Oops! I'm pregnant...Nvr Mind

There's a special type of sisterhood that comes from sitting in a room full of strangers that are all waiting to abort their unborn children. Nothing creates instant comradery like the shared sting of regret and relief all swirled into one. Looking across that room into the eyes of a stranger who has the same knot in her stomach and anticipation in her heart as you do, makes it all feel a lot less lonely. The compassion in that room is palpable. You can touch it . You can smell it. It is there.

Now, I'm not talking about the general waiting room. No, not the one full of pregnant women and their significant/insignificant others. Not the one with the "Pro Choice" posters on the walls and the faint mummer of a neglected television in the background. 

I'm talking about that second waiting room. The one they take you into after all the paperwork in processed. The room where no loved ones are allowed to enter. Where you sit "alone" with your new found sisters, chatting about everything from the weather to conception. You spend hours learning each others stories.

She tells you about her abusive ex that would be tied to her forever had she not made this decision. You learn about her full ride scholarship to the school of her dreams and how she just can't give that up. She tells you about her plans to start a business and how she just doesn't have the time or money for another baby. You tell them how the idea of being a single mother of two just doesn't feel like a title you can bear.

Between these stories you laugh about life, motherhood, old movies, and anything else that you can think of to  help pass the time. The wait is long. You come back and forth into this room multiple times. Each time you are sent away with support, and welcomed back with warmth. As you sit with your sisters, your number is called and you leave the comfort of your room.

First, to see the counselor. She will provide you with encouraging words about how this is your choice and how strong you are.

Next, you'll  go to meet the technician who will draw your blood, weigh your body, and ask if you have any questions about the procedure you are about to endure.

Then, you will be taken to the nurse who will escort you into the ultrasound room where you will see your child's heartbeat and be asked if you want to keep a copy of the picture. You will say "yes".

After each of these encounters you will return to that room. You will join right back into the conversation or the silence. Sometimes the room will be filled with laughter. Other times it will be filled with tears and comforting words. Each time it will be full of your sisters, cheering for you, hurting for you, supporting you, on this shared step in your journey.

Finally, you will be called out of the room for the final time, and you will know that you will not be back. You will say your goodbyes as you are ushered into a room with bright lights and beeping monitors. You will be told to relax. You will count backwards from 10. You will see the piercing green eyes of the doctor peering over her stark white mask as she reassures you that it will all be over soon.  

You will wake up in a new room. One that will have a lot less people and a lot more silence. You will no longer be a part of that sisterhood. The time you spent with them will be no more. You will not know their names. You will not know how their stories end.

However, you will know that for a brief time, you were supported by women who had no motivation other than to be with you. To hold you up, to make you laugh, to dry your tears. And you will be reminded of them when the road gets rough, when you have to make more tough decisions, when you have to say "never mind" to something that truly was a piece of you.