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I felt it in my breasts first – I didn’t need to look at them to know they were huge, they felt ridiculously hard. Like concrete. Like beating concrete. Like how your hand would feel if you beat concrete. Seriously painful.

I had to pee a lot. I pee a lot anyway, but this was more than usual. My logical brain said, “There’s nothing pressing against your bladder yet.” But I continued to pee obsessively.

I felt faint a lot. Not like I was really truly going to faint, but lightheaded. The world would twirl in front of me, as if I had taken ecstasy 30 minutes before and it had just hit my brain’s receptors.

These symptoms lasted just a few days. The first couple, I was in total denial of the possibility. It seemed so impossible. I just ended my period less than two weeks before. The last time I’d had sex was at the end of that period. I must just be going through some heavy ovulation-thing.

After two days, I gave into ‘this isn’t normal.’ But it was way, way too early for anything to show up on a pregnancy test. How could I even possibly be pregnant?

Reasons

There were a lot of reasons I didn’t want to be pregnant. Nothing life-altering or anything that would win my case against the judgments of others. I had just started school. I’d been with my job for just a year, and though the six months paid leave would’ve been great, I felt as if I’d be taking advantage. The guy I was seeing was just a guy I was seeing.

It’s weird to be somewhere in your mid-to-late 20s and think, “Am I going to have an abortion here?” Sure, if I was 16, it wouldn’t have been a question (for me. I realize that isn’t the case for every woman). But I was an adult. I had a well-paying job. What was my excuse?

I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want kids, then, maybe ever. Not original reasons.

The internet immediately became my best friend. Original search: herbal abortion. Variations over the next two days: herbal miscarriage. Vitamins to induce abortion. Vitamins to start your period. Herbs and vitamins to have a miscarriage.

Also searched: abortion cost. Abortion pain. Abortion recovery. (Memories of a late-night and another hazy afternoon in college where I found out a roommate, and later another roommate, had just gone through it).

I poured over the many websites that claimed herbs would work, but if they didn’t, you had to immediately get a “real” abortion because the baby would undoubtedly be deformed. Black cohosh, dong quai. Evening primrose, parsley. Works 45% of the time. Possible self-poisoning. Hemorrhage.

I decided to go with Vitamin C. Having taken large amounts of Vitamin C in the past for other conditions, I knew its effect on my body. It seemed to be the most benign choice.

Reactions

He was silent. Not a surprising reaction, I guess. He asked me what I wanted to do. As if he had to ask.

“I’ll pay for the abortion,” he offered, his way of being the ‘good’ guy.

“Well, I’m gonna try this first,” I replied.

His eyes conveyed his doubt. But also his desperation.

Even before we talked, I had started guzzling Vitamin C. Tablets, fizzy drinks, orange juice, whathaveyou. Eight grams a day, maybe 10. Wasn’t so bad, I just had to pee even more and get myself to remember to take it every couple of hours.

My period still had seven lazy days until it was supposed to arrive. The earliest pregnancy test was for five days before your missed period. I stupidly bought a one-pack.

Inconclusive. I must have peed wrong or something.

Went back to the store, this time to buy a two-pack (and some more Vitamin C). My stomach started gurgling as soon as I hit the pregnancy test aisle and I thought, “better get home quickly” (side effect of a lot of Vitamin C being quick and total evacuation of the bowels and everything).

I was thinking about the next morning, when I would take the test again, since it is more likely to get an accurate reading from the first pee of the day. Running toward the bathroom, undoing the top button of my pants, throwing the test on the kitchen table.

Red spot. Seven days early.

Reality

The hormone the test reads to determine if you are pregnant is called hCG. Or sometimes, more easily, the “pregnancy hormone.”

I had read enough at that point to know if I had been pregnant and was in fact having a miscarriage, that hormone would still be high enough in my blood (and urine) to show up on a pregnancy test.

The next morning I knew I wouldn’t mess up. I had two tests. I wasn’t going to pee on that damn little stick, I was gonna pee into a cup and dip the stick in. I would know for sure.

My breasts still sore, my bladder insistently telling my body to pick its sorry-ass out of bed at 7am, I remembered to grab a cup from the kitchen on my way to the bathroom. I peed. I waited.

My email to him 10 minutes later: It’s fine.

I laid my cheek on the cool bathroom tile and didn’t bother to wipe away the tear creeping across the bridge of my nose down to the floor.