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If there is a story that I have not told a soul yet, here it is.
Here goes everything: I got pregnant when I was 16 years old by a guy named “L.”
How “L” and I met:
It started as an innocent relationship (though I was rather wild back then), then it progressed fast from there.
We were not together for a year yet, but I followed him everywhere: his house, outing with his parents, eventually his bedroom.
The sex leading to the pregnancy:
We got into an argument which then he thought the best solution to our problem was sex. I struggled when he pinned me down. I tried pushing him off but to no avail.
The worst part was he did not wear a condom, and he did not even bother to try and pull out either.
With a stupid smirk on his face, he proudly told me he was done.
I was confused at first; then I got furious because
- I said no to the sex
- He was not wearing a condom
- I was ovulating
The next thing I knew, I was rushing towards the toilet, spraying myself with water, hoping and praying that I could flush the semen out.
When I confronted him, he assured me that everything would be alright.
Pregnant and everything in between:
I missed my period a month after and two months after that.
Finally, I gathered my courage, asked “L” to get me a pregnancy kit, checked myself – POSITIVE.
I panicked, so like every other person out there, I turned to the internet and old wives’ tales.
I ate tons of pineapple, de-worming tablets – I ate everything that was harmful to the fetus. I ran, I jumped, I did it all. Nothing happened; I was still pregnant.
That was not the worst part yet; it came soon after.
I started having morning and motion sicknesses. I vomited every morning upon waking up, and every night before going to bed, I even had trouble sleeping.
Car rides are incredibly unpleasant; it gave me headaches and made me nauseous.
Also, the sight and smell of “L” made me nauseous. I hated seeing him, no wait, I despised, detested and loathed him.
I find him repulsive. How I felt back then – everything about him made my skin crawl.
I remembered asking him to pay for the abortion, but he said, “eat more de-worming tablets, you will get a miscarriage without even needing to go for the abortion.”
We argued, he slapped me across the face – my whole world went blank for a second, and I heard ringing in my ears.
I decided I had enough, and I shared my predicaments with my trusted classmate, who then spilt the beans, disclosing my secret to the teacher.
One thing led to another; the teacher called my mother. Needless to say, I got an earful, the rest was history.
Life was a living hell in high school that year.
I was alone on the bed; finally, it was time to face the music.
The nurses came over, looked at me with disgust in their eyes, asked my age, looked at me again, judging my upbringing.
Out of a sudden, one of them stabbed my right thigh with a needle without giving me a heads-up while shaking her head in disbelief.
They inserted a few tablets into my vagina opening and told me to wait until the pills did its job.
Soon after, I felt my tummy hurting; it felt like period cramps, but worse. I was in agonising pain.
It was like someone just kicked me in the gut repeatedly.
I endured the pain the whole night till 6 A.M.
When the pain stopped unexpectedly, I had a sudden urge to pee. I went to the toilet but ended up giving birth in there.
The fetus, which was already four months old, was hanging by its umbilical cord from my vagina opening.
I pressed the emergency button frantically, and the nurses came knocking.
I carried the fetus on the palm of my hand, then hurried back to my bed.
This time, I took another stab of injection on my left thigh. The nurses pulled the umbilical cord out of me, pressing on my lower abdomen and asked me to push.
I remembered clearly that one of them lifted the fetus and showed it to me.
She looked my way and exploded, “you know how to make the baby, but you don’t know how to keep it.”
The only person that treated me like a human being was the doctor that did the surgery.
That morning before I underwent surgery, he warned me, “after this surgery, I do not want to see you here ever again, you hear me?”
I nodded, then when I woke up, the nightmare was over.
P/S: “L” paid for the abortion, or should I say, his sister did. He passed me the money at the hospital and took off.
The abortion was not the end of my ordeals: my father and my close friends refused to talk to me; the people at school called me names.
“Slut, whore, prostitute, baby killer” – I was called many things; all I could do was turn a deaf ear to everyone.
This incident broke me. Today, I am still broken.