I don’t remember how I found out that Georgetown wasn’t going to cover birth control for their students. I wasn’t at a point in my relationship where I was ready for birth control, but my cramps were so bad that at times I’d be taking 800mg of ibuprofen every four hours, so I was considering getting birth control earlier to help the cramping dissipate. I never really pursued it through, knowing it wasn’t available. I eventually was able to get Mirena (once I came work at Contra Costa Regional Medical Center), but if contraception had been more easily available, maybe it could have helped my cramps sooner.

Although I hadn’t planned on having a baby yet and knew how to prevent it, I ended up pregnant. I had my abortion the day after Match day, ironically while I was on OB/GYN sub-internship. I was googling signs of pregnancy while helping to manage women in labor (although, let’s be real—I knew) and almost passed out while performing a C-section. And two days after my abortion, I was back to working with laboring patients like nothing had changed (except everything had). I was the good little Catholic girl whose grandmother voted for people based on how pro-life they were, the straight-A student, the doctor. The last person anyone would think this would happen to. My story feels like one of conflict and ambiguity—how I can grieve when I knew I’d terminate the moment I saw the extra line on the test? How I can feel guilty over a decision I’ve never once regretted? I provide abortions not because I am sure how I feel about it—but because I want to practice in medical areas with almost no access. If the options for a woman are to spend everything and take huge risks for a safe procedure, to have an unsafe procedure, or for me to do it, there is no choice—I can get the training. I’ll do it. November 8th was the due date for my pregnancy. I can barely take care of my dog, so I am grateful to not have a child—but I never want to forget.