Originally mailed on November 14, 1996

I'm at Louella's. She is sleeping in the other room. I took the day off work to take her to the doctor this morning and stay with her for awhile. Poor Louella has just been through the worst month of her life.

Early in October, Louella had an adventure. Giddy with relief after finishing a difficult chemistry exam, she and her study group decided to blow off the rest of the day's classes and go out drinking at 10:30 in the morning. They started with a six-pack they picked up from a convenience store, and then, as restaurants and bars started opening for lunch, worked their way from one end of Grand River Avenue, where all the bars and student hangouts are, to the other. By the end of the day, Louella was pretty well schnockered and didn't want to drive or be around her kids, so she called my Grandma, who has been watching the boys after school, and asked her to keep them overnight. And then she went on partying. At some point, drunker than a skunk and afraid to drive home, she decided the safest thing to do was bunk with one of her pals who lived within walking distance of campus.

The pal she picked was a 21-year-old boy, and what with all the alcohol in her system and his youthful appeal, one thing led to another and she slept with him.

The next day, lounging on her couch with ice on her pounding head, she avowed that the day had been exactly what she needed. "You have no idea the kind of pressure I've been under," she said to me.

"I do have an idea," I said, bringing her an espresso from the kitchen. "Drink this."

"School is hard, Harriet. And that exam was a killer. It felt so good to blow off steam." She sipped her coffee.

"I bet it did," I said.

She said, "You know, I haven't let go like that since before the kids were born. The minute I got pregnant the first time, I stopped drinking completely, gave up smoking, even stopped drinking coffee until the baby was born. And ever since I had my first baby, whenever I went out I had to be thinking about the little guys waiting for me at home. I've had to be responsible all the time for 8 years. But yesterday I just said Fuck It, and it felt great. I didn't even feel like a 30-year-old single mother of two letting loose. I felt like a 19-year-old with not a care in the world. It was like the past ten years hadn't happened: I never married Sam, never had two kids, never got divorced and had to go back to school and struggle to get B's and C's, knowing all the time that my kids' future depended on me doing well. And when this boy started coming on to me, it just cemented the illusion that I was exactly like him, complete with money from home and the future stretching smooth and easy ahead of me. What a great goddamn day!"

I said, "Louella, you sure swear a lot when you're hungover."

She said, "You're damn right about that. Fuckin' A I do," and we both cracked up. For the rest of the afternoon, Louella played at being a carefree ne'er-do-well, but by the time the boys got home from an outing with their dad, she was herself again: efficient, responsible, hard-working, 30 years old and struggling. She fixed hot dogs and tater tots for dinner, listened to the boys tell about their day, let them watch Aladdin for the fortieth time (not without guilt at exposing them to the evil influences of the Disney empire), bathed them and put them to bed. Once the boys were asleep, she said to me, "I do love my kids, Harriet. I didn't mean to sound like I resent them. I love being a mom, and the years I was married to Sam and could be a mom full-time will always be some of the best of my life. It just wears me down sometimes."

I said, "Yup," and put the grown-up video in the VCR.

That would have been the end of things if Louella, regular as clockwork every 31 days since the age of 12, had started her period 10 days later, as she ought. Or even 12 days later. Or 14. Three weeks after the Day of Debauchery, as it was affectionately known, Louella finally broke through her denial and bought a home pregnancy test. And then bought another one just to be sure. And then called me.

"Harriet, what do the color blue and a plus sign have in common?" she asked me.

I said, "Louella, is this one of those riddles Mark brings home from school? Because I've forgotten all my elementary school jokes."

Louella said, "Harriet, it's no joke at all. Here's another hint: what does every college boy carry in his wallet that's only 90% effective at preventing pregnancy and the spread of STD's?"

I said, "Oh, God, Louella."

She said, "Yup. Two tests: one plus sign, one unmistakable blue. They sure make it easy."

"How do you feel?"

"Happy and mad. Harriet, I'd love another kid, especially a girl because I don't have one yet, or a boy because I like my boys so well-"

"That pretty much covers it," I teased, and she said, "That only shows how naive you are about the many permutations of gender in our society. Anyway, the timing could hardly be worse. And the father!"

I said, "Are you going to tell him?"

