“Babies have hands they have feet, they have a heartbeat, they are alive”, shouted a lady in front of a rundown moss-like building. (I thought that this only happened in movies like “Juno”); the one dedicated person who stands there solo protesting against what they believe in. Walking into the building felt like a courtroom, prison ward, and death sentence pooled into one and the dreary color scheme did not help to make the mood feel relaxed. I felt like I would be judged for my actions and all eyes on me. I had to go through a metal detector and be searched as if my intentions were of a vigilante’s. My death sentence was having the burden on my back for being guilty of a crime that could have gone a different way.

Its name was Fee. Only for a few seconds did I see the budding egg before I was out to sleep. Never did I see Fee again. Every day I wondered if I chose to not go into that building and sacrifice Little Fee would it had showed me the meaning of life. On October 11, 2009 on the corner of Bleecker Street I faced the biggest decision of my life and Fee’s life too.

It was my time to walk through the double doors of doom and leave my only support left, my mother. I would either walk out of these doors in shame and despair or relief and confidence for what I did. As I was riding in the elevator I began to think of the procedure I started feeling sick. Shaky with thoughts of scary images I staggered into the reception area that looked like a casting call for random patients. I thought it would have been a more personal setting, but I felt like nothing more than a number.

As I watched redundant episodes of Friends while sitting on the painful plastic chairs I realized that this place was a revolving volunteer death chamber. I was willingly taking part in covering up the mess I had made and making sure the crime scene had no trace of evidence. My heart raced, beginning to have doubts, feeling helpless especially with the restriction of cell phone use. The ultimate reality check had dawned on me after months of gratuitous worries.

After hours of waiting in the stale room I was directed to a small group of women.
“This is my third time in this place.”
“I hate how they make you not eat for 24 hours.”
I looked left and right of me. Women of all ages were laughing, as if this was a get together discussing the latest sitcom. Now more than ever I felt out of place. Why was I here when I could have given Fee a chance to experience life, happiness and love unlike these women who could have cared less about their lives and well being? How could I do this? Fee didn’t have a voice to state its opinion on the situation. Fee was living through me and I was going to let it go to waste. Fee meant so much to me but yet I was waiting for Fee to be out of my life. Fee never did me wrong. I couldn’t go back now, I was next. Lying in the hospital bed I was asked to count backwards from ten to one and I was gone.

I awoke groggy from the anesthesia with a gripping pain with the feeling of a gaping hole in m stomach. I felt empty and useless losing my most prized possession. I aborted Fee. My fetus was gone, no longer part of me. Left to fend for itself or what remained of it. I walked through those double doors in shame and despair. I laid in my bed lifeless for almost two days unable to gather what had happened. Not until weeks later I recuperated and restored some sense of life back into me. Nothing could ever hurt or affect me the way I damaged myself which is why I feel that I can endure hurdles that come my way. I had taken a life that didn’t have a chance to live, the worst thing in life. I cannot change the past, but I can always look forward and try to do my best today.