by Helen Kelly

Created on: May 05, 2008

I own my body. I don't feel it is anyone's right to tell me what to do with it. It came with me when I was born. Nobody else has ever lived in it. I decide what to put in it , on it or through it. It has served me well. It has taken better care of me than I have of it. I don't feel it is anyone's right to tell me what to do with it. Or how to manage it.

I have made the decision to end pregnancy. The decision was made in a very caviler fashion. I was young. I thought I knew what I wanted. I did want it. I didn't want anymore children, and that was that. I put my feelings in my head, where I couldn't feel them. Or so I thought.

I made an appointment at my local clinic, and went in the morning for the surgery. Quite a few women sat in the waiting room. We were there to take the lives of our children because the children did not fit in with our future plans. We were not there to make new friends. None of us could make eye contact. None of us spoke to each other. We sat in silence...a silence that screamed with pain....

One by one, our numbers diminished as the nurse called us by name. None of us said goodbye, for none of us had said hello. As the room emptied out, the silence grew louder. Still knowone spoke.

When it was my turn, I went into a room, and took off my clothes. I then got up on a table in the office, where I was covered with a sheet from the waist down. As if to be covered , as if to be ashamed. I wasn't ashamed of my decision. I was starting to feel sick, and nauseous. I wasn't sure why.

The doctor came into the room, and began the procedure. It is not comfortable. The sound of the "vacunme cleaner" that was pushing and shoving my uterus inside of me, was adding to my fading bravura. The doctor was discussing his broken refridgerater, and I was having an abortion. I tried to turn my head, so I could turn away from the scene. The nurse said " I can't get the lid off this". This was a cylinder, filled with blood...

When I got home, I cried for hours. I felt such guilt, such remorse. I still feel it. 45 years later. I wonder about....what if....

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