In my first year, when I was 20, I had to have a late-term abortion at 21 weeks. This was obviously hugely upsetting, but particularly because I had always been very conscientious about contraception. I had been taking the pill throughout my relationship with my boyfriend, and when I missed a period, I went straight to my doctor to have a pregnancy test. It came back negative.
I was hugely relieved. My boyfriend was in 3rd year and was about to leave university, so we split up and I came off the pill. Weirdly, I was still missing periods. I returned to my doctor, who said that I had nothing to worry about – it was probably due to the hormonal changes of stopping my oral contraception.
A short while later, I met someone a few years older than me who had a child, and she confided that she had found out about her pregnancy too late to have an abortion. I did another pregnancy test then, which came back positive. I was 18 weeks along.
I was a fresher, and it just seemed impossible for me to have a child. I had very supportive friends, and my ex-boyfriend came to see me and said he would help me with whatever I decided. For me though, the decision was made as soon as I heard that I was pregnant.
I arranged the abortion myself. It took about two weeks to set up an appointment and I told my parents the night before I went into hospital. They were shocked, but supportive too.
I went in on a Tuesday and the doctors administered a pessary to induce dilation and labour – but nothing happened. They waited and tried again, but still nothing. It got to the point where different doctors were streaming in and out of the room to see how many fingers they could put in. They administered three pessaries and none worked. It was Thursday by this point and they decided to send some sort of psychologist in to see me. “Couldn’t you just go through with the pregnancy,” she asked. “I mean, you’re already halfway through.”
The doctors and nurses were all pretty unpleasant to me – one doctor asked, very sarcastically, whether I had ever thought of contraception. I was stuck in a room just off the maternity ward, too, so all I could hear was families with their new babies.
After three days, they told me that they could only try the chemicals once more, and, if that didn’t work, I would have to have a cesarean. I was horrified. Eventually though, on the Saturday, it worked. I still hadn’t been told though, that essentially I would have to give birth. My breasts swelled up, I started producing milk, my waters broke, and I had contractions – it was terrifying.
Eventually the fetus came out and I just started screaming and couldn’t stop. It was visiting time in the maternity ward and so the doctor told me to shut up. They anesthetized me and then took me away to remove the placenta. When I woke up, I was on my own in a bed full of blood.
I wouldn’t say that I ever felt relieved, because, although I had only known for three weeks that I was pregnant, my body had known for four and a half months. I felt physically empty in a way that I have never felt since.
Despite the trauma of the experience, I have still always known it was the right thing for me to have done and have never regretted it. The fact is that, for me, it was the only thing I could have done. I don’t know who I would be now if I hadn’t been able to make that choice.
….as narrated by a MUBS 2nd year student that preferred anonymity.
