By Tripptych / a m b a, y e a h ?
Disclaimer: I don't own shit.
Read authors note at the bottom.
. . .
I lay on the cool medical chair in the small white doctor's room, far from my home village and anyone who could stop me. Pain ached my bones and my heart was pounding in my ears, my finger's where locked in a white knuckled grip on the arms of the chair. Bile rose in my throat and I blinked back tears that welled in the corners of my eyes.
I was making the right decision for both of us, I was so sure of it- lies, war was upon us practically licking at our heels; This was not the right time.
My insides was wound so tight and tensely, I was terrified the baby, foetus would suffocate under the conditions it was living in. Not that I cared, should have cared, I was here for an abortion after all.
A small sob had risen and died in my throat, no emotions, you're a ninja act like one. Ingrained words from my days at the academy rung in my head and I squeezed my eyes shut, repeating and whispering the same things over again. I could not bring a baby into this world, it was unfair and injustice. No child should face war; no child should be born into war, no child, not my child.
I have good intentions in mind when I made this decision, on my own without his consent or even knowledge, call me selfish and a witch, I have the best intentions because mother's no best after all.
Mother, it sound wonderful, brilliant and evoked the happiest of feeling inside me.
My fingers ached as I unhinged from the arm of the chair to stroke my just visible stomach, a perfect swell against my palm the baby foetus fluttered softly against my palm and I wretched my hand away in pain.
It had been easy to ignore for the first few weeks, ignoring the positive reading and tests, moving on with my routine life without so much as a hitch. Denial only goes so far though, flutters or small murmurs tickled my insides eventually and morning sickness and other side effects had become entrenched into that routine.
It could no longer be ignored.
I held my shaking hand to my quivering bottom lip. I was only seventeen, a shinobi, amidst a waging war and expected to fight and defend; I was doing what was right, I was protecting my child this way. I was being the mother my hormones had made me, the basic instinct to protect one's young at any cost, to lose my child from a careless act of war would be wrong. This was the right decision.
No matter how many times I'd told myself I was acting in the best interests the baby foetus by not having him it; I couldn't help but feel sickened by myself, fucking disgusted and repulsed
I had the world's most wonderful gift living inside me and I was getting rid of him it, throwing it away careless when so many others would give so much for. I was not ungrateful; anyone who would dare say that was a liar. I was grateful and so incredibly blessed that it hurt, tore me to shreds.
I was expectant and unable to receive.
I had scolded myself time and time again for stopping for longer periods of time than I should gazing at the baby section at the supermarket. I longed so badly to go look at baby furniture and clothing, drag an unwilling but exuberant Naruto through the aisles and just revel in the happiness. It was a fool's ideal, I hadn't even told Naruto yet.
Wonderful and amazing Naruto, the only man who stood beside me through the hard times and the best times without trepidation, even as I reject him time and time again; the man who shouldered my pain as much as his own and more, I couldn't tell him the beautiful news and then rip it right from under him.
He had already lost his family once, I wasn't about to tear that from him again.
But those proud 'mummy moments' others had called them would come back later with a mighty vengeance to chew at my insides and remind me of how horrible person I am for practically murdering my child. Those moments I felt myself wallowing so deep in self-hatred I considered killing myself to get away from the pain; those moments however never lasted long due to the little nudging in my stomach that only I could feel.
I would live with this decision for the rest of my life. I wasn't barren and I could conceive again and many times more to make up for having gave up this one for the best of reasons but even as I told myself this I knew that I would always have that hollow place in my heart and mind where a little voice would ask me why.
Indeed why? Because it was for the best, it was unfair and injustice otherwise.
I feared the moment when the doctor would return with the necessary killing tools and ask me if I truly wanted this; I hoped my tongue would be as iron as my fist. My head screamed that this was the right decision, this is what's logical and right but my heart screamed you love this child, don't do this.
You don't want this but you need to do this.
That ultimatum arrived all too quickly and I broke from my deep self-loathing thoughts. Realization dawned on me that I had been crying and gripping my swelled belly. The female doctor who I hadn't met before this looked generically sympathetic, having probably seen this too many times to count as she prepared the necessary equipment.
"Place your feet on the foot rest's" I swallowed the burning lump of vile and done as she asked.
You don't want this.
"Are you sure you want to do this, it's not too late." She asked professionally, ensuring that this would be the right decision for me and my throat seized up.
You don't want this.
"Please don't ask me, it's what's logical." I choked out, my mind reeling over the past few months in a blur; the consequences, the pain, the hurt, the guilt, the happiness, the sadness, the proud moments and the beautiful moments.
This is what is right and fair.
She nodded sharply, professionally and cynically as she snapped her gloves. Tears blurred my eyes and closed them, visions of memories that wouldn't be mine and moments that I wouldn't share clouding my mind. Through all that chaotic and miserable thoughts, a small voice echoed in my head promising me that it was going to be alright, that he understood and that this was not what I wanted.
. . .
Roughly, depending on the person and the conditions, an abortion can be performed anywhere from conception till around or before week 20 of the pregnancy.
The baby can be felt, by the mother from the inside, fluttering or moving about at roughly 15 weeks.
This story does not reflect my opinion on abortion; I'm not for or against it. I don't want to start a debate or get into a argument about 'morals or ethics', you will be ignored. It was just a sad, angsty story that I felt like writing.
I'd appreciate your reviews.