“Ready?” he asks, his gaze soft on mine.
No, I’m not ready, is what I want to say, but instead, I swallow down the bitter taste on the back of my tongue, repeat to myself that this is what’s best, and nod. As we walk through the parking lot, getting closer to the entrance—and the picketers holding signs I don’t even bother looking at—Graham moves to my left and wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. The backs of my eyes sting as I realize what he’s doing.
He’s shielding me from them.
Leaning in, mouth next to my ear, Graham says quietly, “Do not look at them.” There’s a fierceness in his tone that makes it hard to breathe. “This isyourchoice, Charley. They do not get a say. You’re doing what’s right foryou. Do not let them make you feel bad about that, you hear me?”
All I can do is nod. If I say anything, I’m going to cry, and I can’t do that.
As soon as we’re inside the clinic, I breathe out a sigh of relief, though I don’t feel any better. The lady at the front desk checks me in, then hands me a clipboard with a ton of paperwork to fill out, asking questions IknowI already answered on the phone. Once I’m finished, it doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes to get back to a room. The nurse goes over myinformation with me, explains the process and what will happen after the procedure, then lets me know they have to perform an ultrasound before they can get started. Through the whole thing, it feels very out of body. Like I’m not really here. A wave of nausea hits me, and I break out in a cold sweat as I undress and lay on the table. My heart is pounding so hard, it’s difficult to sit still. I don’t even stop to think how awkward all of this is with Graham sitting beside me.
I’m okay. This is okay. We’re here, and it’ll be over before I know it.
