Written by Lola Oye
Once you get pregnant, the possibility really opens up to you. You know for certain this can happen again; you lose the almost cavalier edge/attitude of the person you were before your first pregnancy.
You now faithfully take the morning after pill, and you’re uber conscious of your ovulation periods.
You know for certain now that your body can bear life, and the “am I barren thoughts” you’ve nursed out of years of being sexually active but not once getting pregnant becomes squelched beneath the weight of the truth you now know.
This is what happens to you when you get pregnant for the first time—especially if you’re not ready to mother or you never want to.
It ups your self-responsibility.
The abortion I had, the pain I felt, the blood clot I held in my fingers—it puts me on my toes—I don’t want to have to do that again except it is absolutely necessary.
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The Discovery
I’d been sleeping more and eating more, but surely it was as a result of me travelling across three states in less than a month and writing two different major exams that were important to my career.
My moods were a fickle thing, and I was sad most of the time. I was also weirdly not horny at all. Which was unusual for me.
I jokingly texted the last man I had sex with; we’re going to call him X. Here’s an excerpt of that conversation.
I took the test; it was positive, and four days later I confirmed it again with another test.
So here I was, pregnant for X, slightly broke, and needing around 150k-200k (naira) to get the foetus out of me.
X became unreliable almost instantly, and I was terrified of my first pregnancy. The morning sickness came immediately. I confirmed the pregnancy, and I was weak all the time.
All this time, I’d been staying with friends with a plan to go back to my parents for Christmas. My goal now was to get the abortion done before I went back to my parents place.
However, this proved difficult because X was finding it to hard to raise the money we needed, and I didn’t have enough with me at that time.
I wish raising the money was the only issue I had with X.
He was emotionally distant, acting very clinical with the whole thing, neither asking about my emotions nor taking up the cues and hints I dropped. We weren’t a couple; it was just a one-time sex with an old flame, so I didn’t expect him to be lovey-dovey, but I needed a lot of reassurance in that period.
I never got it from him.
I had to keep texting him to get updates about the money, and after a while, a friend, the third person I told about my pregnancy, loaned me some money, which I added to the one I had, and I went to Marie Stopes.
It’s a humbling emotion—coming face to face with your womanhood. Seeing the live confirmation of the foetus on the screen as the medical attendant did a transvaginal scan on me was incredible. It was so tiny, and I felt awe. I also wanted to be rid of it as soon as possible because I can’t be pregnant at just 25. Plus, I never want kids.
This was when I found out I was six weeks pregnant and the baby wasn’t for X. It was for another man. Let’s call him Y.
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We had sex that night, the 16th of November, as we’d done for the past four days of our mini vacation. I welcomed his lithe body as always, his soft kisses and murmurs; he always made me feel like fucking me was a drug for him. I liked it even if the sex was average per my standards.
I flew back home that same day, and I was arrested by cramps, severe as usual. I remember sitting in a weird, slightly elevated way above the car seat so I wouldn’t stain it with my blood. By the time I got home from the airport, my adire pants were soaked, and I popped pills for the remaining three days to be able to survive the period pains.
Thus, I was confused as to how I could have gotten pregnant when I saw my period that same day. The nurse explained to me that I may have been ovulating at the time I had sex with him, and me seeing my period didn’t matter.
So here I was now, with another baby daddy or the true baby daddy.
I called him to inform him, and he apologised for putting me in such a position (getting me pregnant). He didn’t do it on purpose; he just felt responsible. This made me tear up, and I felt much better because he was there now, supporting me even though we were miles apart.
He sent me the money I needed almost instantly, and I was able to pay back the loan I got from my friend.
At the clinic, I opted for the pill option instead of a surgical removal. I took the first pill at 5pm that day per the nurses instructions. This pill was designed to stop the growth of the foetus and to relax my uterus for ejection. My weakness reduced that evening, and I was able to pack my bags for my trip home the next day.
I was at my parents when I took the second dosage at exactly 5pm. I had told them I had malaria and menstrual cramps to explain why I was weak and looked off.
The second dosage consisted of four small white pills, which I put underneath my tongue and waited for them to dissolve. The pills were tasteless and dissolved fast.
The Abortion
I remember my tongue cramping up and feeling heavy. I tried to keep swallowing my spit as the drug dissolved.
The cramping started 5 minutes into the pill being dissolved, and I remember lying on the floor of my bedroom in pain but happy that this was working because a part of me had been scared the pills wouldn’t work and I’d be stuck with a child I didn’t want.
The pills were working and working fast; the next thing I remember was the nausea. I felt an urge to vomit, so I sat up and stamped it down. I still had some pieces of the pills left underneath my tongue dissolving, and I wanted them to dissolve completely.
Lol, I wish.
The nausea came again with a stronger pull, and I rechthed. I tried to stop it by closing my mouth, but vomit filled my mouth and threatened to come out of my nose, so I just gave way. I vomited once, twice on the floor beside my bed, and I weakly called for my dad.
