CW: pregnancy loss, abortion
January 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th , 2021 were the worst days of my life so far.
One of the things most friends don’t realize because we were all sheltering at home, is that I was pregnant in 2020.
It was the one redeeming thing of an awful year. I cozied into our little nest, glowing with a secret and a promise of good things to come. Our world had been small for awhile but now it felt special. A merry little Christmas indeed. My growing body didn’t show up on Zoom and I looked forward to a silly reveal.
Rhys and I playfully bantered about if we’d find out the sex this time (maybe, no, yes? no, maybe? yes. no).
We were feeding the cats across the street and enjoying the creek when Twitter told us about the attack on the Capitol. I was stunned. We ordered pizza because I just could not even anything.
That night I started to bleed. Just before bath time with Bean.
I’m not going to do a play by play. This isn’t my space for that. But I held the line for the advice nurse and held hope through the night and into the next day where it became clear that there was no hope.
I went to my doctor’s office.
No heartbeat.
They sent me home.
But it got worse and I got sicker and sicker. Back on the phone. And to the ER.
It’s always a lousy time at the ER. January 2021 was a really shitty time to go to the ER. Pre-vaccine, mid-surge, there were no rooms.
It was awful.
It was awful and I almost died alone in an ER. And by the grace of my state government, I was not interrogated.
I am aware of that. Of my privilege. On the worst day of my life I knew it could have been even worse. That it WAS worse for so many others out there.
I blamed myself, though the doctors told me there was nothing I did wrong.
Had I been interrogated, I would have confessed to anything.
It was the worst day of my life and that was under the best circumstances. I had care available. I had social support. I had people who could take my child. I had a ride to the hospital. I had an N95 that I could wear in the waiting room. I didn’t catch COVID at the hospital. I SURVIVED.
There was so much that was terrible. The isolation nearly broke me. Maybe it did.
The financial cost would make you want to tear everything down. Add the Everything Else and I think, yeah, the whole thing broke me down and broke me open and I’ve been rebuilding myself ever since.
So there it is.
Fuck you SCOTUS. You have no idea why a woman would need an abortion. We do not owe anyone our stories, we do not need to justify ourselves to you. Whatever the reason.
I WANT ONE is enough of a reason. Cut and print.
And “I need one” will always be a reason. Without the care that I finally received at the hospital, I could have died. My partner would have been left to raise our daughter alone.
I’ve learned, in order for folks to care about something, I have to frame the suffering of a man. My death would have made my husband’s life less convenient. So maybe now they’ll care.
Ugh.
My daughter and I went to our protest yesterday and spoke. She grabbed the bullhorn and said, “We should be free. We should be trusted. My body, my choice!” (She is six).
So what to do now? Get loud.
Pass the Judiciary Act of 2021 that would expand the court to balance the bench.
Pass the Women’s Health Protection Act (it’s already through the House)
And disrupt as much as we can– refuse to allow things to continue as usual.
Pretty Good Ugly 