PART 9 (1990)

ALTERNATIVES

In the days that followed, neither of us dared tell anyone else. Kay didn’t turn up to lectures. I made myself go to lectures in the hope that it would take my mind off things. But what the lecturer said didn’t seem remotely important. I looked around at all the other students – some bored, some studiously taking notes, others whispering furtively to one another. If only they knew. But they were alright. They could continue with a carefree existence, go out, have a good time, get drunk, have sex. As I gazed enviously around the hall, I wished that there was someone else in my position. Was there another student with a slightly guilty, troubled expression? If only they would announce themselves to me.

Kay, meanwhile, had been to the student welfare centre looking for literature on some method of emergency contraception she had heard about – or more correctly, early abortion. She hadn’t felt able to talk to anyone about it, so had just picked up some leaflets. There were two methods. One was a pill, the other involved insertion of an intra-uterine device to induce a miscarriage. You needed to do something about it within days of intercourse. It was now nearly two weeks since we had last slept together, so she was far too late. But the leaflet seemed to have got Kay thinking. She explained to me that she had been out for a run in the hope that strenuous exercise would induce a miscarriage. It hadn’t worked. I was horrified. I told her that if we were going to do anything about it, it would have to be done properly, under medical supervision. I had visions of her going to some back-street clinic to be ministered to by a sinister old woman with a bent coat hanger and some knitting needles. But Kay wouldn’t call anyone. In frustration, I borrowed a phone book from one of the public phone booths and started making a list of numbers to ring. Kay still refused to make the call.

Later that day, when I was alone, I decided to call them myself. They were very sympathetic, the people on the other end of the phone. They didn’t reproach me for getting Kay pregnant in the first place and explained calmly what the options were. There were not too many. Kay could either choose to have the baby or have it aborted. She would have to wait seven or eight weeks before she could safely have an operation. I didn’t know if I could face having the situation unresolved for that length of time. And then there was the question of how Kay would react. I wasn’t sure how she would cope with having to wait that long either.

I would like to be able to say that I agonised over the rights and wrongs of killing a fellow human being (or at least, something that was very soon going to turn into one). But I didn’t. I preferred to look at it the other way around. I told myself that, had we used contraception, as we (or at least I) had intended, none of this would have happened. So by going for a termination, we were simply bringing about the state of affairs which would have existed if we had been more careful. But that was about the extent of my consideration of the issue.

When I discussed it with Kay, she said that she was afraid of having the operation. She explained that it was the thought of them putting tubes inside her and vacuuming out the foetus. It was too invasive. I asked her if she had changed her mind, if she really wanted to have the baby after all. She said not. She couldn’t have a child now – she wasn’t ready and neither was I. It wasn’t that she had any strong moral objection to abortion. It was more the process of it that scared her.

She said that she was looking into “alternative” remedies, but was rather vague about what they were. When I pressed her on it, she mentioned some homeopathic remedy which was said to be capable of inducing a miscarriage. I thought it was a crazy idea.   I didn’t consider myself much of an expert, but it seemed to me that there had to be a reason why these kinds of remedies were not much favoured by the medical establishment. Either they didn’t work – in which case you’d be a fool to place any faith in them – or they were downright dangerous. Again I thought of the cartoonish figure of the sinister old woman cackling over some revolting potion that she was brewing up on a grimy stove.

I couldn’t understand why Kay didn’t just want to get the whole thing over and done with. Why wouldn’t she just make the appointment? Then we could both forget about it for the next eight weeks, get on with our lives and try not to let it ruin our relationship. Kay pointed out that it was rather difficult to forget about something that made her feel sick in the mornings and exhausted by early evening. She said she could feel herself putting on weight already. I had no reply to that.

Eventually, we reached a compromise. Kay agreed to make an appointment but at some point of her choosing. I agreed that it had to be her decision; it had to be something she felt comfortable with. Once again, I told myself that it was important to trust the person you were in a relationship with. If you didn’t trust them, what future could there be? I decided that the best thing I could do was to be as supportive as possible, but to let Kay take the initiative over the abortion. So we just ignored it as a topic of conversation. Kay seemed a lot happier as a result. She was even making jokes about her morning sickness. Meanwhile, I did my best to put the whole thing out of my mind. There was, after all, very little that I could do. I tried to keep my spirits up by telling myself that by Christmas it would all be over and we could take up where we had left off, chastened by this salutary episode, but ultimately strengthened by it. For the time being though, everything seemed to be in limbo. This included the vexed question of Kay’s existing boyfriend from home, a certain Pete Novotnik.

