My Abortion Story

"This isn't happening."

That was my first thought as this whole thing began. The double lines I saw on the pregnancy urine test were not real. I convinced myself I was hallucinating, most likely dreaming. 

Let me pee again. Double fucking lines. Are you fucking kidding me? 

Panic was setting in biologically, I felt my body start to tremble but my brain knew better. "Stay calm, let's get this figured out," I told myself. 

It was Monday night. I called the only person on this earth who I truly didn't care about what she thought of me. I believe we all care (even a little bit) about what people, even strangers, think about us. However, this person - I wholeheartedly could care less - so I dialed her, my older sister. She answered on the second ring which surprised me because it was late, around 11pm. 

"I need your help. I think I'm pregnant." It was the first time I said it outloud in present tense, my brain registering this was real. It was happening. The current state of my body was pregnant. 

It felt weird to say it, as if I was given a script in a movie and asked to read those lines. They weren’t my own words.

"Are you sure?" she replied. 

She recommended I go to Planned Parenthood. The ads I saw of it on the subways countless times and glazed over knowing I would never need their services. I called several of them in downtown Manhattan, many were already closed. I decided I’d go as a walk-in patient in the morning. In the meantime, I wrote to my primary care doctor about the situation in our patient portal. 

The next morning at 7, I got ready and called an Uber to take me to the nearest Planned Parenthood on the lower east side. It was gray outside and started to rain as I went in. I got through security and sat in what felt like a basement of a neglected community library. Everything was stale. The lights were bright. I tried not to cry, not to feel, not to connect to my body. I just wanted to let myself wait. 

Finally after what felt like hours, the group of women waiting with me were escorted inside and I got to the front. I told the woman at the desk about my… "situation" as I still struggled to face what was actually happening. First, she offered a counselor. I said I didn't need one because I knew my decision. I wanted an abortion. Then, she said the next appointment would be in 4-5 weeks. What a joke. Do you know how different of a situation this becomes for my body as more time goes by? I asked to speak to someone else. She said the onsite director would call me later. 

I left, feeling helpless, alone, and pissed off. I wasn't prepared for Planned Parenthood to be so unhelpful. 

When I stepped outside, it was raining heavily. I removed my mask to breathe the morning air and opened my umbrella above me. "You are murdering what already exists!!!!!" she shouted. Protestors. I forgot about them. Tuesday morning at 7:45 in the rain of New York City, they are here to tell me what to do with my body. 

I turned away feeling numb and walked to work. Truthfully, I wanted to panic and scream and cry but I compartmentalized all of that because I had to stay level headed to figure this out. 

I went about everything as normal. At my team check-in meeting, I told them I needed to get some tests done. It was the truth but also enough of a blanket statement to hide my shame. 

That same day, my primary care doctor replied in our patient portal with a recommendation of a gynecology center in Brooklyn. I called them immediately and after a couple hours of their consultation and my own research, I decided on the abortion surgical procedure over the abortion pill because of its 100% guarantee. I wanted it out of me. I was booked for the earliest time available, that week's upcoming Friday morning. 

For the rest of the week, I slept, did my makeup, got dressed, and went to work feeling like a shell of myself but also feeling relieved that I was getting this figured out. 

It was a privilege I was aware I had -- to financially afford a private gynecologist for this operation and to get it booked quickly for my health.

Friday morning came and I wore my softest, comfiest clothes I had. I threw on my oversized coat and scooted into my Uber to drop me off in Brooklyn. I went through security and stood alone in a tiny elevator making my way up. I arrived at the clinic's waiting room where one of the women in scrubs greeted me sweetly, in the kindest voice I heard all week, "Hey, just need your drivers' license and you can fill out these forms." 

She hands me a clipboard and an index card that had a white mountain on it and said "Alaska" in Comic Sans font. 

"We'll call you by this when it's your turn to come in. It's to protect your privacy and not use your name." Thoughtful. 

She had me confirm that I would have an escort ready for me. I said yes, my sister will meet me at the street level entrance. They require an escort in order to leave the clinic after the procedure. 

