The First Call

I was awake by 7:30 a.m., and I'm usually someone who stays in bed and rejects the fact that I should wake up until the last possible minute, and beyond.

I could remember dreaming of being in a fancy restaurant and hotel with my boyfriend, and asking to reserve a September 8th wedding date there. Why September 8th? I don't know. That's what my boyfriend asked for. But the deposit was too high, and it was non-refundable, so I whispered in his ear that I didn't want to get married in a stuck-up snob hotel anyway, and we left.

I lay awake listening to the sounds of the house, the sounds outside. Finally, at 8:15, I made the call to Planned Parenthood.

The receptionist was friendly, and perhaps she could hear the trembling sadness in my voice as I asked for abortion counseling. (Funny, I can't bear to type the word abortion. Abortion. I can say it before I can type it. Abortion. I must face that fact and use that word, with all of its emotionally charged connotations and meanings.)

It turns out I first need to have an ultrasound. There were no appointments until the 10th of February. But I can walk-in and get my name on the list for a walk-in appointment tomorrow.

My cell phone dropped the call in the middle of it, while I was on hold as the receptionist double-checked some information. There's no significance to this bit of information, but I just recall everything in such stark detail.

I called my boyfriend afterwards. I can't believe I seriously considered doing all of this on my own. He's been my shield and rock for the last couple of days since we found out.

There's nothing to do today except go about my day, go to classes, work, and study group. It may be callous, but I have to keep moving, keep going about my day.