The university doctor examined me. Then all of his students examined me.
“As you can see,” he explained, “the uterus is tipped, making bringing a fetus to term unlikely.”
After I had dressed and sitting in his office we had a conversation.
“The risk of miscarriage is high.”
“I’ve already made an appointment for an abortion. Should I–“
“Yes. With miscarriage there’s a risk of infection. Abortion is safer.”
***
My boyfriend flew in from New Jersey. We borrowed a car from my roommate and drove across the river to East St. Louis. I kept my eyes closed on the bridge. I distracted myself by thinking of all the concerts I’d gone to at SIU. I tried, but could remember nothing of the music. All that came back to me was the terror of getting lost on the way back from the port-a-potty, hundreds of blankets spread out over the dark field, my friends blending in so well they were invisible until I nearly stepped on them.
It rained. We got lost.
When we finally found the clinic there was a group of people carrying signs out front. My boyfriend dropped me off and went to find a parking place. I waited, but he didn’t return, so I headed in by myself. The people with the signs blocked the entrance. When I stepped around them they began to shout. Something hit me squarely between the shoulders, but I kept walking, head down, hands out to push open the big glass doors.
When we came out hours later the protestors were still there. One tried to snatch the paper bag with my antibiotics out of my hand. My boyfriend shoved the person away and started shouting. I wanted to run but didn’t know where the car was parked. The crowd pressed in around us, yelling louder. My boyfriend waved towards a parking lot across the street and took off running.
I was cramping a lot by then and couldn’t follow. I looked around for help and saw a police car parked at the curb, officer inside, watching. Finally my boyfriend pulled up and shoved open the passenger door, but the crowd around me tightened.
“Get the fuck in the car already,” he shouted.
I pushed. The crowd pushed back. I felt a hand grab my upper arm and automatically tried to pull away.
“It’s OK,” said a woman’s voice in my ear.
I looked up to see the receptionist from the clinic. The crowd fell back. She led me to the car, tucked me inside and shut the door behind me. My boyfriend took off. He didn’t speak to me the whole ride home.
Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash
