One Halloween in grade school, my parents solicited the help of my three younger siblings and I to paste “vote yes for life” cards on candy bars to hand out to trick-or-treaters. I now realize that words like “pro-choice” and “pro-life” do not represent the emotional weight or humanity of a patient’s decision to have or not have an abortion.
In July 2021, I had used the copper IUD for 8 months. I became increasingly nauseated since my wisdom teeth were removed two months prior. When my period didn’t come when I expected in July, I decided to quell my anxiety and get a pregnancy test at Intermountain.
A nurse did the pregnancy test in front of me and told me it was positive. Time seemed to stop. I heard myself blurt out that I wanted an abortion. I admire how she handled those moments. She gave me a few moments to process what was happening and offered kind reassurance. She walked me to the front desk to schedule an appointment with an OB/GYN later that day. We were in the waiting room at the check-in station, and I was scared others would overhear. I felt embarrassed. She used the phrase “elevated hCG with copper IUD” at the front desk, which gave me a wave of relief. I was grateful that she maintained my privacy.
I drove home absolutely devastated and terrified. I tried to calm myself down, but I remember crying on my kitchen floor, feeling overwhelmed, scared, and alone. Later I went back to the clinic and learned that the pregnancy was 8 weeks. The gynecologist removed my IUD and explained that she had to send me somewhere else because she wasn’t allowed to give me the mifepristone and misoprostol needed for a medication abortion. Throughout the whole process, she was so kind and supportive. She gave me a phone number for a local Planned Parenthood, and I left. The abrupt send-off was the first glimpse of stigma I encountered. I called the number and learned about Utah’s online informed consent module that I would need to complete before a 72-hour waiting period. Additionally, I found out that the first available appointment to see an abortion provider in Salt Lake was a month out.
I called my partner on the way home, again feeling a wave of relief as he listened to me and offered his care and support. At this point, I had done enough research to know that at 12 weeks I may not be able to have a medication abortion. This could limit my choices to vacuum aspiration or D&C less than a week before medical school started.
At home, I started the informed consent module. I was startled by the high-definition images of various stages of pregnancy and smiling babies staring back at me from my laptop. About halfway through, I recognized that someone thought they had the right to shame me into making me feel bad about myself and my actions. At that moment, I realized how wrong it is to coerce or shape an individuals’ choices by imposing judgment on them.
I’d had enough. I shut my laptop and called the main Planned Parenthood number. My worries seemed to vanish as the caring person on the phone helped me find an appointment for the next day in Fort Collins. I threw my overnight stuff in a bag and called my partner to make sure he could come with me.
Within an hour, we were driving to Colorado. We found the cheapest motel we could find. Throughout the night, I heard yelling and fighting outside. The smell of cigarettes and grease from the burgers & fries we grabbed for dinner permeated the stuffy room. I felt ashamed and filthy, inside and out.
I was making an irreversible decision. This was the first time I would do something that I certainly couldn’t take back in any tangible way. A sense of grief mixed with consolation surfaced as I contemplated how my life would be altered by my choice. The following day, we got up early to take a walk before the appointment. Arriving at the Planned Parenthood, we were greeted by anti-abortion picketers. I again felt dirty, the shame bubbling up from my gut as my heart raced. Since the pandemic was still ongoing, I went in alone with the security guard for my appointment. I had another ultrasound, and this time I took the picture. I was touched that the staff asked if I would like it, even though I was there for an abortion.
I talked with the physician and felt relieved and comforted for the first time. She reassured me that we could take care of both the abortion and getting another birth control that day. I went back to the car to complete consent over the phone and learned what to expect with the medications. I took the mifepristone at the clinic and brought the misoprostol home to use later.
The next day, I took the four misoprostol tablets by placing them between my teeth and cheeks on both sides of my mouth. About an hour after taking the medication, my ears started ringing, and my apartment seemed to wobble slowly.I crouched on my bed in a child’s pose position with a hot water bottle. My partner comforted me as we watched TV.
I am so glad that he was there with me. His presence let me know that I was not alone. I felt lots of cramping and a bit faint. Periodically, he would help me get to the bathroom. A couple of hours later, I felt much better. While he went out to bring back some ice cream, I passed the pregnancy. I stared into the toilet bowl, stunned and unsure of how to think or feel in that surreal moment. Then, in classic medical student form, I decided to take a photo and make sense of it later.
I spent the next day with a close friend. We talked about everything that had happened, which helped me feel content. That evening, I tried to box up my feelings and ignore the grief that I was convinced I could skip over. It made everything worse. My partner and I cried together. We were confused, frustrated, and upset, feeling like we had been ill-prepared for the aftermath of our experience despite having no regrets. I spent time getting in touch with friends and family for the rest of the week. Later in July, I went on a long backpacking trip with friends, proving that I could find the strength to recover from my shame. On the way back, I spotted a tiny kitten on the side of the road and brought him to a shelter.
Things continued to be complicated. I cried through most of my first semester, especially during embryology. I questioned if I was a killer. Did my actions mean I was a bad person? Pictures of classmates’ families and children made me wonder what it would be like if I had chosen differently. Through all of the ups and downs, I never had regret over my decision. Instead, I had grief.
I am so grateful that I had the resources and support to decide that having a child at that time would not serve the child’s quality of life or my own. Without my car, my savings, my insurance, and my family and friends, I may not have had timely, safe access to abortion and social support during the time after.
Since my experience, I have become more attuned to the stigma surrounding abortion. Abortion is not is for irresponsible or “bad” people. Abortion is for everyone in our society, a tool that gives individuals the power to determine what is best for themselves, their families, and their communities.
I believe it is critical for those working in healthcare to recognize that because countless individuals have experienced traumatic events, we must be thoughtful about how we communicate with patients to prevent further harm.We must honor the privilege of caring for individuals amid life-changing situations. We must come alongside the patients we serve, respecting their values, privacy, and autonomy as they make challenging decisions.
