Abortion story #612
I was 15 when I got pregnant. I never thought it would happen to me. I understood the consequences of sex, but just thought it wouldn't happen. At the end of August I found out I was 6 weeks pregnant. Everything changed. A couple months prior, I had just quit injecting meth and broken up with the baby's father—who was abusive and did terrible things to me. I quit everything once I found out. I swore even if I didn't keep it, I wanted to make sure my little bean was healthy until that choice was made. In a couple months I would be 16. I really didn't have a stable home. I ran away from my parents almost a year earlier. I ended up moving in with a guy. I took prenatal pills, and I ate good. Anything for my little man (I was convinced it was a boy). At 9 weeks I went in for an early scan because the doctors were unsure of my due date, due to irregular periods. I saw my little one on the screen and boy did he look handsome. I could see his arms, his legs, and his beautiful head. I knew at that instant I wanted to keep my baby, but knew it would be near impossible. The nurse printed out two pictures of him. It’s all I have left of him (or her) now. In the coming weeks... Click here to read the rest.
- Age: 17
- Location: North Vancouver, Canada
- Date Submitted: January 9, 2017