April 16, 2004
I was 15 when I found out I was pregnant.
[My boyfriend] and I had been together for 4 years, and the last year or so, he had started getting physically, sexually, and emotionally abusive. He always played mind games with me, made me feel like I was worth nothing, raped me constantly, and beat me whenever he felt like it. But, I was far too scared to leave.
So, I told him I was pregnant, I was about 5 weeks when I found out. He immediatly told me there was no way we'd keep it, that I'd have to give it up for adoption, or something. I told him I'd think about it, and then he ignored me for the rest of the pregnancy.
I told my parents, who were pissed, but they were there for me, every step of the way.
My mother held my hand as we heard his heart beat for the first time, and when I first saw him on the ultrasound at 14 weeks. That day the doctors told me I was having a healthy baby boy, as I watched him yawn and his little toes curl up on the screen.
I decided to name him Malik Jordan, Malik meaning 'king'.
When I got home, we ordered a shelf for Malik's nursery, that had his name in wooden blocks. His nursery was already set up, we had Pooh blankets for his crib, a beautiful white bassinet, all kinds of toys, my favorite was a big teddy bear.
Well, that following week, I was 15 weeks, when [my boyfriend] called me for the first time since I told him I was pregnant.
We went out to lunch that afternoon, and he told me that his family decided there was no way he could have a child right now. It would ruin his future, his life, his school work, etc, etc.
I told him I didn't want his help with the baby, that I'd do it alone, but he said “No” to that. So, I mentioned adoption, and he said his mother didn't want someone else raising her grandchild… that she didn't want… go figure.
He then told me I had to have an abortion, that it was the only “easy” way out. I refused, and then we were going to back to his house, and he pulled the car over, and started hitting me in the face, then in the stomach, and he told me, if I didn't abort, he'd get rid of the baby one way or another.
So, we got to his house, and he dialed the number for the clinic, his mother standing there watching, he tried making the appointment, but they wanted to talk to me. He stood there as though he were going to kill me as I cried, making the appointment. It was set for July 13th, 2003, at 1pm, which would soon become the worst day of my life.
I also had to go in the day before so they could dialate my cervix.
His mother drove us to the clinic, that second day. I cried the whole way, begging him to let us go back home, that I'd never ask for a penny, I'd raise the baby all alone.
He told me to be quiet, and when we got to the clinic, his mother waved out the window and smiled, as though she was happy to be doing it.
I felt my knees lock up, and I started to tremble as we walked in. I sat down in the waiting room, and after filling out some forms, I held my tummy, and sang Baby Mine, that was Malik's song, that I sang to him all the time. And — as I sang it — I felt him kick for the first time, as though he was saying he didn't want to go.
That's when I freaked, I started screaming [that] I wanted my baby, I was crying and laying on the floor holding my stomach, and before I knew it a couple doctors and nurses came running to me, and dragged me into some room. I told them I didn't want to do this, that I wanted my baby, and the nurse said, “Don't be ridiculous, you're too young for a baby, and besides it's too late now anyway.”
I cried, and cried, holding in the screams because I didn't want them getting mad at me again. I kept praying to God to save my son, to save him from any pain he'd go through, to hold his little hand... I was having a D&E, which I didn't know what was done until they were already doing it.
I couldn't be put to sleep for it, because I'm allergic to anesthia. And, the doctors weren't very careful about anything, and I saw a part of Malik, which still haunts me in my dreams. When I wake up screaming and crying in the middle of the night, it's because of that.
A week after the abortion, that little shelf I ordered, came in the mail… sigh.
Not a day goes by that I don't think of my son. He was my first child, and will always hold that place in my heart.
Some people think that, when you abort your child, you simply move on and forget. That is not true, they are always a part of you.