She said, "I sure don't want to. Do you think I have to? I don't want some 21-year-old kid helping me make my decisions. But I suppose if I keep the baby I'll have to tell him -- it's awfully hard to hide a pregnancy."

I said, "You're thinking of not keeping the baby?"

She said, "Of course I'm thinking of an abortion, Harriet. I don't have the money, the time, or the even temper to take on a newborn just now. I do want the baby. I just think it might not be the best choice for my family."

I said, "Take your time thinking about it. You've got a little time to make up your mind."

She said, "Harriet, I do feel rushed. There's a ticking clock inside me."

I said, "Let's get off the phone. I'll collect Nona and we'll come right over. We can talk more then."

She said, "Bring your grandma Miriam, too. And Flopsy. She and Hot Rod can play in the yard."

So we all convened at Louella's, and I sat and listened while the three of them talked about childrearing. Both Nona and Grandma had children (or, in Grandma's case, took in a child) at inconvenient times, Nona when she felt too young to be a mother, and Grandma when she felt too old. Nona said, "But I had my mother to help me. I wasn't alone. That's how I was able to finish school. I don't know what would have happened if I'd been all alone at 16 with a baby."

Grandma said, "And Harriet was already 12 when she came to live with me, an age when they're fairly responsible and mostly want to be left alone anyway. I didn't have to worry about babysitters or being there when she got home from school, so she didn't interfere too much with either my work or my social life."

Nona said, "Well, Louella, you've already got two kids, so you know what a baby is like. Do you think you can handle it?"

Louella said, "It was hard enough when it was my full-time job. I honestly don't know. Miriam watches the boys for me after school but has already said she can't take on an infant, so I would have to pay for daycare, and my budget is bare-bones as it is."

Nona said, "There may be options. Does the school have assistance for returning women students? Or could you trade childcare with another student?"

Louella said, "I get exhausted just thinking about trying to figure it out."

Grandma said, "I wish I could take the baby, Louella, but I feel too old to be responsible for such a little one."

Louella said, "It's OK. Daycare is only a piece of it. I'm struggling in school as it is. I need my sleep. I can't afford to pay higher insurance premiums than I do already -- the boys are covered under Sam's insurance, but the new baby wouldn't be. Sam's a grown man and I can't count on him to honor his visitations if he's seeing someone. I do not want to co-parent with a 21-year-old boy I hardly know. There are a hundred reasons not to have this baby, and only one reason to have it: I'd love another kid."

Nona said, "That one reason may be enough, Louella," but Louella just shook her head.

We discussed it for hours and succeeded only in leaving Louella confused and emotionally wrung out. "This can't be good for the baby," I teased her, and she said, "Well, neither is the abortion I'm thinking about having, Harriet. Damn, I hate this. I'm afraid you all will think I'm bad if I have the abortion, and foolish if I don't. And what if I have the baby and it's hard, and I complain about it, and you all say, 'We told you so, Louella, we knew you were getting in over your head.'"

I said, "None of us has said anything like that, Louella. I'm with you 100% no matter what choice you make. I'll help in any way I can."

She said, "Thanks, Harriet. I think right now I need to be alone. Maybe if I just relax and let my mind wander the answer will come to me."

She called me the next day. "Harriet, I want this baby more than anything, and I don't think I get to have it. I just can't see any way to make it work out. Will you go with me when I have the abortion?"

I said, "Sure I will, if you're sure it's what you want."

She said, "I'm not at all sure, but I've made my decision."

So this morning we went to a clinic her gynecologist recommended -- he doesn't do abortions. I can't help but think it's cowardly of him. Anyway, at least the clinic wasn't being picketed or anything awful like that, because I could tell when I picked Louella up that it was going to be hard enough on her in any case. She told me she hadn't slept at all last night, but stayed up most of the night talking to the baby, wanting it to feel that she loves it, wanting to feel that it forgives her. I said, "Oh, Louella, I'm not sure bonding with the baby was the very best idea you've ever had."

At the clinic, Louella was dry-eyed through a short session with a counselor. Even I was impressed with how sure of herself she sounded: "I have two sons already, they're five and seven, and we've recently gone through a divorce. I'm in college and struggling financially. I know the father of the baby but only as acquaintances, not well enough to want to share this with him or to invite him into my life as co-parent. He's nearly ten years younger than me and a typical college boy -- promiscuous and not very responsible. I would love to have another baby someday and I know it's never easy but these are not the circumstances I want to have a new baby in."