Before Kay had announced that she was pregnant, we had agreed that she would break off with him when he next came to visit her. A date had already been set for this visit and it seemed as if everything would soon be resolved. Kay didn’t plan to tell Pete about me. She said she didn’t want to hurt him. Now she was saying she didn’t want to break it off at all. She wanted to wait until after the abortion. She would tell him at Christmas, when she went home for the holidays. Right now, she couldn’t face the extra emotional strain. I was disappointed. But set against Kay’s pregnancy, it didn’t have the urgency it had before. I could well understand why Kay didn’t want to deal with it now.

Even so, doubts began to surface in my mind. We had talked very little about the situation with Pete, about whom I knew next to nothing. I had assumed that their relationship must be on the rocks – otherwise, why would she have taken up with me so quickly? And why tell me that she loved me? I was partly responsible in that I hadn’t really asked her very much about her relationship with Pete. I had told myself that the decision had to come from her. I was scared that if I pressed her on it, she might dump me instead. I wished we had discussed the issue more. Then at least I could feel some confidence that everything would be resolved once the abortion was over. But I remained fearful that if I pushed her now, that might mean the end of our relationship for good.

Things drifted along like this for another few weeks. I became more and more anxious about the abortion, but didn’t dare tackle Kay directly on the subject for fear that it would provoke a confrontation. Kay never raised the subject herself without prompting. In view of our agreement to drop the subject, I didn’t want to push her too hard to talk about it. But I was getting increasingly anxious about the lack of a definite plan. I knew from the phone calls I had made several weeks before that there were waiting lists for the operation. At this rate, she would have to wait until the New Year. As far as I was concerned, we had already agreed that the situation couldn’t be allowed to go unresolved into the Christmas holidays. Now there was a real possibility that it would still be there at the end of term. I felt that I had no choice but to try to force a decision out of her. I told myself that it was for her own good as well as my own – although my main motivation was that I found it intolerable not having the security of knowing that “arrangements” had been made. I could not understand how Kay could just let things drift in this way.

When I confronted her about it, I was surprised at how she reacted. I had convinced myself that she was afraid of the operation and that she was just trying to put off having to make a decision. As a result, I had expected an angry, emotional reaction to my questions. I thought I would have to explain what was on my mind, accuse her of putting off the decision and make her face up to the consequences of further delay.

But Kay responded quite calmly.   She seemed quite content to talk about it. She said she had been to see a doctor to talk through the options, but hadn’t made up her mind yet about what to do.

I asked her if she was having second thoughts and wanted to have the baby after all. But she said not. It was just that she didn’t like the idea of the operation. When I asked her if she had talked to anyone else about her concerns, she said had raised it with her GP, who had played down the risks. But she obviously wasn’t convinced. I began to wonder if she was just using these doubts as a way of putting off making a decision until the last possible moment.

“I know you think I’m being irrational,” she said, as if sensing my impatience. “But it’s a lot to come to terms with. I think I’m closer to a decision than I was, say, a couple of weeks ago. And I know there’s not much time left. But this is a big decision for me and I want to be sure I’m doing the right thing. So you’re just going to have to be patient with me. I promise you that I will take a decision soon – I’m just not quite ready yet.”

She understood that I was concerned but at the end of the day, it was essentially her problem. From her point of view, it just made matters more complicated if she constantly had to take account of my feelings.

“But I feel responsible,” I replied, rather helplessly. “How can I not feel bad about it?” It seemed as if she was saying that her life would be easier if I just walked away. Yet I felt a moral obligation to make good the situation I had created. Or, to put it more unkindly, making myself feel bad helped to relieve the guilt I felt over what had happened. But as Kay pointed out, there wasn’t really much I could do, in practical terms. It wasn’t my body that was busy getting ready to reproduce.

“I know you feel responsible,” she said. “I know you’re upset. But you have to let me deal with this.” She paused and then added: “Maybe it would be better if we saw a bit less of each other. For the time being, at least.”

My stomach tightened. This was completely unexpected. In the course of our conversation, I had resigned myself to being little more than an emotional prop for Kay, as and when she needed it. I would simply have to suppress my own anxiety in order to help her get through. It would be my penance for the situation I had created. But now she was saying that I wouldn’t even be allowed this meagre supporting role. Worse than that, she seemed to be suggesting that our relationship wasn’t going anywhere at all. I felt a rising sense of panic.

“Do you mean I can’t see you any more?” I asked, fearing the response.

“No, it’s not that. I just need some time to get things straight in my own mind. Everything’s so confused at the moment. I’m scared that if we carry on like this, it’ll just make things worse.”

I drew some comfort from the fact that it wasn’t a definite “No, I don’t want to see you, it’s all over.” It meant that the door was still open. But Kay seemed to hold all the cards now. She had left me with no choice but to agree to her conditions. So we agreed not to see one another for a week. Having gone to see her in the hope of sorting things out, I came away far more preoccupied than when I went in.

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