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I had a late-term abortion at 22 weeks because I had a severe case of pre-eclampsia. The night I had the abortion, I was seizing so badly and had a 105 fever, so my husband made a hard decision. The doctor told him it was either me or the child, so he chose me and the gave me an emergency c-section. I since had a little girl who is now 4 months old, and the anti-choicers have called me a murderer saying I should have died and let my “baby” live

I was 13 years old when I had my abortion. I was living in Florida at the time with my mom and I had been seeing a boy named Matt for ten months. I remember it exactly. We had had unprotected sex on the 21st of March, 2010. I was supposed to start my period on the 27th. I had never ever missed a period, or been late at all. My mom hadn’t known that I had been having sex and had never had a sex talk with me. On the 28th of March I had a friend from school buy me a pregnancy test, me being too ashamed. She happened to live only a few minutes walking distance from Matt. I peed on the test, and a few minutes later, I found out that I was pregnant. I remember crying harder than I had ever cried before. I took the second one and it didn’t say any different. I remember sprinting to Matt’s house and crying in his stepmothers arms. After I told my mom, she was so angry. I remember going through one night of saying that there was no way I would give up my baby, but I knew they wouldn’t let me. Now, I’m grateful that I did, because I’ve come such a long way in the past two years. 

If you want to talk to a certain person because their story is similar to yours, just put an ask with “To the *Story name* can I talk to you?” or something to that effect, and im sure the person will come forward to who they are, and are willing to talk. After all, this is what this blog is about.

All are welcomed. 

And here’s where things get kind of silly.

The Nurse then writes me down as unfit for needles (a medical abortion is done by 2 injections) So when I head back up to the clinic the Doctor walks in with a glass of orange juice. She took the medication out of both the needles and pours them into the orange juice. I then proceeded to drink the most delicious abortion ever. I literally drank abort-juice. I thought it quite amusing. So then I proceeded to go through the most physically painful two days ever. The pills that make you bleed out the fetus and it’s bloody wrappings also give you the maddest cramps ever and then the heaviest and longest lasting flow ever. In the end buying the larges granny pads ever and re-buying all my ruined pretty underwear cost more than the actual procedure.

So moral of the story, not all abortions are scary and horrible and traumatizing and difficult, mine was easy, emotionally painless and I feel no guilt or shame or anything. Pregnancy is something that happened to me and I dealt with it as I saw fit. Also, a womans body and what she does with it is no business to anyone but herself, especially not the penis who’s only contribution to the whole thing was it’s sperm. 

P.S. Sleep with as many men as you want, fuck all of them if you wish. No shame. And everyone deserves safe free abortions no matter how many penises they’ve slept with.

*From Prochoicetruth 

I know I don’t post much or reblog much. That’s because I wanted to have submission based post, not a ton of reblogs. 

This is a place to find comfort if you are facing the decision of an abortion or if you had one and want to hear words of comfort. 

If you are facing one and you need someone to talk to, feel free to send me a msg or an ask and I will help you. It’ll be okay. 

Thank you to all of my followers. You’re all wonderful people :) 

This is not my abortion story. I truly wish it were.

This is a story about having my autonomy taken from me, and the consequences of that situation.

I was nineteen years old in February of 2009. I was a college sophomore studying abroad in a small village in Co. Kerry, Ireland. I was 3000 miles and 5 time zones away from my entire family, my boyfriend, and all of my friends. I had been out of the United States for two or three weeks when I started throwing up, and then my period didn’t start when I hit that birth control pack’s week of sugar pills.

And it didn’t start.

And it didn’t start.

The reality was that I was one of six American students in a town of around 300 people. I’d messed about about three months in the previous birth control pack. The only place in town to buy a pregnancy test was at the chemist down the street from my school. I was ashamed, I was afraid, and I thought that if I bought a pregnancy test in Ireland that everyone in town would know that I was just another slutty American for the rest of my trip.

So I waited. We had a trip planned to Scotland and London the week of Valentine’s Day, and I figured it would be much easier to get lost and pick up a pregnancy test in London than it would be in my tiny Irish town.

But what if the test was positive? What would I do? Abortion was, and is, illegal in Ireland, so if the test was positive I would be coming back to the United States five months pregnant. And nothing I could do would change that. How would I tell my parents? How would I get prenatal care?

So I did what I think any frightened nineteen year old would do when placed in an impossible situation – I found the silver lining. I convinced myself that it would be okay – that my friends would be excited for me, that my family would help, and that if I transferred schools I might even be able to finish my degree closer to home.

I accepted the fact that with sore boobs, the worst case of heartburn I’d ever had in my life, and a period that was MIA for over two weeks even though I had been on birth control, I was pregnant and needed to plan for the best. Taking a pregnancy test was only a formality.

Just before we left for Scotland, I had some spotting. I did some research and found out that that could be normal in a first pregnancy, so I put on a pad, said a quick prayer, and hoped for the best. I’d know whether or not I was pregnant for sure in four days, anyway. Then I could call my boyfriend and give him the good news.

My spotting was a little bit heavier and I was feeling a little crampy on our first full day in Scotland, but I was anxious to see the sights and walked to Edinburgh Castle.

I feel sick now remembering it.

Around lunchtime I paused to change the batteries in my camera when I felt a stabbing, pulling pain that bent me double. I felt faint, and had to catch the edge of a nearby bench to stay upright. This was not normal. This was not okay. And then I felt the warm, sticky moisture between my legs.

I went to the bathroom to confirm what I felt. I still remember how much blood there was. I was haunted by it for years. It would wake me in a cold sweat for months and give me horrifying flashbacks every time I saw any blood at all for the next two years.

I walked myself back to the hostel, took three benadryl and three iburprofen, and went to sleep. I lost my baby by myself, 3000 miles from home, that night. A small grey lump, no bigger than my fingernail, drowned in a sea of red.

It took almost a week before I could bring myself to tell my boyfriend, that “If I [had been] pregnant before, I [wasn’t] anymore.” It would be another three days before I used the word “miscarriage.” We named the baby “Avalon.”

I spent the week in London by myself. After we got back, I was so deep in my grief that I didn’t eat, or sleep, or bathe. The director of my program was worried, and he sat me down in his office one Wednesday after class. I told him everything, and in exchange he brought me to a doctor in town. The doctor was unsympathetic and he told me that maybe if I had used contraception this wouldn’t have happened. I left his office more deeply convinced that this miscarriage was all my fault. I continued to not eat or sleep regularly for another month.

I’ve come a long way since that time, but I am sad to say that my life has now been divided into two phases: before the miscarriage and after the miscarriage. Life after the miscarriage is hard, but getting easier to understand every day. I struggled for many months with the idea that I was not allowed to grieve because I would have elected to have an abortion if the choice had been available. Now, I understand things a little differently. Even though I would have ended my pregnancy anyway, I wish I could have ended it on my own terms so that I could have avoided the trauma. If I had been able to have an abortion, I could have avoided the nightmares, flashbacks, and crippling anxiety attacks. I wouldn’t have had three incompletes over two semesters because I was emotionally unable to leave my dorm room. Perhaps most importantly, if I had been able to have an abortion, I might not have been so alone.  

Sorry I’ve been MIA. :( Im back now, but there’s no stories to share with you. 

abortionconfessions:

http://abortionconfessions.tumblr.com/post/16999786860/my-story-from-the-admin-of-abortion-confessions

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