This isn’t a pretty picture. I’m lying on a surgical couch with my legs in
stirrups. They’re shaking, jumping uncontrollably, cartoonishly. I can feel
the sweat pooling, sticky under the small of my back. I’m breathing so fast,
my head is spinning. I think I may be sick. The nurse beside me asks if I’d
like to hold her hand. I seize it gratefully, but I dig my nails so hard
into her palm that she has to tell me to stop.
I’m having an abortion.
The thing itself is mercifully swift. I close my eyes, and feel the doctor put
her hand on my abdomen. There’s a winding, grinding sensation inside me.
Then a moment, just a moment, of searing pain. I shout out. And it’s over.
“It’s about five weeks,” the doctor says.
Between them, they get me dressed and help me out to the waiting room. I’m
given a hot-water bottle, a cup of tea and some painkillers. All I’m left
with is a feeling of tremendous relief.
In 2005, 186,416 abortions were carried out in England and Wales. A third of
women below the age of 45 have had at least one. That’s your best friend,
your sister, maybe even your wife. Chances are, they haven’t told you. And
you probably don’t want to know. You don’t want to think about all those
images of dancing babies in the womb. It’s one of the few remaining taboos
in our otherwise shameless society.
So shameful is it, that I won’t be putting my name to this piece. I’ll just
tell you that two years ago, when it happened, I was 34. I was a privileged,
well-educated Catholic with a university job that I loved. I was two years
into a happy, committed relationship. We had just moved in together. Having
a child was not part of the plan – my plan, that is.
I have never wanted children. The reasons are complex. I’m not your
stereotypical selfish career bitch – my job is important, yes, but it’s not
my whole life. I have two godchildren who are precious to me. Children as a
biological choice, however – no. I’ve just never felt the urge. And that has
worried me in the past. I’ve had therapy to try to work out whether it’s
fear that’s holding me back, or simply a case of valid choice – a choice
that society finds impossible to stomach. Why?
Surely a considered decision not to have children is far more responsible than
bringing into the world yet another unwanted baby. And if that seems selfish
– an accusation I hear bandied about all too frequently – isn’t the decision
to have a child, a mini-me, to spread your genes farther and wider into the
gene pool, the ultimate act of selfishness?
I’ve seen the sacrifice that children require. I’ve seen my friends give up
their lives. I saw my mother give up her dreams for her daughters – me and
my sister, who was so severely handicapped that she needed round-the-clock
care until the end of her short life. And I’m sure that somewhere, deep
down, that has shaped my decision, but I don’t regret it.
So that’s why, two years ago, I found myself lying on the table, just one of
the 27,836 women aged 30-34 who had an abortion that year. I’m not even sure
how I got there – I’d always been careful to the point of obsession with
contraception. I can only presume that one day, I just forgot. A week late,
with two positive tests that I refused to believe in my pocket and the
startling onset of retching that morning, I took myself to my GP. When she
told me that, of course, I was pregnant, predictably, I burst into tears.
I didn’t need to think twice. “I can’t have it.”
Did I need time to consider? No. But the NHS wanted to give me six weeks –
that’s how long the waiting list was in my particular trust. I couldn’t wait
that long – six more weeks of mental and physical distress. I didn’t expect
the NHS to pay for my mistake. So I looked up “Family Planning” in the
Yellow Pages and called Marie Stopes. The next day, I had another pregnancy
test, an ultrasound scan and counselling before being offered an appointment
for the abortion.
Twenty-four hours later, my boyfriend drove me back to the clinic. The
procedure I had chosen – vacuum aspiration, without an anaesthetic – was the
quickest and safest possible at my stage of pregnancy.
Does it seem a decision made in haste? The Times columnist Caitlin Moran has
been criticised for saying her choice to have a termination was “one of the
least difficult decisions of her life”, to which she had given less thought
than choosing the worktops for her new kitchen. It sounds flippant, but what
she meant was this: she was certain that she could not be responsible for
another human being. She didn’t need time to ponder. And neither did I.
So why did I cry? Not from a guilty conscience, as you might think. I have to
believe that what I destroyed was a collection of cells rather than a
sentient baby – even though I’m a Catholic, and Cardinal Keith O’Brien
recently described abortion as an “unspeakable crime”, the rate in Scotland
equivalent to “two Dunblane massacres every day”. I have to believe that I
made a responsible choice, that any other decision would have been the wrong
one for me. I couldn’t even talk it over with my mother: she had died a year
earlier.
I was crying for my boyfriend – because he loves children. And he lights up
when he’s around them. But he has been brave enough to say that it’s me he
wants above all else; if I don’t want children, and that’s what it takes to
be with me, then that’s what he’s prepared to do. That doesn’t mean I’m not
afraid that one day he will leave me for someone who will give him what he
wants. Or that I don’t feel I should let him go. But I’m not that noble.
I’m just a woman who made what she thought was the right decision about an
issue that is still clouded by uncertainty. Let’s hope that, one day,
abortion isn’t seen as the selfish choice, but, as Moran put it, “an
intelligent, logical, humble, compassionate thing to do – one of the
ultimate acts of good mothering”.
THE DEBATE
In England, Wales and Scotland, abortion is legal if a woman is less than 24
weeks pregnant. Two doctors must agree that it is necessary on the grounds
that having the baby would harm the woman’s mental or physical health more
than having an abortion, or that having the baby would harm the mental or
physical health of any children she already has.
An abortion is also legal at any time in pregnancy if two doctors agree that
it is necessary to save the woman’s life or to prevent serious permanent
harm to her mental or physical health, or that there is a high risk that the
baby would be seriously handicapped.
To obtain an abortion on the NHS, you need to be referred by a doctor. This
can be your GP or a doctor at a family-planning clinic.
Pro-lifers
Believe the 24-week limit should be brought down to 21, given that 26% of
24-week foetuses now survive outside the womb.
Have recently tried (and failed) to push a bill through parliament that would
require women to wait a week for a termination, to allow time for second
thoughts.
Pro-choicers
Would like to speed up treatment for women who are less than three months
pregnant.
Believe that women should be allowed to refer themselves to abortion clinics
without having to go through their GP and getting approval from two doctors.
Believe that suitably trained and experienced nurses and midwives should be
able to carry out both early medical and surgical abortions.
Do not believe the 24-week abortion limit should come down to 21 weeks.
“Changing this”, says a spokesperson from the British Pregnancy Advisory
Service, “would affect only the most vulnerable of women, such as teenagers
who might not recognise signs of pregnancy until very late, or women who, at
their 20-week scan, find out that there is an abnormality of some sort.”
How it happens
If you are nine weeks pregnant (or less) you can opt for an early medical
abortion (this involves taking medication to cause an early miscarriage that
takes place at home).
At 7-15 weeks of pregnancy, you can have a vacuum-aspiration termination under
local or general anaesthetic (on the NHS) or with conscious sedation
(privately).
From 15 weeks, you can have a surgical dilation and evacuation termination
under general anaesthetic.
From 19 weeks, you can choose to have either a surgical abortion under general
anaesthetic or a medical-induction abortion with pain relief on the NHS, or
under conscious sedation with pain relief if you go private.
Where to get help
NHS Direct (0845 4647, www.nhsdirect.nhs.uk).
The British Pregnancy Advisory Service (0845 730 4030, www.bpas.org).
The leading provider of abortion services in the UK.
Marie Stopes has a 24-hour helpline (0845 300 8090, www.mariestopes.org.uk).
Prices start from £395, plus a consultation fee.
