Ugh, well here's a post I never expected to write... It's funny, the only things that have really prompted me to sit down and write lately, are the topics I feel extremely passionate about. This story isn't going to be an easy one for me to tell. It's one I have never spoken about publicly before, those close to me may know it, but for the most part, it has remained locked away inside.
My experience with the 8th Amendment is extremely personal, not everyone will agree, not everyone has to. That is the joy of living in a democracy. To be honest, in my late teens and early 20's it was something I believed would never affect me. Until, it did.
I found out I was pregnant in early March of 2007. I was living in Dublin at the time, working in Merrion Square. I remember going to the doctor on my lunch break, not being able to shake the feeling of nausea that had plagued me for weeks. 'I'm just run down.' I thought. The 6am starts coupled with an already somewhat volatile relationship I had been in for 6 months at the time. I remember the doctor asking me for a urine sample, I had a history of kidney infections and UTI's so in my book, this was par for the course. Until she popped a strip into the pot, it wasn't the familiar one, with the blocks of colour that would tell me if I had to fork out a fortune I didn't have on antibiotics I wasn't sure I needed. I remember those three minutes in painstaking detail. I remember the ticking of the clock on the wall, the creak of the chair the unfamiliar GP sat in as she moved uncomfortably. She was a stranger, I had never met her before, she never once met my anxious gaze. I remember her picking up the plastic tab, she tapped it 4 times off the pot and snapped the top of the test back into place, and handed it to me. I stared at the test, then at her. 'I don't know what this means?' I said feeling a sense of dread and panic take hold. "It means you're pregnant, congratulations."
I don't even remember leaving her office, I remember regaining some sense of self on a bench in the park in Merrion Square. I sat staring in the direction of Hollis Street, tears silently streaming down my face. Plagued by one single question 'What am I going to do?' I began the walk back to work in a daze. Everything was different, it was as if the world around me was in a fog and I was too far away to recognise anything familiar. No landmarks, no familiar faces, no light to follow. I returned to work, went about my duties and got my bus home. I was living with a friend at the time who was home, I remember putting a brave face on as I told him. I remember my partner returning home and telling him, he was happy... for the time being. It was the weekend of St. Patricks/Mothers Day and I was returning to my hometown to see my family. I had no intention of breathing a word to anyone on this trip. The weekend took an unexpected turn with the death of a close family member. I stayed at home longer than intended until the funeral was over.
My return to Dublin was like being slapped in the face with the reality of the situation. This was real, it was happening, I needed a plan. On my lunch break I sat in the basement bathroom on the phone to Cura, or Positive Options. The fear and anxiety of everything was getting too much. Two people knew, and both didn't know how I truly felt. Scared, alone and anxious. The lady on the phone asked me if I had considered all my options. I hung up on that call feeling worse than before. A lady I worked with who I guess looking back I would consider my work mother found me crying in a cubicle, I blurted the whole story out. She knelt in front of me held my hand and said 'Aundrea, you have to tell your family.' So I called and came down from Dublin, my heart in my mouth and said the words out loud. 'Im pregnant'. My life as I knew it was over. All the options were laid out in front of me, including travelling for an abortion. I recoiled at the word. But I respectfully said I would talk to someone and consider all my options.
I did go to meet with someone, and as I sat in that waiting room, I was surrounded by young women all considering or adamant about making that trip across the sea. Some were visibly and understandably emotional. Others were quietly resigned to their decision, speaking in hushed voices about the reasons why. As I sat there, I thought about how brave those women were, to make maybe the toughest decision they would ever face in their life. There was no judgement in that room, just a sense of silent support as meek smiles were exchanged if eyes met. It was in that moment I knew, I shouldn't be there. This wasn't for me. No judgement, just an infinite respect for the women who knew it was the right choice for them. As I left that building I felt a sense of relief. That this was the right thing for me. In that moment, it didn't matter what anyone else thought of me, it was my decision, something no one could take away from me.
On the bus journey to my apartment, my body and my mind were firmly rooted with me, but my heart remained in that waiting room, it was with the 5 women who occupied it with me before I had walked out. I thought about how difficult that choice must have been for them, the obstacles now facing them. Having to leave the country as one person, and returning forever changed. I remember thinking that it shouldn't be. Those 5 women have often crossed my mind, at the strangest of times. I find myself thinking about them, their journeys, their experience, how they were now, how they felt.
It's been 11 years since I made that decision, time has of course moved us on, but our country has not progressed. We still labour under the misapprehension that we have the right to dictate what women do with their bodies. We are still exporting women, still denying them their bodily autonomy. This country has a sad history of hiding, hushing, silencing and ignoring women. No more. I can tell you from personal experience that a crisis or unplanned pregnancy is the scariest thing a woman can face. The sense of fear, anxiety, loneliness and yes, even shame are overwhelming and made infinitely more difficult by the lack of options.
I don't want to bog this post down with statistics. There are people far more qualified than me to inform you on such things. I'm writing this because my experience made me a staunch advocate for choice, for women, and for our voices being heard. It's time. It's about making an already difficult decision a little easier, its about removing the stigma, the judgement and the uncertainty for the women of this country in the future. It's for our daughters, our nieces, our grandchildren. It's time to give them the choice without being ashamed. The Repeal campaign is a labour of love for so many citizens in this country, both male and female. It is an act of love and trust for the women of Ireland. Its so important to respect women enough to show support on Repealing the 8th. In my experience with this country and progressive votes such as Voting Yes to Gay Marriage, I couldn't have been prouder of our little island. It's time to be proud of what we stand for again, of who we are as a Nation.
I believe that love, trust, respect and educating yourself on any matter in this Nation especially Repealing will always outweigh the need to scaremonger, spread misinformation and suppress the voices of those who came before this Vote. I will never be able to state the importance of choice enough, there is not one day that passes where I don't think about my decision and not a week that passes where my heart doesn't find those 5 women in that waiting room. So once again, For our daughters, our nieces, our grandchildren and for future generations. It's time, it's time to Repeal the 8th.
