Jane Doe 7

My story: I am sitting down to finally write my story, but as I stare at the computer screen my fingers don’t move; they just don’t move…when they finally start to work, I hit the ‘backspace’ key more often than any words I struggle I form.

I stop and cry.


Cry because choosing an abortion is not like any other hard decision you will ever have to make. It is like every ‘what if’ scenario played out over and over again with a million different possibilities each time; like watching the Butterfly Effect in fast forward and reverse at the same time.


Cry because abortion is borne out of desperation; every other possible alternate has been explored. No woman gets pregnant to have an abortion. Not. One. Single. Woman.


Cry because to go back to that place; to remember, I have to step away from the protection of the strong, independent, confident person I am and open myself up to the abused and afraid woman I was.


I sit here and struggle to regain some kind of regular, unforced breathing; my brain has forgotten how to breathe without first thinking about it. My throat is sore and dry and I have a headache. My heart aches, not because I had an abortion, but because I HAD to have an abortion. Without a single, iota of doubt, I made the only right decision for me and my 2 sons. My conscience is clear, my morals in check. I didn’t take a life…I saved 3.


Breathe.


Without getting into too many novel-worthy details, I will skip to the night before I broke free from an abusive monster (AM) who figured that a pregnancy had sealed his ownership of my life.


I had for months been planning our escape and was in the final stage of securing a new place to live. Thankfully my sons were gone for night when the AM intercepted a call from a potential rental and my gig was up.


I endured a night of the ‘cycle of abuse’ on hyper speed; he threw lit cigarettes at me, spit at me, hit me, and then would try to hug me/console me, I would reject him, and it would repeat all over again; over and over again all night (10+nonstop hours of abuse after abuse).


Why didn’t I call the police? Well, the last time I had called for their assistance because he was smashing things, a male and female officer arrived to tell me that there was nothing they could do, since he had smashed his own things?!


I finally found the number and called the Anderson House (a women’s shelter); she could hear the AM screaming and threatening me in the background and told me to get out! When I got off the phone I told the AM that if he didn’t let me leave that she would be sending the police. But there was a problem…a snowstorm and 2-4 feet of snow in my driveway. Apparently, I found out later that statistics would say that during snowstorms, etc., when people are stuck at home, reports of domestic violence increase…by a lot.
When I finally arrived at the women’s shelter, the beautiful lady who had been on the other end of the line, wept and told me that she was afraid that the AM was going to kill me…shhh…so did I.


For the safety of me and my sons, I needed to cut all ties with the AM; all ties!


I made some calls and was told that PEI would pay for an abortion if I had a referral from a doctor, but that most doctors would not write a referral. One doctor that would was Dr. T; I made an appointment with him.

Dr. T wanted $200.00 cash in exchange for a referral! I refused to pay and he refused to grant me a referral.


I’m going to type that again, Dr. T said that I had to pay $200.00 cash in order for him to write me a referral.


Halfway through writing this, my tears dried, my strength and confidence returned and any leftover sadness I had hung onto was replace with anger; anger for a broken system that not only puts women at risk, but actually preys on them and perpetuates their abuse.


I better run along now and see about collecting the money the PEI government still owes me…hope they agree that I don’t require the required referral since in foregoing it, I prevented a criminal act being committed by a respected doctor. Yep, I’m a helper.

Anonymous – PEI

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