They sent Louella to the bathroom to pee, and then we went into the exam room, and met the doctor -- a very butch woman wearing a wedding ring, which always confuses me. Louella got into the hyper-vulnerable gyno exam position, and the doctor inserted a speculum and did a short pelvic exam, to feel the where the uterus was, she said. I was holding Louella's hand; she said to me, "I'm scared, Harriet. I think this is scarier than having a baby." I said, "You just hang onto me and it will be over in a few minutes." I was none too comfortable myself; I don't like doctors or blood, and I was squeamish at the thought of someone rooting around inside Louella. But I just kept thinking, "Harriet, you can do this for Louella. She needs you here," and I stayed pretty calm.

The doctor gave Louella a local anesthetic; I winced as the needle went into Louella's cervix but she said she didn't feel it at all. The next step was to dilate her cervix, which the doctor did by inserting and removing several rod-type thingies, one after another, each one a little larger.

The doctor said, "OK, Louella, you're dilated. I'm going in with an instrument called a cannula to start suction. You may feel the movement inside you but you shouldn't feel any pain. Speak up if you do."

Louella looked very pale, so I leaned down and said, "Are you OK? Do you need anything?" She shook her head, but I could see that she was crying. The doctor said, "OK, I'm ready to begin aspiration," and Louella exploded. "No, no, wait, please, you haven't done it yet have you, oh shit, I can't do it. Please wait."

The doctor said, very calmly, "Louella, no, I haven't begun aspiration. Do you want me to remove the cannula? Have you changed your mind?"

Louella said, "Oh, God, I just don't know."

The doctor said, "Louella, you are at only 28 days. You can take some time to reconsider this decision if you need it."

Louella said, "If I don't do it now I'll lose my nerve."

The doctor said, "Are you ready for me to proceed, then?"

Louella said, "No, I'm not ready."

The doctor said, with just the slightest edge of exasperation in her voice, "I'll get a counselor in to speak to you." She removed the cannula and speculum and left; I helped Louella sit up. She put her head on my shoulder and cried.

When the counselor arrived, Louella asked me to leave them alone, so I went out to the waiting room and read People magazines. Louella was with the counselor so long that I am now completely up-to-date on who's married to whom in Hollywood, who's getting a divorce, and whose big-budget new movie is going to be a career-wrecking dud. I don't know what the two of them talked about, but when the counselor came to get me, she said, "Louella is ready, and wants you to come back in, please."

I found Louella on her back again, feet in the stirrups, with the doctor just finishing dilation. "I'm going in with the cannula, Louella. Tell me if you feel any pain." Louella closed her eyes and squeezed my hand very tight. I stroked her forehead, and talked to her to take her mind off the sound of the suction machine, and in a few minutes it was over. The nurse helped us into a room where Louella could rest for awhile. She was so emotionally exhausted that she fell asleep for almost an hour; when she woke up, the nurse gave us aftercare instructions and I drove her home.

She's sleeping again now. I let Hot Rod get on the bed with her to keep her warm and cozy, and gave her a hot water bottle for the cramps. I'm staying the night to take care of the boys and keep an eye on Louella. I already called work and told them I won't be in tomorrow, either. I think Louella may be glad to have me around.

I feel wrung out myself. I didn't think Louella's all-day drunk was a very good idea to begin with -- not that I think she has a drinking problem but if she's under so much pressure then she needs to find a healthy way to let off steam on a regular basis. And I honestly could not help her with the decision because I just plain didn't -- and still don't -- know how I feel. I've always been in favor of abortion in the abstract; well, in favor of choice, I guess. And asked a survey question describing a hypothetical situation like Louella's, I'd have said without hesitation that it would be folly for a woman in her circumstances to have a baby. But I've been looking at Mark and little Sam these past couple of weeks since Louella found out she was pregnant, and feeling that a new baby in our lives would be a delight in many ways. I just never thought, in all my abstract support for choice, how difficult and painful that choice could be.

Love,

© Copyright 1994-1999 Su Penn. Design by David Dierauer.

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