"I am beautiful in every single way, words can't bring me down. So don't you bring me down today." Christina Aguilera's voice fills the room, allowing a few minutes of escapism from reality, the song Beautiful reminds me of who I used to be. Aguilera is performing at the 46th Annual Grammy Awards and she is nominated for three Grammys. For the three and a half minutes of her song I am enthralled by her high hitting notes and the ten or so back up performers. The audience's claps rain out her voice as the song finishes and the camera angle zooms out to the presenter of the next award. I picking up the remote I flick the off button and the television turns off.
Looking around me there are other people, women in fact, some staring past the curtain covered window to the concrete buildings outside, some looking blankly at the dull pink carpet and others reading trashy magazines and romance novels. I used to be one of those girls who followed every move of the dancers on television, placing scrutiny on their legs, arms and bottoms, wanting to be like them, dying to look like them. That was before I discovered males and the power that I could have over them with certain parts of my body, and that was how I got myself into this situation.
I am not in this room because I want to be, nor because of my choice. A lady appears at the doorway, beckoning me to come with her. We walk into a room with two seats, a desk and an empty bookshelf. She tells me to have a seat and starts flicking through my file, briefly reading some of the comments that others have written about me.
"So Simone, I see from your file you didn't convince us enough that you wanted the termination last week and you are back again. You are defiantly sure that you want it then?" She asks me in a half mocking half understanding way.
I nod my head, not looking at her but picking the dirt out of my clean nails. Nothing is coming out, it is just pressuring my nail to go white, which is always fun to do. She asks me about my allergies and I respond with popcorn and capsicum.
"Popcorn and Capsicum?!? Well we sure won't be giving you either of those here," She exclaims, probably thinking that I was joking, but I'm not.I am handed a pen and told to sign on the dotted line, I feel as if I am signing my life away. I've dotted the I's and looped the Y's and the blood drains out of my face. Who am I kidding? I want to keep this child! Can't they see it in my eyes that it is my parents forcing me into this? I wish that she knew what I knew, that I want this five month old child that is currently in my womb. I don't care that my parents have paid three and a half thousand dollars to get me her in the first place. My brain stops thinking when the lady gives me a pair of pyjamas with frogs on them and shows me to a room that I can change in.
Peeling off my loose fitting t-shirt and jeans I place the frogs over my head. It is a massive dressing gown with buttons at the back instead of the front. I slump down in the chair waiting for the lady to come get me to sit in another waiting room, for another amount of undisclosed minutes. A nice warm feeling of dread fills me as I hear footsteps approaching. Good hearing is a curse at times, for example when you walk in the door and hear moaning coming from the bedroom that you and your boyfriend share, or times like now when you do not want to hear or see the inevitable. A tap on the door signifies that it is her, wanting to know if she can come in and if I am appropriately dressed. I am told that I have the head nurse to see before anything else happens. This one is wearing all blue. She stands up and shakes my hand, a small smile of understanding is upon her face.
"Hello Simone, I am Margurite, I am the nurse that will be operating on you today, if all goes to plans. Do you know the procedure?"
"I know the procedure for 6-14 weeks, but not for twenty," I mumble.
"Okay, well this is what is going to happen. It is going to take two days, today we are going to stick organic dilation rods on your cervix to open it up. And tomorrow we are going to induce the labour. You are going to need to not eat..."
Her voice drones on, but I am not listening, the words induce labour, induce labour, induce labour repeat themselves over and over in my head. I nod occasionally to confirm that I am listening, but I'm not really. The question that I'm avoiding, she asks again, is this what you want? In my head there are two things going on, one part of me has bells going off, warning bells shouting NO NO NO NO! On the other side, my parent's voices tell me yes, this is what you want, you have gotten yourself into this mess and we are getting you out of it. I nod my head. The nurse takes it as a yes, that this is what I want. But I was only agreeing with my first thought. The bells are going off louder and louder until I cannot hear anything else. I cannot protest, I am too weak to correct her. I am sick of the fighting, sick of the morning vomiting, sick of my boyfriend who ran away from home when my mom told his dad about me. I am fifteen. He is twenty one. This is illegal. This child would be born out of wedlock. I would have rather made this decision myself then be forced into it.
