My husband is a businessman and I’m a piano teacher. We have 3 boys and 2 girls. The children are very close in age, which is no surprise as I was popping them out yearly. By the time my fifth arrived, I knew I had enough. I begged my husband to go for a vasectomy but being the pig-headed fellow that he is, he refused. I realised that birth control pills were going to be the only things that could save my sanity.
At first, I had no idea I was pregnant. My husband and I are social butterflies and almost every Saturday, we are at a dinner function or party or some sort of get-together. Anyway, after one such Saturday, we were both a little tipsy from the drinks served and my husband’s good friend dropped us off. After checking (or at least that’s what I think we did) on the children, we managed to get onto the second floor and turn the corner into our bedroom. One thing led to another and soon we were asleep with the occasional teenage giggling between us.
Pregnancy confirmed
Around 2 months later, I started throwing up regularly and feeling moody. Now I’ve had this 5 times before so I knew where this was headed. Nevertheless, I took a pregnancy test to confirm. Massive hysteria upon realisation!! I couldn’t believe it was happening for the sixth time! I still remember my maid staring at me as I cursed in different dialects (thankfully my husband and children were not at home). I started to cry uncontrollably and hit my stomach. This shouldn’t and couldn’t be happening. I barely had enough time for myself with the 5 monsters already present!
I knew my husband was going to be adamant about keeping the child if I told him. He always had mentioned that 6 was his lucky number and always prayed we would have another child just to round up the 5 to a 6. Also, being a staunch Catholic and a big believer in big families, there was no way he was going to give this child up for adoption or anything else. I knew I didn’t want this child and I had to get rid of it myself. So I stood at the top of my stairs and looked down. I placed myself at the tip of the top stair and closed my eyes. Before my body could move backwards, I stopped. I wasn’t that strong.
Then, I ran like a maniac around my house, purposely bumping into things like the sharp end of the table, the edge of my piano, etc. The only thing that got me was a bruise on the shin and the family dog racing after me thinking I was playing with it. After colliding with a vase and having the glass shatter all around me, I came to my senses. This foolish behaviour would have to stop and I seriously had to think of a way to get out of this.
Searching for a clinic
So after going through a few places that offered abortion services, I chose the one furthest from home. I had initially considered going across the causeway to have it done but the hassle of explaining my whereabouts to everyone made me drop that plan. It was just too risky.
It was a Monday morning. I still remember the day clearly because I woke up feeling like I’ve never felt before. Rejuvenated, happy and just full of enthusiasm for the day. Until, I realised this was the day I was going to kill my baby.
I wore my favourite dress and caught a cab to the clinic. It felt a little surreal and almost like a twisted version of ‘Rosemary’s Baby’. After the procedural signature signings were over, I was wheeled away. The word, ‘freedom’ was flashing in my mind in neon lights.
After what seemed like a trip to the unknown and back, I woke up with traces of anaesthesia. Resting for a while, I managed to groggily hop into a cab and go home. At home, I instructed the kids and the maid to leave me alone as I was having a bad case of the flu.
My husband believed the flu lie and the whole house stayed away from me long enough for me to rest. Today I’m a mother of 5 healthy children while all are none the wiser about my secret.
Yes, after all I’ve been through, I can say that abortion is bad, abortion is cruel and I regret what I did. But don’t you think bringing a child into this world and neglecting it, is twice as bad?
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the writer.