Why You Were Taken

Journal entry 3 March 1987

Westville

In the news: a guerrilla is shot dead by Gugulethu police after firing at them with an AK47.

What I’m listening to: The new Compact Disc (CD) of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ by the Beatles

What I’m reading: ‘Watchers’ by Dean R Koontz. It’s about two creatures that emerge from a secret government laboratory, one to spread love, the other doom.

What I’m watching: Nightmare on Elm Street 3. Totally gnarly. Usually I enjoy scary movies but I had to walk out of the cinema. Life is grisly enough.

I went in for my abortion (hate that word!) today. I felt so trapped and alone but it seemed like the only solution. I got up really early, I had to be at the ‘family planning clinic’ at 7 and after waiting for a while in a grubby room with two other girls with shame-flamed cheeks they gave me a depressing pink gown to change into. Had to take off all make-up and jewellery, even my new nail polish. There was a mirror in the fluorescent room and I just looked at my face and I was so pale and looked so terrible. I kept thinking ‘what have I become? What have I become?’

I am NOT the kind of person who sleeps with married men, and definitely not the kind of person who has an abortion! And once these things are done they can never be undone. I will be forever bruised. My soul will be dented. I was looking into that mirror thinking that I didn’t even recognise myself, and I just started crying. Weeping, really. That hyperventilating ugly-cry.

Shame, the nurse was so kind to me, she could see that I was really shaken up. She held my hand. Told me if I didn’t want the baby then I was doing the right thing. That the world doesn’t need another unwanted child. It would be best for everyone, if I was sure that I didn’t want it. It’s not that I don’t ‘want it’ I wanted to say to her. It’s that I can’t have it. Look at me, I may be 24 but I’m just a child myself.

So I was on the operating table after taking the pre-med and feeling totally woozy and my legs were in stirrups when something just happened, like a bolt of lightning. All of a sudden the abstract idea of pregnancy became a real idea of a little baby (a little baby!) instead of an ‘it,’ and the thought was there as clear as day that there was no way I could go through with the termination. Mine and P’s baby!! A little pink gurgly precious baby! The anxiety fell away (I blame the drugs) and revealed my true wish, even if it was clouded by conflicted emotions.

I felt so embarrassed telling the doctor but he didn’t mind. Usually I absolutely hate doctors but he was really nice: said it was better to be sure, and that I still had another 3 weeks to change my mind if I wanted to, said he’d take care of me. But I won’t. Something happened to me on that table and it totally wasn’t what I planned.

The nurse squeezed my arm and gave me her number in case I wanted to talk. I started crying again – something about the unexpected kindness of strangers in hard times. Also, the meds! I am going to have to tell P about the baby. I’m sure he will be angry and end things. I will probably have to find a new job, a new town. My parents will, like, never speak to me again! No duh. My life as I know it is over. Never felt so lonely before!

All that said I can’t help feeling a tiny jab of excitement (stress?) when I think of the baby. Eeeek! An actual baby. What was I thinking? I’m totally terrified.

Bon Jovi’s song is constantly playing on every radio and in my head. I’m living on a prayer!!