10 Weeks 1 Day
by Aris Earls
University of the Incarnate Word
Aris Earls is a Theatre Arts major and a Creative Writing minor at the University of the Incarnate Word and is expected to graduate in May 2026.
Empty. Empty. Empty.
It’s the only word I was able to remember. My eyes were glued shut. The sour taste of anesthesia lingered on my tongue. I tried to move, but my body didn’t respond. My muscles and ligaments tensed and shook, but there was no visible progress to show as proof of their efforts.
Empty… Gone… Wrong. Wrong. WRONG. Something’s wrong. All the alarm bells went off in my head at once. I could hear a woman screaming. My cheeks felt wet. My throat burned with every faltering breath. Did I still know how to breathe?
The guttural moans intensified. My lungs burned. I was sure that I no longer had access to oxygen. Footsteps came from down the hall. Within an instant, hands were all over me. Grabbing me. Pulling me. Yanking me.
“You need to be quiet,” the man barked, digging his fingers into my arm. It was a warning. “You’re scaring the other patients.”
The hands pulled me out of the bed and onto my feet. Burning heat dripped down my thighs as I tried to take a step. My knees buckled, but the hands lifted me higher. They finally allowed me to collapse onto the cold tile once they had dragged me away.
“Stay here,” the man said. “We’ll come check on you in a little bit.”
My wails had slowed, dissolving into pitiful whimpering. I was finally able to open my eyes, but all I could see was bleary, sterile whiteness surrounding me. I put my hand out, gripping onto the blurry mess of white tile in front of me. I forced myself up. Right foot. Left foot. Push and stand. I toppled onto the toilet, barely able to control my fall enough to make sure my head didn’t end up crashing into the nearby sink.
Empty. Gone. Wrong. Alone. I pressed my hand against my empty stomach, hunching over. I felt the contractions take over my body. The pain followed the course of my blood, searing its way through my veins and finding its home in my nerve endings. You chose this, the guilt taunted.
I’m not sure how long I stayed in that bathroom, lying there hunched over, my uterus expelling remnants of what could have been. When I finally found the strength to lift my head up again, I realized my legs, hands, and hospital gown were soaked in my own blood. Looking in the mirror, a corpse stared back. I couldn’t help but think of the man’s words. You’re scaring the other patients. I realize now he may have had a point.
I cleaned myself up using a mixture of sink water, soap, and twenty inches of semi-transparent toilet paper before finding the courage to poke my head out the door so I could ask a nurse for assistance. Not long after, the nurse returned handing me a sealed plastic bag containing my clothes and other personal items.
“I put some pads and wipes in the bag. Once you get changed, we will monitor you for a little bit to make sure you aren’t experiencing any complications,” the nurse said in a soft tone. “If you haven’t already contacted your ride, please do so that they can pick you up once you’re done. But if you don’t have someone to come pick you up, we will arrange transportation for you.”
“My sister’s been waiting in the parking lot since she dropped me off.”
The nurse nodded. “If you can, tell her to pick you up at the back entrance. There are protestors out front.”
With that she closed the door, leaving alone to find a way to make myself look human again. I pulled the clothes out of the bag, none of them were mine. I had arranged it that way so that I’d never have to wear them again.
I pulled on the oversized band T-shirt that belonged to my brother-in-law. No bra. I had not been able to wear one for the last two weeks anyhow due to the swelling and soreness I felt in my breasts. Next was the clingy mesh underwear the clinic had provided. I wasted three pads before I was successful in my attempts in securing the pad to the mesh with sweaty, shaky hands. Finally, purple cotton leggings, a size too big, belonging to my sister. Even with my bloated belly the fabric threatened to slip with every step. But it was enough to get me out the door.
Empty. Gone. Wrong. Alone… Alone… ALONE. My hands trembled, accepting the small box of apple juice the nurse held out in front of me. She helped me into a wheelchair, another contraction hitting as I landed securely in my seat. She wheeled me down the hallway parking me across another woman before hooking me up to a blood pressure monitor.
“I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes,” the nurse said, setting up a small handheld timer. “When this goes off, you’ll be free to go home. If you start to feel like you’re going to pass out, eat one of the snacks provided in your care bag.”
Before walking away, the nurse handed me an assuming maroon gift bag with white and pink tissue paper sticking out. Inside were a variety of snacks, tea bags, hot chocolate mix, a pamphlet titled FPA Women’s Health: Guide to Surgical Abortion, and small purple envelope with a single word written on it in cursive: friend.
I pulled out the envelope, but I couldn’t open it. Tears blurred my vision once more as I traced my fingers around the edge of envelope in search of the opening. EMPTY. EMPTY EMPTY. EMPTY… I couldn’t bring myself to open it.
“Was this your first?” A warm maternal voice filled my ears. I look up to see the woman across from me giving me a soft smile. She seemed older, but not my much. Her dark hair was mostly covered by a pastel yellow bonnet, except for a few braids and baby hairs that stuck out of the front.
“Huh?” I sputtered in between tears.
“Your first pregnancy.” She paused and studied me, likely contemplating the next best words to say to keep me from spiraling back into myself. “I’m sorry. I just thought--”
“It is. It was.”
“I figured. You look young.”
“I turned nineteen a month ago.”
The woman sucked in a breath. I did as well, knowing that if I exhaled, if I took a moment too long to think about what I had just said I would break all over again. I stared at her silently begging for her to speak so that I could have something else to focus on other than the tears welling up in my eyes.
“Oh hunny, it’s going to be okay.” She whispered just as my tears began to fall. “Look, I know it probably doesn’t feel like it right now, but you made the right decision. You are so young. You have your whole life in front of you. You don’t have to be a mother right now.”
I couldn’t speak. Her words weren’t enough to block out my own. The same repeating cycle. Empty. Gone. Wrong. Alone. Empty. Gone. Wrong. Alone. GONE. GONE. GONE. GONE.
“Hey, hunny, stay with me here. Are you in school?” Empty.
“Yes.” Gone.
“College?” Wrong.
“Yes.” Alone.
“What’s your major, hunny?” The words dripped like honey soothing my heart as she spoke. And soon I told her everything. I told her about school, my friends, and my boyfriend who was still at home relaxing with his family in Texas. I told her how I had traveled to California in secret against my parents’ wishes. I told her about my dreams, my aspirations, and the life I still wanted to build for myself… All the reasons that led me to my decision in the first place.
We talked well past the beeping of her timer, The nurse encouraged her to meet her ride outside, but she wheeled her wheelchair next to mine, insisting on staying until my timer ended. When it finally beeped, the nurses wheeled us out together to our separate vehicles, and my sister thanked the woman profusely for watching over me as the nurses helped me into the front seat of her car.
I never saw that woman again. I never learned her name, or her age, or even anything her most basic acquaintances would know about her. But I knew her secret, and she knew mine. And for that moment, that was enough.