Unwanted pregnancy contact: From the Diary of an Arab Millennial
I get a text at 6am of a positive pregnancy test. It’s my friend Myriam. We aren’t exactly personal friends, I throw the term “friend” around too easily, stick it to people that I might have never met. I guess that habit from Facebook, teaching me subconsciously that any acquaintance qualifies as a friend, that one interaction is enough. Myriam is my friend Majed’s on again off again hookup. I call her up to see why I’m her “unwanted pregnancy contact”.
She says Majed told her that I had “homemade” abortions before and that I would be able to help her. I’m not technically qualifies to give her any tutorials or advice but if Majed recommended me then I guess he needs my help more than she does. I texted Majed the name of the pill I used for my abortions in the past, it’s safer that a boy goes to get it at a pharmacy because most pharmacists know young girls use it for abortions and refuse to sell it to us.
I get at the bus stop and google risks of abortions on my phone, waiting for my ride to her house. By the time I get there, I’m not so confident in helping them as I was few hours ago. I guess it is her choice though, and I should mind my own business like I asked everyone to when I was pregnant. So I send her a few links that I stumbled upon, just in case she wants to be informed about the whole procedure, hoping I won’t scare her into actually considering having a baby. She’s only eighteen after all, what kind of parent would her drunk ass be?
I get to her place before Majed does and we split a joint in her bathroom, joking about her situation to ease the tension. I discover then that it actually isn’t Majed’s baby, it’s some french tourist’s, I then advise her to get tested for STDs as soon as possible, although it does cost more than she can afford. Majed bursts into the bathroom, I sense his panic. I pull him to the side and explain it actually isn’t his child, which slightly calms him down.
We sit her down on the toilet seat and I start to explain how to use the pills, that she should introduce four under her tongue, three times separately, with a space of three hours in between and how she should suck on them for thirty minutes then spit them out. After the first four, she starts bleeding and cramping, Majed gets freaked out again so I kick him out of the bathroom. I remain next to her, sharing cigarettes, and listening to some east side rap. I suspect she might be bleeding more than I previously did but keep silent about it in order not to scare her.
After the pills are done, I leave and keep her under Majed’s care. On the ride back home, tears start rolling down my cheeks. It shouldn’t be like this. We shouldn’t be flushing fetuses down our toilets, risking our lives. It should be a medical procedure operated by professionals in a safe space. Like removing an appendicitis, or breast implants, except this is somehow different because it includes our uteruses. And uteruses apparently have to obey to laws made by people who don’t even have them. Some of those people say it’s because of religion, others pretend it’s about safety. To both of them, I say get out of Myriam’s pussy, get out of my pussy and let me get in or out of it whatever I so please!