In another room there are other women. None of them happy, all sullen faces, one lady rolls her feet as if she is a ballet dancer. I want to ask her if she is. White washed walls. Cheap paintings of pink flamingos, corny sunsets and rivers that flowing to nowhere in particular. If someone looked happy I'm not sure how everyone else in here would react. Maybe with disgust, maybe with evil looks or possibly with raised eyebrows, I am not sure how I would personally act, probably with discontent.
"Simone."
I stand, looking around, just in case there is another person named Simone in here. No one else stands, but they all look at me, maybe wondering what a fifteen year old is doing in an abortion clinic, honestly the answer is, I don't know.The smell of antibacterial soap and pristine hospital cleanliness fills my nostrils as I walk closer to the voice that called me. I see the nurse that interviewed me second, she calls me over to the bed and I sit down.
"Now Simone, I want you to lie down straight on the bed, feet out straight, head looking up towards the ceiling. Then we are going to put an oxygen mask over your nose and give you an injection on anaesthetic to make you drowsy. When we have done this, please back from ten.
"Ok?"I nod my head and do as I am told. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6.
*
Opening my eyes, a pale blue wall is opposite me, in front of that is a horrible plush sofa, much like the one that I am seated on. Between me and the other sofa is a table with little packets of products. Opening my eyes and on closer inspection they are biscuits and Jatz crackers, obviously there to boost my sugar and salt levels. I begin to feel drowsy again and close my eyes for just a second.
I wake to a moving motion engulfing me, snapping my eyelids open, dad is lifting me up the stairs, which would be no easy feat, seeming as I am 100kgs of pregnant teenager and am asleep. I tell him to let me walk up the stairs, that I can do it. He still holds onto me, more to support me than to be in control. For this I am somewhat glad. Also I am happy that it is my dad here not my mom. Sometimes she irritates me by trying to care too much and not actually letting me make the mistakes by myself. I guess this is an instant where she could not protect me from the outside world.
The hotel room is small, two single beds and a view of the local central building district, yay, I think to myself. Panadiene Forte every four hours and no eating ten hours before arriving back at the clinic, sleeping tablets to make me feel put me to sleep and kill the nightmares that I may have.
*
Fifteen hours later I am ushered onto the operating table, no interviews, no questioning. Before they can put the oxygen mask on, I begin to cry. I do not like showing that I am raw, I hate showing that I am not strong and unable to cry, but I do. I do not want to go through with this. I beg them to stop, but no one listens. "Simone, you are halfway through the procedure, there is no way that we can stop now! Stop crying and calm down. You are going to go into labour at any moment." I hear one of the nurses say.
Hearing this, I immediately clam down, the words, going into labour, really ticked something off in my brain to calm down. I lie down and the mask is placed over my mouth and the count down begins again.
*
I awake with a wheat bag on my stomach and the smell of disinfectant filling my nose once again. A nurse tells me that I will be lying here for another few hours as I do not go into labour until three o'clock. That nurse was a liar. I feel let down. I thought that it was all over. She comes back and tells me to roll over. After a curious look I ask her why. She smiles at me and tells me that the anaesthetic has to be inserted anally. I beg her not to, but there is no other option. Trying not to scream, she gives it to me and walks off. Every minute closer to three o'clock gives me more pain than the minute beforehand. According to the nurse, they are contractions, and that my body is preparing to go into labour.Five to three and I cannot stand the pain anymore, the pain is indescribable. The nurse notices this and notifies one of the head nurses. I am wheeled into the operating table, my legs propped up onto objects that look like crutches and the aesthetic is placed over my nose again.
"I am beautiful no matter what they say, words can't bring me down, I am beautiful in every single way, yes, words can't bring me down today"
