Making the decision about my pregnancy was one of the hardest moments in my life. I was living my worst nightmare, one I never thought I’d face. Here I was, almost 30 years old, staring down a future that was so far from the life I had imagined for myself. If I had this baby, I thought, my life would be over—or at least, the life I had known would be. There were so many “no mores” that came with this realization. No more traveling whenever I wanted, no more indulgences like getting my nails done, and definitely no more luxury of having a cleaning lady. The freedom I’d always had felt like it was slipping through my fingers.
I had never said no to myself. I never had to. My life had been about possibilities and choices, but this felt like an ultimatum. I didn’t know how to cope with that.
After a lot of internal back-and-forth, I turned to Google. Planned Parenthood seemed like the obvious first step, but instead, I found a place called Options, just 20 minutes away from where I lived. I made an appointment to see what my choices were for terminating the pregnancy. It felt like the only way I could regain control over my life.
The day of the appointment came, and I found myself in the basement of a medical building. The space didn’t look like what I had expected. There were pictures of babies everywhere, which felt like an emotional ambush. It became clear quickly that this wasn’t the kind of clinic I had imagined. Still, I pushed through and saw a nurse.
They gave me an ultrasound to confirm the pregnancy, and I was handed a small black-and-white image. They said it was my baby, but I didn’t see anything—nor did I want to. The nurse asked if I wanted to keep the picture, but I refused. All I wanted was to get through this and end the pregnancy as early as possible.
Then the nurse did something that surprised me. She asked if she could pray for me, for the decision I was making. I wasn’t comfortable with it. I had already made up my mind, or so I thought. Even after I said no, she prayed anyway. It felt invasive, but I was in such a daze that I just asked to leave. And I did—quickly.
A few days later, I made an appointment with an OBGYN. I was resolved: I wasn’t going to have this baby. This was my decision, and I wanted to explore my options medically. But during the appointment, I was told something I hadn’t expected to hear. I was at high risk for blood clots and even a stroke if I went through with the abortion. The fear that settled in at that moment was heavier than I anticipated. It wasn’t just about losing the life I had known; it was about my health, my safety.
Suddenly, having the baby didn’t seem as terrifying as the alternative. But it still felt like a bad dream that I couldn’t wake up from. I was stuck. And this was just the beginning.
I had to come to terms with the fact that this pregnancy, something I never wanted, was going to change everything. The freedom I cherished felt like it was slipping away, and with it, the sense of who I was. But somehow, even in the chaos, I knew that this wasn’t the end of my story—just a new chapter I had never planned on writing.
And so, the journey began.
The Fourth Trimester 