Before my daughter was born, I was a still a child. People use the term “baby with a baby” when I tell them she’s mine. I was just about off the plane from my sixth year holiday when my world exploded. I came to Trinity and signed up for every society in Front Square. I had no idea that the only use my membership card of Dublin University Philosophical Society (the Phil) would get would be to use their couches for daily naps during exam time when I could no longer fit in lecture seats. I had no idea I would grow up at an alarming rate as I watched my friends living the college dream. Although what strikes me looking back at that little girl is how lucky I am. Lucky, because I now have this wonderful child in my life. However, despite what people might assume about the progressive nature adopted by our country in the last few years, Ireland is still not kind to a child in a crisis pregnancy. There is no module guideline handed out when the thing we all dread happening happens.
I was in a cafe on South William St when I confirmed my pregnancy. It was between lectures and my boyfriend and best friend ordered coffees. She had bought the test. I told them to wait outside. I laughed, trying to convince them that I thought it was nothing. But I knew I was pregnant. What I didn’t know was that the next few days of my life would be pure hell. I took another test the next morning just to make sure. I was locked in the bathroom with my three younger sisters banging on the door for me to hurry up. I ran down the road to the GP. I made sure that the doctor who was my father’s colleague wasn’t sitting that day. I looked at another positive test in front of an unfamiliar young woman who looked just as worried as I was. I waited for her to tell me I had cancer or an ovarian cyst. We had used a condom and I was lead to believe this should be enough, so how could I be pregnant?
Despite what people might assume about the progressive nature adopted by our country in the last few years, Ireland is still not kind to a child in a crisis pregnancy
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She told me to go away and think about it, but not to take too long before I had “decided” what to do. She didn’t specify what I had to “decide” on. I hadn’t considered terminating my pregnancy. I didn’t know it was an option. I was 18 and the product of an all-girls Catholic school where sexual health classes consisted of a middle-aged lady showing us graphic slides of STDs. If we were safe, we wouldn’t get pregnant. But I was pregnant. I went online and discovered that I had three options: motherhood, adoption or abortion.
If you have never been pregnant, you will never know how it feels. It is not possible to know whether or not you would have an abortion until you have experienced an unwanted pregnancy. I know women who were sure that they would choose abortion if faced with an unplanned pregnancy, only to decide that it was not for them. Before my pregnancy, I was adamant that the concept of terminating a “life” was the most horrific thing I had ever heard. However, like in all real-life situations, opinions change drastically. If anyone had mentioned abortion to me before I got pregnant, I would have been disgusted. Now here I was, scanning through UK websites. The reason I am sharing my story is because even though many don’t like to acknowledge it, abortion exists in Ireland today. It is not something we can simply ignore any longer.
Before my pregnancy, I was adamant that the concept of terminating a “life” was the most horrific thing I had ever heard. However, like in all real-life situations, opinions change drastically
A “pro-life” friend of mine once told me that this issue is a matter of what you consider to be the beginning of life. People often debate at what stage a foetus or a formation of cells becomes a baby. The ethical side to the debate is a matter of opinion. It is often superfluous and the technicalities distract from the shock reality of the situation. To me, this was a baby. Though my pregnancy was very difficult, the baby was my baby and I loved it from that moment in the cafe on South William St. But I did not want to be a parent.
That said, you will never know how much love you can have for something until you become a parent. And yet I cried and cursed and then apologised to my tummy every night. I could not have this baby. The hormones made me love but society and reality made me hate. The guilt was suffocating. Keeping my baby would ruin the lives of my family. I knew no matter what I did, I would never be that same child who walked into Front Square that September.
However, through this nightmare I was not alone. Though my boyfriend was equally as horrified, he supported me as I mentally fell apart. He understood, however, that he did not have a say when it came to these “options”. Unfortunately, the responsibility of any pregnancy lies solely with the woman, no matter how badly she wants to share the burden.
The moment I told my mother was more painful than giving birth eight months later. It broke her heart. She was inconsolably worried. But yet again, she reminded me that I was an adult. My mother is a very strong individual. She is a nurse, and though she is a practising Catholic, she lives in the real world. She understands that abortion is a reality for Irish women. I knew that, as medics, both of my parents would see past the stigma and horrific connotations attached to both teenage pregnancy and abortion.
In the mind of the pregnant individual, abortion may not feel like a choice, but a necessity. To them, it may be the only way forward. Those who have abortions need them and those who need them have them every day
A word commonly associated with abortion is “choice”. The word “choice” scares me. I had no “choice”. I knew abortion was not an option for me. However, the point is that I could see how it could be the only option for someone else. I understand that the right to choose is necessary due to the uniqueness of each individual situation. However, in the mind of the pregnant individual, abortion may not feel like a choice, but a necessity. To them, it may be the only way forward. Those who have abortions need them and those who need them have them every day.
It is my view that women who experience crisis pregnancies are some of the most vulnerable in our society. Not a baby or toddler who is blissfully unaware of their own vulnerability, but someone who is entirely responsible and quite literally all alone. These women can be physically and mentally destroyed by an unwanted pregnancy. They may feel that their perceived place in society is incompatible with motherhood.
For me, repealing the eighth amendment is not about having the most dramatic and flashy signs that appear to trivialise and romanticise the situation. This is about safety and reality and is nothing short of a medical emergency. For me, there is only one choice. Your choice. Whether you consider yourself for or against termination, it will happen. Woman do it every day: dangerously, isolated and terrified, with no aftercare or support. Our generation has inherited a society that stigmatises and limits those who experience unwanted pregnancies. Now this very same society owes women the safety and acceptance they require to live within it.
