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PUBLISHED IN SHIFT
Artist, Activist, Author, Guerrilla Girl
What No One Will Tell You About Having an Abortion
by Donna Kaz
He told me he wanted me to have it. He also told me he would never marry me. For a few days I kept silent about the fact that I wanted an abortion. Surprisingly, he left the decision entirely up to me.
I had a abortion in the summer of 1979. I was 24 years old and living in Malibu with a rising Hollywood movie star who beat me up almost every day. One night, he refused to wait for me to put my diaphragm in. After we had sex, I knew I was pregnant.
I sat him down and went through all the reasons we were not ready to have a child together, the primary reason being the violence in our relationship. I told him we would have a baby someday, just not now. He agreed and called a friend of his who knew someone who could arrange for my abortion. Abortion was legal, but it was hidden — something you needed to do a little research to find. We found a male gynecologist and made an appointment.
I wanted to have my abortion as soon as possible. I remember waking up some mornings and feeling like all my hormones were working over time. Other days I felt nothing. I was only pregnant for 7 weeks.
My boyfriend drove me to my abortion and asked to meet the doctor beforehand. He wanted to make sure that the procedure was safe and that I would be alright. The doctor assured him I would be.
My abortion was painless and routine except right after it was over. Suddenly, the doctor asked me what blood type I was. When I said I was type A, the doctor and nurse flew out of the room. A few minutes later they ran back in and I was given a shot. The nurse explained that it was needed because my fetus was a different blood type and that I probably should have been asked what blood type I was before they began.
My boyfriend’s deep concerns about me were gone once I left the recovery room. I wanted to go straight home and crawl into bed but instead of driving us back to our beach house he stopped at the McDonald’s on Pacific Coast Highway to have lunch. I had no appetite so I nursed a container of milk while he gobbled up a few hamburgers and a large order of fries.
The day after my abortion I tried to go for a run along the ocean but I felt awful. When I told my girlfriend what I had done over the phone she yelled at me. She told me not to work out for at least a week. I do not remember getting any post abortion instructions.
Here is what no one will tell you about having an abortion.
You will always have to check the box “yes” on medical forms that ask you if you ever had surgery. An abortion is a surgical procedure.
You should not do anything physical for at least a week after.
It does not hurt.
Know your blood type if you are going to have an abortion.
If you are on your parents health insurance and file a claim, your parents will find out about it.
You will have no remorse. Ever.
And for some, you might wonder for the rest of your life if he would have beat your child the way he beat you.
Waitress
Before I leave I stack up the coffee cups, brush
the crumbs into a neat pile, ball up the napkins,
stuff the sugar packets into place then remember
I’m not a waitress anymore, not faceless anymore,
not one of millions of women in white shirts, black pants,
black shoes, white aprons, serving up phony smiles behind
six cups of coffee stacked to the sky, three small salads
balanced up the arm, side of fries held in place by a pinky,
bottle of ketchup perched against a shoulder, taking a drink order,
a dessert order, an order from the manager and a round
of vulgarities from the “sous” chef, not spending
my two a.m.’s filling half empty salt shakers, adjusting mustard jars
next to crumpled sweet ‘n lows, not giving someone
a few more minutes anymore, not giving until
good and ready to give, waiting
until the last possible second, teetering
on the precipice between twenty percent and squat,
not sassy anymore, proud of the fact that nobody
ever claimed squatters rights in my station, nobody
ever fired me because I quit first, nobody stiffed me
and was not cursed to burn in hell for all time, not armed
with revenge anymore, ready to fill the reservation book
with bogus names, lay down on the salad bar and refuse to move,
barricade myself inside the side station, throw myself
off the steam table, die every night with my apron on