Like anyone else, there's no good starting point to this kind of story. Do I start in my childhood- raised by loving, Godly, albeit hippy, parents. Or do I start with those agonizing middle-school years, taunted by short middle-school boys who preyed upon the insecurities of curly-haired, near-sighted smart girls?? Or maybe it goes back even further. . to a dark past of sexual abuse by a family friend and being awakened to a world that no young girl should ever know. . .
Wherever the beginning, there was no denying my circumstances and the surreal surrounding, laying on an exam table, watching the "contents" of my fragile 16-year-old uterus being vacuumed out into doily covered canisters. I remember thinking, "Seriously, does the lace and fabric make this place any better??" Because one thing I surely knew, this was a place of death and everything in me was crying out, including my cramping uterus, fighting to save the tiny living being inside it. . .
Sitting in the Planned Parenthood clinic, pregnancy was the farthest thing from my mind. I needed the Pill- stat. A little late, granted, but, hey, I'd been safe up until this point. . .sorta. I had entered into the coveted world I'd always wanted- cute linebacker boyfriend from the neighboring high school (whose love I thought I had secured by giving up the precious gift of my virginity.) My girlfriend and sat discussing the details of the weekend, while we waited for my prescription to be filled, after the mandatory pregnancy test gave the "all clear". Plans were forming for meeting up at the local 7-11 to find the next great party, and a possible set up for my girlfriend and my boyfriend's best friend. How fun it would be if that all worked out and we could double date??? Anyway, no thought was given to the thought that I might possibly be preggers. . .except that all the clinic workers kept looking at my test sitting on the counter, then looking at us and walking quickly away. We both quickly realized this was taking way too long, and those clinic workers had a scary look on their faces. We got quiet and held hands. Finally, no-name clinic worker sat in front of me and matter-of-factly told me what I had already begun to fear- I was pregnant. And 16. But, wait, didn't she know I was an honor student, with big plans for the weekend?
My options were made crystal clear. The no-name CW informed me that if I wanted to keep the baby or consider adoption, there were some brochures in the rotating brochure-holder thingy at my disposal. However, if I wanted an abortion, someone would be more than happy to talk to me. Oh, and by the way, we don't have to tell your parents. And we can help you pay for it, if you don't have the money. But wait, I must be about 6 weeks along by now. . .so what does that mean? No worries- it's just a cluster of cells- nothing to even be concerned about. The "procedure" would be easy, relatively pain-free, and oh, by the way, THEN you can start taking the Pill you came in here for in the first place.
This is when the Great Fog, as I like to call it, set in. . .