Her Name Is Lucy

*trigger warning ~ mentions a young child*

Pen to paper. Cursor to computer. I have written my story quite a few times. Each time there are more details in one area and less in another. But when I was asked to write my story this time, I decided that if it took everything out of me I would revisit every detail of my story.

Let me start with where I was at during all this. This is a journal entry from December 2009. “Here I am, 17 years old. I just graduated high school, early, about a week ago.  I have a 1-year-old child and I just got married in August to my boyfriend of two years. I live with my Mom. Of course my Husband works and we pay half the bills, but I feel like a bum. I am about to feel even worse when she finds out  I am pregnant-again.”

December 20th 2009-I took “the test.” The test that would make a difference for the rest of my life. Two pink lines. NOT what I expected. We had only had sex once! My mind waivered back and forth. “How nice it would be for our little girl to have a sibling so close to her age!But…My Mom is going to kick us out. What will we do on my Husband’s Wendy’s salary?” But I guessed it didn’t matter anymore because what was done was done.

About an hour later I received a text from my Husband at work. “Maybe we should get an abortion. I know neither one of us wants that or even believes in it, but it might be our only choice.” How livid I was, and hurt! How could he ask me to do that? It wasn’t going to happen. No doubt in my mind. We would NOT be doing that.

I attempted to get excited even though I had to keep it a secret from family and I felt like my Husband didn’t want OUR child. I told a few friends and I started  thinking about Baby items, and thinking if I wanted a boy or a girl this time. That only lasted a few days, because shortly after my Husband asked for me to go walk with in the Chickamauga Battle Field. This is where we made our decision.

Around and around the field we walked quite a few times before either of us ever said a word. We both knew why we were there. I can’t recall the exact conversation or how it even began. I do know, however, that I had the worst gut-wrenching terrible, fearful, feeling about what was going to happen next. It somehow was brought to what “needed to be done.” And his list of “reasons why” seem so meaningless now. He reasoned that it was because the doctor told me to consider not having more kids due to a blood condition, and he didn’t want to lose me. Then he went on to reason that we would get kicked out and he would have to work twice as many hours to pay bills and with two kids…he just didn’t know what that would do to our marriage. Then…Then he hit me where it hurt. Our daughter. Her name is Samantha. She had so many medical conditions. She wasn’t progressing physically like she should have been. She had weekly therapy appointments. And swallow studies. And constant checkups for her leg braces. At that point they were labeling her “special needs.” He said, “She needs us. We will lose her if we don’t have a place to live.” Adoption was my only reply. But he said it doesn’t work that way. We would still get kicked out and all of the above would still take place, but minus one child.

And then. Then I gave in. I gave into the list of reasons. Reasons that, like I stated before are so meaningless now. When I look back and go over them I think to myself all the possible solutions to each problem. But I was just so scared at the time. So scared I would have done anything to be “un-scared.” My last few words were, “You know I will be angry with you and it will probably take me a little while to get over.” And his response, “I don’t want you to be angry with me.” Now that I think about it, the anger rises up in me for that empty response. And then anger towards myself for not knowing that it wouldn’t be just that easy.

My time perception during that week is clouded. It seems more like weeks or even a month than just days. I do not even know how many clinics I called. One after the other rejected me for one reason or the next. Thinking AAA Women’s Services was a local clinic, and it was, some years ago, I called to make an appointment when they offered me a free test and ultrasound. So we went. Just to see what they had to say. What help they had to offer. My test, once again, was positive. And they went on to tell us how Blessed we were. Why did we not listen? Why did we not listen? They gave us pamphlets and a Bible and let us pick out  some Baby booties for our child due on August 21st 2010. As we left the center, I flipped a card over and over in my hand. It had services they offered listed on the back and then on the front was the information for the on site abortion counselor’s. They must have known…I cried all the way home. And once I got there, I tucked the card safely away, where I knew it would be when I needed it.

I feel so selfish. I remember looking over and over the Internet one afternoon and telling my Husband that there was a pill you could take if you weren’t too far along. I figured it would be quick and painless. And I remember telling him that  if I had to have the surgery done I wouldn’t do it and he would have to figure it out himself. How selfish of me. How-selfish of me. I must have called 50 or 60 clinics within miles of each other trying to find one without an age limit (even though I was married) and without protocol. (Most clinics said you must live within an hour of them in case an emergency arises.) I told my Husband that there was one more place on the list, and if they did not accept me, I was done. We would just tell my Mom. And, as if the Devil perfectly placed each little stepping stone in front of me…
The lady on the phone told me that I needed to come in as soon as possible, in the next day or two. So she made me an appointment for December 29th, 2009. Just days after Christmas. This is the day I lost my Lucy.

I remember eating peanut butter all night the night before so that my iron wouldn’t be too low and I wouldn’t get “rejected.” Early in the morning we left for Atlanta, Georgia, about an hour’s drive. My Husband and I tried to play “car games” on the way up there. We kept saying, “Once this is over, everything will be easier.” I kept saying I knew I would hurt from it, but I don’t think I realized what the depth of this “hurt” would be like, more like living-dead.

We pulled up to a large building full of business, and hiding in shame, there it was, Summit Medical Center, in the back, bottom, corner of the building. A small, dimly lit office full of women of all ages. Some looked calmer than others. Some were crying. Some were yelling at their mothers to hush and just  “Let them do it! It was their child anyway!” I was handed a clip board and some papers to fill out. One question after the other. And I remember looking at the question, “Has anyone made you feel like you have to have an abortion?” And I wanted to circle yes, but there was my Husband beside me. I circled no.

