Nadi
Ever since the shocking and regressive judgement was declared, we in India have been watching a new newsmaker in the western media. The Foetus. Pro-lifers have always wanted us to think of it as a ‘person’. As if that was not enough, they have now made Foetus a public figure! ‘Vulnerable’ Foetus. Vulnerable on the one hand and, on the other, Powerful.
These images are not new to Indians. We have seen posters propagating the protection of the unborn girl-child. These usually, probably deliberately, confuse the issues of sex selection and the right to abortion to weaken the feminist struggle for reproductive rights.
“Maa, mujhe mat maaro.”
“Don’t kill me”, the Foetus calls out from inside the uterus. This plea for life is directed to the mother, the monster who alone seems to hold the decision power. The mother who makes this ‘easy’ decision to ‘kill’ the unborn child light-heartedly, even frivolously.
Angry at its manipulative project, I had written in a paper about reproductive health- “The Foetus has been in a monologue for too long. It’s time the ‘monster moms’ spoke back.”
Now, I wish to remove the ‘back’- for it is not a war between the woman and the unborn child. It is a battle against those who want to impose their beliefs and notions upon our lives. A battle for justice and dignity, and reproductive autonomy. We need to hear honest, personal stories of abortion, particularly about the reason for needing it. What was the life situation the woman was in? What Robin West calls “Interlocking connecting and often irreconcilable responsibilities and commitments”.
The decision to seek an abortion is none of anybody’s business. To opt for a termination of pregnancy is like seeking any other medical procedure.
Abortion should be free of judgement.
Abortion should be free of sentimentalisation.
The woman does not owe anybody an explanation.
However, those who choose to share notes with other women about the factors that were involved, should. Is the reason really as selfish/cruel/heartless as the pro-lifers tell us, or even as uncomplicated as our own pro-choice slogans- “No regrets!”? Women who have undergone abortions must speak of the time they underwent the procedure.
I will.
Maybe not exactly ‘shouting out my abortion’, just perhaps sharing the memory with you.
In a few days from now, I will silently observe an anniversary.
On the 4th of August 1993, I underwent a medical termination of pregnancy.
First, the numbers.
Gestation -8 weeks. My age-24 years. My older daughter – 4 months old.
I mean, of course, to write “My daughter – 4 months old.” But I do not erase the typo.
The typo is a repressed feeling.
Of course, she is my only daughter; I have never used the word older – why would I? She is my one and only child. In August 1993, I was breastfeeding her, and there was no question of going through with another pregnancy. This accidental pregnancy of 8 weeks had to be terminated. I had to free myself of it to raise my daughter.
I had conceived my daughter immediately after medical school and had completed most of my internship during the pregnancy. Now I was waiting for her to be a little older, find daycare and complete the rest of my training. Only then could I apply for a job, residency or post-graduate study.
Yes, I am a trained doctor. That added to my embarrassment when the pregnancy test showed positive. “Surely, you should know better?”, “Surely, you should know that breastfeeding is not 100% protection?” Many ‘surely’ questions. Meanwhile, slowly but surely, my pregnancy was growing, with the questions, with the fights that ensued between my partner and me, with morning sickness, anaemia and constant fatigue, without a solution or support.
I knew that support would come only from one source. So, I ran home to my mother. 12 hours in a State Transport bus. To a small town in the Konkan. I remember how the rainwater kept entering through the broken window and how I held my baby close.
I remember how I cried to my mother and how she reprimanded me but understood. How she was matter-of-fact about it yet preferred that we did not discuss it with others.
I remember with gratitude the kind words of the nurse and the gynaecologist who had known me since I was a little girl.
There must have been pain, there must have been bleeding, but I have forgotten.
Oddly, I clearly remember only the images I hallucinated.
The anaesthetic was, as was common in those days, in a primary set-up, Ketamine. Known to most of us for its notoriety as a recreational drug and its reputation as part of the Rodent’s cocktail in veterinary anaesthesia.
The problem with Ketamine is the hallucinations it induces.
A crying baby. The unborn baby?
Or the one I had left with my mother to come here?
A baby hurtling down a steep slope.
Looking back, I know that the hallucinations were informed by images aimed by posters at the woman seeking an abortion to induce the guilt she is supposed to feel.
Do I feel guilt now? No.
Was I in anguish then? Yes.
29 years ago, I underwent a medical termination of pregnancy in the Government Cottage Hospital, Sawantwadi, Dist. Sindhudurg. Today, I hear that women have been denied that right in places I think of as ‘developed’ and modern.
I speak from experience that the choice to abort is a painful one. However, instead of rushing in to save a life that has not yet begun, we need to consider the complications in the woman’s life and, in my case, to another life dependent on her.
Do I regret undergoing the procedure? No.
Has the thought of how old my second child would have been if I had let the pregnancy continue passed my mind? Yes.
Did I ask to see the tissue that was curetted out of my body that day? No.
Did I go back to my medical textbooks and look at pictures of 6-week-old fetuses and cry alone? Yes.
Did I resent my husband with regards to irresponsibility about contraception etc.? No.
Did I feel alone on the 12-hour return journey the day after the procedure even though he was on the seat next to mine? Yes. My child was suckling at my breast and the heavy bleeding from the previous day’s procedure were draining my body.
Yes, My body and mine alone, in pain.
For however much we modern couples use expressions like ‘our’ pregnancy etc., the pain part is
borne by the woman alone.
The blood, milk and tears that flowed from my body that night were mine alone. I claim them.
And through that pain which is mine alone, I claim the Right for all women.
The right is ours alone. The right over our bodies. The right over what is produced in our bodies.
The right to make the choice.
The right to make the difficult, responsible, painful choice.
