My abortion story

This wasn’t the story I was planning on telling this week, but given the news this morning, it’s the story I need to tell. 

This story starts in 2013. I was 21 years old and a senior in college, and I felt like I had finally hit my stride in my undergraduate education.

I was no longer in denial about a future career in medicine (truly comical to think about now), and I was finally pursuing my interests in my studies and extracurriculars. I had found a home in student government. 

And by the spring of 2013, two of my best friends and I decided to run for three of the four executive positions on the undergraduate student government council for the upcoming year. 

Now, I could have graduated on time with my science degree that I had no plan to use after graduation. But I decided that if i got elected, I would pick up a second major and take a fifth year victory lap.

I knew the experience would be worth the time and extra student loan debt. But holy shit, running a campaign is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. 

(Note: this was actually my second campaign, the first being for president of my elementary school’s associated student body. I won that election with a two-woman shop: me and my mom. It was definitely our “Vote Vanessa” signs with glittery checkmarks for the V’s that did it.)

This campaign was quite a bit more involved.

Months before our launch date, we researched our platforms, built our slate of candidates and developed our branding for the campaign. We found a graphic designer, got our pictures professionally taken, painted giant yard signs and designed loads of bright-red campaign swag.

Once the election finally kicked off, the schedule was brutal. We’d get up at six AM, schlep all our campaign shit to the main walkway on campus, set up shop, and stand around for hours greeting students as they walked to class.

At least someone was going to class. I missed every lecture over that month and showed up to one class for the first time just to take the midterm. 

The evenings were just as busy. We attended events, talked to student groups around campus, prepared for debates, and took endorsement interviews. On Wednesdays, we’d go to student council. 

I never felt so tired in my life. 

My period was late, but I didn’t worry about it because I was on birth control. I’m sleeping four hours a night, I’m stressed as fuck, of course my body is off, I thought. 

I had also been taking what i was dubbing the “tour de trash can” around campus because I was throwing up before every single speaking event I was scheduled to attend.

It’s fine, it’s just my nerves. If I keep feeling crappy, I’ll go to the doctor once the election is over. I’ve just got to get through this last week.

On the last Friday of the election, the results were announced: I was one of the few on my team who had won their seat. 

By this point in the night, I was overwhelmed by emotions… and a good amount of vodka. I was so proud of my team for the campaign we had run, but I also felt a huge amount of survivor’s guilt with the results.

How was I supposed to lead this council without them? After crying with my team outside the student government chambers, I collapsed into my bed that night and slept the entire weekend. 

The next Monday, I still felt like shit. So I finally went to the student health center on campus.

After running some tests, the nurse came into my room and sat down.

“Vanessa, you’re pregnant. And based on what you’re telling me, I think you’re about seven or eight weeks.”

I remember feeling nothing. Not scared, not upset, just numb. I felt like I had just pushed a giant boulder up a hill only to find Mount Everest at the top.

“So, what now?”

“I’m giving you a referral for Planned Parenthood. You can discuss your options with them, but there’s nothing more I can do for you here.” 

I walked out of the center in a daze. There was no time to recover from the election because the transition for my position was already in full force. I needed to pick my staff, move into my office and plan out my agenda for the year.

And now I knew I was eight weeks pregnant. 

I called up the Planned Parenthood, and they told me they could get me in the following week.

Okay, one week. Just. Act. Normal.

Despite only telling two people about my pregnancy, it was amazing how other people picked up on this change without even realizing how perceptive they were. A week or two before I knew I was pregnant, my boyfriend at the time told me I smelled differently. One of my running mates told me I had a “pregnancy glow.” It was just my tan from being outside so much, I said.

The week finally passed, and I drove the seven miles to the closest Planned Parenthood that offered abortion services. My plan was simple: get the abortion pill, go home, take it, have the worst period of my life, and pretend this whole thing never happened. Move on.

The nurse took my ultrasound. “You’re actually around ten weeks pregnant, so we can’t give you the pill. You’re going to need to come back for the procedure.” 

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. You’re telling me i need to get more pregnant than I already am before you can do something about it?! 

I feel really fucking pregnant, doc! People are noticing!

“I’m sorry, but the soonest we can get you in is next Wednesday,” she says. 

Of course it’s Wednesday, student government meeting day. I didn’t have any other choice, I needed to take care of this.

After another week, I returned again to the same Planned Parenthood. The whole visit took maybe an hour, and the procedure itself took no more than 20 minutes. It was rather unremarkable.

I went home and rested for a few hours before going to my student government meeting. I really didn’t want to go that day for obvious reasons.

But I knew there were students coming in for public comment who were opposing my staff appointments, so I had to be there to defend my would-be staff and overall agenda.

The public comment period was unrelenting.

“You have no business running this office,” one student said. “You’re taking the office in the completely wrong direction.” 

“You don’t represent us.” 

Their words hurt a lot. I wanted to grab the mic and scream. 

I imagined what I would say if I did. “A few hours ago, a doctor had a hoover vacuum up my vagina, and I’m currently sitting on a maxi pad that feels like a goddamn mattress. So, if you wouldn’t mind telling me how much I suck a different day, that would be deeply appreciated.” 

But I didn’t do that. I took it in, I finished the meeting, and I went home around 11 pm.

And for the first time in months, I felt calm. 

I thought, if I could get through that shit, I think I can get through just about anything.

Despite the waiting, the multiple trips to Planned Parenthood, the protestors (not at the clinic, thank god, but at student government), I would do all of it again to have the life I have today.

I am so grateful for my circumstances at the time: I could afford it, I only had to travel seven miles, the waiting was not government mandated but for my own safety. All of that could have been so different had I just been living in a different state.

My abortion has never been about loss. It gave me everything that is important to me today.

It gave me that year in student government, which was one of the most uncomfortable, challenging, and transformative years of my life. 

It gave me my career, because I would have never applied for the fellowship in California state government without my experience in student government.

It gave me the countless friends and mentors I’ve met over the past decade who have shaped the person I’ve become today.

I just want to scream on top of my New York City rooftop, “I had an abortion, and it was the best goddamn decision I’ve ever made because I wouldn’t be right here, right now, if I hadn’t gotten it!”

But this post will need to do until I go up there today.

I celebrate my abortion because it gave me everything I cherish today.

(P.S. - I don’t care what the news says. The fight isn’t fucking over. If you’re looking for some way to support reproductive rights today, donate to Planned Parenthood, Lilith Fund, or the Center for Reproductive Rights. This doesn’t end here.)