"IT ALL FELT LIKE A BUSINESS TRANSACTION"
It was a very cold January morning and I boarded the train en route to Marie Stopes in Buckhurst Hill, Essex. Alone. Alone with my thoughts. And tears. Heartbroken tears. But, the truth is, I wasn't alone. I had a baby in my tummy, a 16 week old, who I loved very much and who I had envisaged in my future. I am fine boned but at 16 weeks pregnant I was huge and I loved how my figure curved out in a womanly way. I was so proud of my bump and was looking forward to motherhood. I was 32. The time was right.
My world was shattered when I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I was not moving back to Northern Ireland with "another man's child for me to bring up". I had broken up with my baby's father but he was willing and able to provide for him or her. A wealthy, high flying London lawyer. Hormones all over the place, I was flung into turmoil. What should I do? Will I be homeless when I go home? Will my stepdad throw me out like he threatened to? I so needed my mum but she died when I was 15, so I was on my own in the decision making. The lease was up on my London flat. How would I afford to continue to live here with a child, on my own? My flat mate was moving back to her home town, and I decided I was going to follow suit. I've never felt so alone in my life. I will take that feeling to my grave.
Back to that cold January morning, sitting on the train, I arrived at Buckhurst Hill and a friendly taxi driver drove me to a very pretty Victorian housed with a beautiful garden and pretty flowers. I paid my fare and the taxi driver gave me what seemed like a familiar gaze and I walked into the building. What am I doing here? Fear enveloped me. My baby. What am I doing? I felt sick and so very alone. I needed and wanted somebody to reach out and tell me it was going to be okay. There was nobody but the taxi driver and he had already reversed halfway down the driveway.
Inside I went to reception and was asked for my bank details and was told to take a seat. I was offered no counselling. It felt like a business transaction. The clinic was very plush, almost like a hotel reception, not like what you imagine an abortion clinic to be like. I looked around me. Women of all ages, some alone like me, reading magazines or just staring into space, some with their partners engaging with others like it was a party. Me? I sat in silence with fat tears rolling down my face, rubbing my tummy, all the while wishing someone would miraculously come and save us.
"Now Paula, just keep as still as you can. I just need to take some blood." I nearly fainted. "Take these tablets, they are to dilate your cervix." Oh my God. What am I doing?
Lying on the trolley, the receptionist came over with a pen and asked me to sign the cheque. I literally signed my child's life away.
I woke up whimpering in the recovery room. The nurse told me to be quiet. "What are you crying for?" Oh my God, I wanted my mum. What have I done?
My friend came to collect me and I was sent off with sanitary towels and paracetamol. The rest of the evening is a blur although I remember sitting on the loo and bleeding profusely, I was in so much pain.
Fast forward fourteen years and I am childless. My advice for anyone abortion minded, please don't do it. It not only kills your baby but it messes with your mental health. I know as I have battled with depression and anxiety ever since. It is so true the saying "where there is a will there is a way". There are crisis pregnancy centres out there (who I didn't know about). Go to them. Do not go to Marie Stopes. They don't care. They just want your money. And that is the blatant truth.
If my testimony helps save one baby and mother, that's a job well done. A child is truly a blessing.
Paula, Belfast