I read and reread all the pages, signed my name and waited. The seats around me were starting to fill up with more women, all holding one of the fifty US states index cards. 

After 15 minutes, a woman came out and stood in the front. "Alaska." 

I walked up to her and she led me through the double doors into the locker room. It was cold. There were a lot of medical staff back here, way more than I expected. I was ushered in and asked to strip down naked and change into the blue hospital gown with a hairnet and little slippers. The only thing left on me was my face mask and my shame.

Very quickly, I was seated in a row of chairs. I was in a queue of about 8 women, all who seemed to be calm, like we were waiting to be seen by the dentist and not about to change the course of our lives.

The first station was a blood test. I hated these normally. They wrapped that rubber thing around my right arm. I began to cry. "Does it hurt?" she asked. "No, it's just emotional." "Okay, try to breathe." 

I looked away as she inserted the giant needle into my arm. Tears were streaming. I kept thinking about how I was in here, going through all of this shit and the boy who did this to me was out there living another fucking day of his life. "I have to take care of me. I am responsible for this," I reminded myself. 

When she was done, she placed a band-aid on me. I was motioned to the second station, an ultrasound. The room was dark and I laid down on the cot crinkling the white paper as I climbed on top of it. It was a new doctor. I placed my feet in those things that make you open your legs wide. The position felt triggering. I was quiet but I was crying heavily. 

Before doing anything, the doctor came up to my side, putting an arm on my shoulder and asked if I was in pain. I shook my head and muttered, "No I'm sorry I'm just really sad right now." "You're going to be ok," she reassured me.

She told me what she'd do next and I felt myself tighten. The cold jelly around the ultrasound machine made me shiver. I felt invaded. When she was done, I was asked to wait in a chair that was alone behind hospital curtains. The crying continued, my face mask soaked of my salty tears. I couldn't help myself. I cried to release and I cried to comfort.

One of the nurses from the blood tests station came up to me and opened a manilla folder. I could see in my peripherals what she was holding. It was the black film strip of my ultrasound images. "So, you are 5 weeks pregnant." She held them up as if I was crazy enough to want to see them. I darted my eyes the other way and said "Ok." If I don't look at it, it's not real, just get it out of me. 

I was escorted into the third station, the operation room. There was one hospital bed in the middle of the big room, bright fluorescent lights, and pale blue walls. There was lofi hiphop playing on low volume. It was cold and sterile. They laid me down, spread my legs and clamped down all 4 of my limbs to prevent any sudden movements during the surgery. The tears were running down the sides of my temples. I saw the first and only man in this clinic come to my right side and introduce himself as the anesthesiologist. 

I met another new face, the female doctor who will be performing the surgery. She introduced herself in a soft voice and felt gentle and professional. 

A nurse off to the side of the room read off: "Kaila Lim, 27, female, 5 weeks pregnant. Please confirm." Collectively, everyone in the room replied: "Confirmed."

I woke up in a different part of the hospital feeling delusional. Before I could recollect anything, the nurse from the blood tests came up to me, "how are you feeling?" 

I remembered where I was. 

"Do you want some hot tea?" she asked me. 

"Yes please." 

"Do you want sugar?" 

I haven't had sugar in my tea or coffee since high school to help my acne. "No."

"You're going to want sugar, sweetie. You lost a lot of blood today." 

"What time is it?" 

"10:15." 

I could still go to work. I tried to move my body and felt soreness. It's the most indescribable feeling to know what you're now without something that you were once with. My body felt it before my brain. 

Peace began to settle in and unexpectedly, so did grief. 

I left the clinic with my sister as my escort and we Ubered back into the city. I shared a bowl of pho and went home. I changed my clothes and got into a fetus position on my bed and cried. I cried throughout the whole weekend. 

I never, ever wanted to keep it. I never even considered it. I was upset with myself for a long time that I even let it happen to me. Equally, I was thankful that I lived in a place in this world where I had access to getting a safe abortion. 

I never thought it would happen to me, getting pregnant and having an abortion. I always figured I’d be safe, make the right choices, have luck on my side, etc. I don’t know why I thought that but I did. 

Having an abortion saved my life.