“Daddy, daddy, please come,” like the daddy’s girl I was.
At this stage, the cramps had gotten more painful; I was feeling really hot, and I wanted to take a shit as fast as possible.
My parents came into my room with my youngest sister, and my mom guided me to my bathroom, comforting me. My dad told my sister to get some sand and he got to cleaning up my vomit and changing my bed sheets.
They were under the impression that it was my period and malaria acting up.
In the bathroom, I vomited some more as my mom took off my clothes. I was too weak to stand, so I sat on the toilet, and I started pooing while still vomiting.
Dearest readers, I thought I was going to die.
That was the worst pain I’ve felt in my life—all of my senses assaulted with pain. My mom, bless her heart, kept pouring water on my face and my body, trying to calm me down.
After what seemed like eternity, in reality like 5 minutes, I stopped vomiting and pooing. I was just crying weakly.
So she bathed me for the first time in a long time, dried me down, and put me to bed. My dad got me a wrapper to cover myself because I’d started shivering.
I was still in pain, but I didn’t want to take painkillers because I didn’t want them to interfere with the abortion drugs. Anyways, some minutes into laying down, I felt my thighs get wet, and a wave of relief crashed through me.
I was finally bleeding. It started light.
So I got up to wear a pad, and I went back to bed.
I tried contorting myself into different shapes to find relief from the cramps until I finally gave up and took some pain relief meds. My sister also helped me prepare a hot water bottle.
Dear readers, I’d advise that you do not take the pills when you’re alone; you’ll need help. It takes a village to raise a child; apparently it also takes one to boot it out. I’m saying this from my experience and the experience of some friends.
I would have been in more pain if I didn’t have support or care. My family caring for me (even if they didn’t know the true details of my condition at that time) soothed something in me, and I just felt less terrified of the entire process.
I slept off and was awoken by a refreshed kind of pain. This one felt like someone was dragging sharp, hot coals across my belly. It was quite intense.
It went on for like 5-10 solid minutes, and it just stopped.
I went to the toilet and took off the pad, to which I saw thick blood clots with some whitish mucus around it. There was a rather large one, and I was curious so I set the pad on the floor carefully and googled the size of the clots you should see during an abortion. Google reassured me that the size was normal and sometimes your body passes the foetus in one go, especially if you’re still quite early like me.
I saw pictures of blood clot sizes and foetus sizes at six weeks. Trigger Warning: I picked up the biggest clot and felt it with my fingers; it seemed about the right size, and it just felt squishy and slimy. I guess that could explain the weird, intense cramping that woke me up.
I held it for a while—the closest thing I may come to a child since I’m not interested in having children. I felt a slight affinity for that blood clot and just fantasied a little. Then I dropped it into the toilet and flushed it with the others that had fallen out of me whilst I was sitting on the toilet.
After this, I bled normally—no more clots; just blood. Heavy bleeding that required me to change my pads very often.
The cramps were constant but reduced in intensity each day, and on the third day I could bear it without taking drugs. I also got stronger, and the nausea disappeared.
I bled for almost two weeks, and in all of this I had the support of Y, who kept calling, sending me money for treats, babying me, and on one particular day when I woke up in a vile mood, he told me to take it all out on him, and that just deflated the fight in me and I felt better.
I called him whenever the cramps hit, and I’d just cry or rant on the phone while he stayed on the line, a steady presence, always reassuring, always calm.
My dad babied me this period too, cleaned up my room, and made sure my sisters didn’t disturb me too much as it was Christmas and it was a full house. He told them to cook for me whatever I wanted to eat and was delighted whenever I emerged from my room to sit with him in the evenings. He was just happy to see me after I’d been away from home for almost a year.
The Christmas season passed this way, and the new year came with the bleeding reduced. I scheduled another scan.
Dearest readers, you’ll be tickled to know that the first man I thought was the father, X, hadn’t texted me since the last time I texted him about the money update; this was roughly around the time I got the loan from a friend and went to Marie Stopes.
If I hadn’t found out that Y was the actual father, I would have been more alone and effectively paid for the abortion all by myself.
I later had a fight with him about this, but I’ll spare you the details because he’s dead to me now and he doesn’t matter anymore. But here’s an excerpt.
Post Abortion
The scheduled scan showed me that I was now once again child-free and the abortion went well. Seeing my womb empty on the screen was good. I took a video and sent it to Y; I’m sure he was able to finally breathe normally. I was grateful and happy.
My libido also came back, with a force. I think my pregnancy hormones suppressed it all this while.
The next thing now was to get my cycle back and wait for my first menstrual period post-abortion.
I think the second thing I was happy the most for was the freedom from wearing pads after wearing them for almost two weeks straight. I could go pantyless again because I don’t really like wearing panties normally.
That was a welcome relief.
Dearest readers, my menstrual period took it’s sweet time, but finally, on the 4th of February 2025, I woke up to a stained bed.
I’d never been happier to see my period in my entire life.
