Friday 2nd June 2017 (am)
I tick []a; how could I possibly decide what to do with the remains?
Are you still willing to go ahead with the termination of pregnancy?
I sign the consent form.
Yes please, Nurse #2, show me how to use a tampon.
Room three has two large windows facing a tree.
Nurse #4 smells lovely. Her parents live in Jersey and she loves to go to St Malo.
The aesthetician is called Abi*. In the operating room later, I learn that she is 183 cm high; I rarely meet a woman who is taller than me.
The tampon is very uncomfortable.
I am thirsty, thirsty, thirsty. And cold. The blankets smell of plastic.
The phone rings in the ward and I know that it means it’s my turn.
That was a lot of pills in one morning.
Nurse #3 is friendly and smiley. I am glad that she is the one walking me from the room to the operating room.
Are you still willing to go ahead with the procedure?
I talk about my favorite place by the sea before they stick the oxygen mask to my face. I start counting down then I am gone.
Liona* is the name of the nurse that I first see in the recovery ward. I cry and cry and I can’t stop my lower jaw from trembling. Jamie* is the name of the nurse who helps me regulate my breathing.
I have never felt so empty.
Four cups of tea. One apple juice. Two slices of toast. Six biscuits. Three custard cream biscuits.
Paul is by my side from start to finish.
Letter of discharge.
Chapel.
Taxi home.
Paul, fixing things in the flat.
His tears.
Earl Grey tea. Peanuts. Johanna.
Sleep.
*All names have been changed