We waited for hours before I was called back for my ultrasound, which my Husband was NOT allowed back for due to the confidentiality of the other women. What other women? There were none in the room with me. The ultrasound specialist told me to take my clothes off and after I get the cover on lie down on the table. She proceeded to do my ultrasound, but it was very uncomfortable, and as many may do in that situation, I moved around a little bit, only to have her yelling at me that if I didn’t sit still long enough for her to get a picture, we would  “Not be able to go through with the termination.” Right at that moment I wanted to pick up and leave. I wanted to scream, “Good! I don’t want to anyway!” But I couldn’t. I felt so trapped. Like I was on lockdown and I couldn’t change my mind or they would shutdown all the doors and sound the alarms and drag me back to the back…So I laid there and dealt with it while she took a picture. I asked her how far I was and she stated that  I was about 6-1/2 weeks and that that was the perfect time to do the medical abortion. My heart sunk as I saw her circle the word “Yes” under the question “Cardiac Activity.” I had a perfectly healthy potential life in me for only a moment. And then soon she would be gone.

After being sent back out to the waiting room and then back again for an RH and iron test, and then back out and back in again, I was sent into a room full of women. Women that I will never forget. Some that looked terrified. Some that just didn’t seem to care. They said things like, “How much longer is this going to take? I am hungry!” Or “I have a long drive home.” Or “I have had several abortions before and I have never been to a place this slow.” And I, I just wanted to hang my head down in shame. Maybe all their nonchalant comments were just a cover up. Maybe they regret it now. Maybe they don’t. But just to go through that and to hear that. And to know that I was sitting there too, just like them, waiting on the same thing…a cup full of little pills…I was completely disheartened.

And as they passed around the consent papers and made follow up appointments-that I never did attend, they also handed out those tiny little cups and repeated instructions on what to do and how to do it. What to expect and how to cope with the pain. And as I stared at that pill I thought of all the reasons I HAD to do this. January 02nd 2010:  “But I did it for Samantha-so she would have us and a place to live and a good future. I did it for Jessie-so he wouldn’t have to work all the time-so he wouldn’t always be so angry at me-at us, his Family. That is what went through my mind. So I took it.” And as I did, the last words I heard as I left were, “Happy Passing.” Happy Passing? Happy Passing…Those words will never leave my head. They will forever stay there and echo as if the lady were standing right next to me, lingering over me for the rest of my life.

I broke down in the car on the way back, and my Husband passed half heated attempts to get me to eat and “feel better.” We finally stopped at a convenient store to get some hotdogs, one of my favorites, but he should have known it takes more than a hotdog to mend a shattered heart. And that wasn’t even the end.

January 02nd, 2010:  “I wonder what she would have been like. Would she have been healthy? Would she even be a she? Would we have named her Maygen Marie like we wanted? Would she be a Happy Baby, a Calm Baby? What would she look like when she grew up? How would her likes and dislikes change? And the biggest question I keep asking myself, “Did we make the right choice?”

The next day, at home,  I had to insert the next set of pills. And all the while my one year old daughter wanted to hang all over me and Love on me and all I could do was cry and cry because she had no idea what was going on. And if she did, she would probably hate me. Hate me for taking away what could have been her little sister, someone for her to have to lean on and to Love, even after we were long gone. She would have someone there for her.

The foggy part of my story was in the days after. So much was happening around me. Almost like punishment for what we had done. My grandfather was shot and in the hospital. He hasn’t been the same since. Our car completely broke, leaving us with no way to our first days of college. And my brother attempted suicide by jumping out in front of an 18-wheeler truck.

The only thing I remember was a single written sentence in my journal, January 04rd, 2010: “Without you, I feel-incomplete.  And it is so hard to see you pass.”

My emotions are much different now than in the beginning. Sometimes I think maybe facing it has just made things worse. Also time has made it easier and harder to accept, but I guess that is just part of it.

September 23rd, 2011: I Miss You, Lucy. But I am beginning to feel Peace.

I have done much in the way of trying to heal since my abortion. I have gone through a bit of counseling to no avail. Done some recovery workbooks. Joined PASS. Held a Memorial Service for Lucy. And attempted some self-help activities like journaling, talking to friends who have been through the same thing, and volunteering to help others. Now I am part of this SRG in Hopes that I will be to the point one day that I can completely and fully accept that I am Forgiven and that I will again, one day, see my Little Lucy.
…It is so hard for me to go back are relive this in such detail. I am having to pause. Take a moment. Breath. Go through her journal. And, something I have not felt the urge to do in a long time, revisit the website. It is almost like I am trying to torture myself…

And up rises all these emotions. Grief for the child that I once had. Regret because it is my fault, yet blame toward my Husband because it is his. And anger for those who made it easy for us, even though they didn’t know. My Mother-In-Law for watching our daughter while we were on our “date.” My Husband’s Best Friend for taking his shift at Wendy’s that day. The clinic for accepting me…Even HandR Block for giving us a loan on our income tax and the school for telling us we did not have to pay for his classes like we thought-the original reason for obtaining the loan. All these things that made it so possible, so “convenient” for us.

This is my story. I am telling it for Lucy.

Her Name Is Lucy

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Monday, November 19, 2012

Her Name Is Lucy

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