As debate raged last week in the wake of criticism by a High Court judge that many abortions were too easily obtained, a young Auckland woman was going through her own heart-wrenching experience of having an abortion.
KEY POINTS:
Outside, arguments are flying about the legality of abortions in New Zealand, exploding on to talkback radio and into the newspapers for a rare public airing provoking a vast range of opinions on this most emotive of issues.
Inside, I sat in the small, cramped waiting room of
a clinic, about to experience the very process everyone else was talking about.
For anyone who might believe abortion is an easy decision for the thousands of women who undertake it each year, this waiting room and clinic is the place to be set straight.
I have waited two weeks for this first assessment, a long time to think about the possible options.
The room is too warm, and too quiet. Women flick through magazines, or stare out the window. Couples lean against each other, holding hands tightly, waiting for their turn.
Girls emerge red-eyed from the warren of rooms containing social workers, doctors and nurses, and slump into a chair to await the next session.
Through another door, simply marked 'Recovery,' women appear occasionally, supported by a partner or family member to leave. Those of us in the waiting room try not to watch, averting our eyes. I have no idea what they have just experienced, but know that my own turn will come in the following days.
An abortion is not a quick and easy solution to the "problem" of an accidental pregnancy, as some seem to believe. The waits for appointments are long, and can be up to three weeks. I must have blood tests, a scan, and a health check through a regular doctor before I first visit the clinic.
Even then, this first round is a marathon of appointments - I am assessed by a social worker, then a doctor, and finally seen by a nurse, before being given a date for my abortion.
Coming to this clinic is the culmination of three weeks of intense discussion and debate with myself, my partner and my closest friends. At 24 years old, I have a limited income, my career has only just started, and I am yet to make a dent in my student loan, move out of a flat, or travel in any meaningful way.
I have been seeing my boyfriend for less than three months, and my family are not close by. I don't believe we could provide for a baby financially or emotionally, let alone give it the stable, loving and positive environment every child deserves to have.
I feel selfish, guilty and sad, but I cannot cope with the prospect of a baby in my life when I'm so young, and so totally unprepared. And, having never really thought about it before, I suddenly feel grateful to live in a country where I am given a choice.
The social worker, a friendly and kind woman, is the first to talk the issues over with me. She listens carefully and takes notes on my reasons for this decision, asking me to explain further the impact I think having a baby would have on my life, my mental health, and my future.
We cover the options - keeping the baby, adoption, and abortion - and talk about my relationship, who I have talked to about the situation, and the feelings of guilt and confusion that have plagued me since learning of my pregnancy.
I find it difficult not to cry as we talk, and keep repeating to her that this is a hard decision; she reassures me that it is always a hard decision, but one I am entitled to make.
It is small comfort, but at least it is some.
Next I see a doctor, who asks me to go over my decision-making process, and reasons for requesting the termination. The options are covered again, and the permanence of this action is reiterated before the necessary forms are signed, and I am given the first approval I need for the procedure.
Finally, a nurse gives me an appointment and goes over the typewritten details of what will happen on the day of my abortion - carefully explained in meticulous detail in a take-home booklet that I read over and over again in the coming days as I attempt to prepare myself for the coming experience.
On the day, it is an even smaller waiting room I enter alone to sit with a group of silent women. I don't know what the others are thinking, but I know I am scared, unsure and anxious about what happens next.
However, I am still sure this is the best decision for me and I confirm that with a new doctor, whose consent I need before I can go through with the abortion.
Then I am led into my small cubicle, dressed in a hospital gown, given tablets to relax me and prepare my body for the operation. I am fitted with an IV line which will be used to administer a light anesthetic in theatre.
And then I wait, quiet and quietly terrified, until it is my turn to enter the surgery.
It is easy, perhaps, to talk about abortions if you haven't had one.
People sometimes refer to it as if it is like having a tooth filled at the dentist - a momentary discomfort that women enter into lightly and that has little physical impact.
In fact, a surgical abortion is an invasive and uncomfortable procedure, and staff attempt to make conditions as comfortable as possible for the woman electing to go through with it.
I am awake throughout the operation. Breathing gas helps me to relax and a local anaesthetic means I don't feel pain.
However, the noise of the suction is loud, the cramps in my stomach are increasingly sore, and the 10 minutes the surgery takes feels like an eternity.
Afterwards, the heat pack on my stomach does little to ease the dull ache and the bleeding is heavy. However, after just an hour I am helped to dress and released with plenty of instructions for avoiding infection and given phone numbers of people to contact if I need them.
Throughout the appointments, contraception has been discussed with every specialist, and no one leaves without a suitable option being found. Each patient is reminded to check in with their GP about that method.
It is something I listen to seriously, and appreciate greatly. I don't believe there are many women who would choose to go through this because they are too lazy to take a pill. Getting pregnant is mostly a genuine accident despite the best precautions.
While the physical process is finished, the emotional will not be for a long time, if ever.
I am given tips on ways to handle the feelings, people to talk to, and resources to use.
It is acknowledged that even though we have the choice to terminate a pregnancy, it is not an easy one. That it will affect each woman differently, and that it must be treated for what it is - a life-changing decision that needs to be considered and weighed carefully.
The furore in the media that I am confronted by when I read the news the next day seems a world away from the experience I have just had.
Caring and dedicated professionals worked tirelessly to ensure that New Zealand women, like me, are allowed to exercise their legal right to an abortion in as safe and healthy an environment as possible.
And the opinions of those who choose to make this a debate about whether or not women should have that choice are difficult to face after seeing girls who look barely old enough to attend high school never mind caring for a child, leaving the recovery room. In any case, the opinions flying out here are irrelevant after sitting in that waiting room and seeing the devastated and stress-filled faces of those who are going through this process this week.
And after going through it myself, there is no doubt in my mind that for the majority of women, this is a serious, heart-wrenching experience that is not just another version of the morning-after pill.
