CN: gendered language
I was 36 and a married mother of two, and I needed to end a pregnancy – which is still a battle in some pockets of the country. Trying to get an abortion left me brimming with feelings of powerlessness, shame and disbelief.
“You need to calm down. You are not dying. You are pregnant and you’re going be fine.”
This was the doctor’s receptionist over the phone from Dartmouth, N.S., with a voice so thick with gravel, I imagined her with a lit cigarette in hand as she attempted to take the bull by the horns.
At a little more than five weeks pregnant and unintentionally so, I was the bull. I had become an angry, desperate animal in my quest to figure out how anyone goes about getting an early stage abortion – discreetly, while juggling the demands of a family and a full-time job – in my adopted province of Nova Scotia.
It turns out that they don’t.
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