Repeal the 8th

Una Mullally

• Publisher: Unbound
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN: 9781783524495
• eBook ISBN: 9781783525171
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Social Sciences

Abortion is illegal in almost every circumstance in Ireland, making it the only democracy in the western world to have such a constitutional ban.

• Between 1980 and 2015, at least 165, 438 Irish women and girls accessed UK abortion services. In 2016, the figure was 3, 265.
• Any woman or girl who procures an abortion, or anyone who assists a woman to procure an abortion in Ireland can be criminalised and imprisoned for up to fourteen years.
• A woman may not procure an abortion in Ireland if she is pregnant due to incest or rape, or to prevent inevitable miscarriage and fatal foetal abnormality.
  

The movement to repeal the Eighth Amendment and make abortion legal in Ireland has grown massively over the last few years. This anthology shares the literature, personal stories, opinions, photography, art and design produced by the movement that catalysed 2018's momentous referendum.Featuring prize-winning novelists, critically acclaimed poets, cutting-edge artists and journalists on the front line, this anthology will be the definitive collection of the art inspired by the most pressing debate in contemporary Ireland, and beyond.Contributors include: Lisa McInerney, Anne Enright, Louise O'Neill, Caitlin Moran, Tara Flynn, Aisling Bea, Sinead Gleeson, Emmet Kirwan.

1

PERSONAL STORIES

 

 

Series of personal stories in collaboration with the X-ile Project and the Repeal Project.

ANONYMOUS

I have a child already, a beautiful, intelligent little girl who I would not give up for the world. I had her quite young, but abortion was never an option for me. She was mine and I loved her right from the first moment I knew I was pregnant. I want to get this across first, as I feel that people really don't understand that abortion is situational. This was my situation with my daughter but, sadly, situations change.

In December 2015 I discovered I was pregnant upon finishing a highly abusive relationship. I had been suffering from depression for three years preceding this and had got myself mixed up with a horrible man. My depression had led me to this situation; not thinking right, being with a man I shouldn’t have been with and having unprotected sex. People can say women shouldn’t get themselves pregnant and then they wouldn’t need an abortion, but can a woman who is suffering from a mental illness really be held accountable? I think not. If I were living in a country that allowed abortion, I could have gone to a clinic and closed this chapter of my life safely and with dignity, but sadly I don’t. In fact, because abortion is illegal, I am lucky to be still sitting here to tell my story.

Having got the positive result, I sought out options for abortion online. As a single parent I couldn’t dream of having another child. It wasn’t about me any more; it was now about my daughter, I couldn’t allow her life to be changed so drastically because her mother had been careless. I went online and researched abortion, but it was too expensive for me to travel and I wouldn’t be able to find the money. I did then what most girls do; I found an abortion-pill website. Over the coming days I spoke to the women there via email. They were very helpful and made the process so much easier. I thought I had found my solution; all I had to do was drive to Belfast, get the pills, take the first one and I would have ended this chapter in my life.

However, a week before the pills were due to arrive, I began to bleed. It wasn’t much, just a small amount. I thought to myself it would just end the pregnancy and that would be that, so I ignored it. After a few days, though, I thought I may as well get a check-up. I knew I wasn’t keeping the baby, but I still had another child to think about and I needed to be healthy. I booked an appointment with the local maternity service, told them I was around four to five weeks and had bleeding, and they booked me in for a scan on that basis.

There was nothing to see in the scan. The nurse quizzed me on dates, but all the bloods checked out – I was pregnant, but there was no baby to see.

After three internal scans and a lot of discomfort, I was told it was an ectopic pregnancy. The pregnancy hormone levels were still rising, which meant the foetus was still growing and my fallopian tube could rupture at any point. For this reason I was booked in for emergency surgery the same day. You can imagine my dismay at going in for a scan and ending up in an operating room, having never had an operation in my life. I underwent surgery that same day to remove my fallopian tube and the pregnancy on medical grounds, which is deemed appropriate in Ireland.

I know some hearing my story will think I got what I wanted – an abortion in Ireland that was deemed medically viable – but this certainly was not a dream situation for any woman to experience.

If I had not had the courage to go to the hospital and have myself looked at, I would have taken those pills and thought the abortion was complete, but the pregnancy would have continued to grow regardless. These tablets do not cover ectopic pregnancies, meaning I could have died from a ruptured fallopian tube and subsequent blood poisoning.

If abortion was legal I could have gone to an abortion clinic, been seen, told it was ectopic pregnancy and had everything treated right there and then. Instead I had to put my life on the line, completely unaware that the foetus growing inside me could kill me.

It angers me to think any woman will have to go through what I went through and maybe even worse. I am lucky to have escaped with my life. If I had made it to Belfast and taken those pills, who is to know what could have happened? I am so thankful I had enough courage to go to the maternity service and have it looked into, but who is to say another woman will be as lucky? Going to have a check-up with other expectant mothers joyfully rubbing their bumps while you sit there feeling like a fraud isn’t exactly a thing many women seeking abortion will do. This is putting their health at risk, but the shame our society inflicts on women seeking abortion keeps them from having a check-up. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed as I waited to be seen, but am so thankful I did it.

My story is tough, as I got into it at a time when I wasn’t thinking clearly, but what woman does think clearly when dealing with an unplanned pregnancy? This country is putting women’s lives at risk by not allowing them proper healthcare when it comes to abortion. Things happen, mistakes happen, women should not have to suffer so much pain and mental torture to regain control of their bodies. Abortion is not for everyone, but no one should be denied the choice. It was once not for me, but when I truly needed this service, I wish it could have been something my country allowed me.

SARA FALKENSJO

I was twenty-seven. I was living in Ireland, and me and my boyfriend got pregnant. It wasn’t planned at all. In fact, my doctor had told me that I might need to have hormones to get pregnant. I was kind of worried to tell my boyfriend, because we had never talked about what we would do if it happened, but he agreed with my decision to have an abortion and was supportive.

I would have done it in Ireland if it was available there, because the flight was very expensive. The procedure itself wasn’t. It’s not expensive in Sweden. My mom came with me and everyone was really nice. For me, having an abortion maybe wasn’t as scary to someone who was Irish. There was no fear on my part whatsoever. I told my dad too. He was supportive, but he also knew there would be no point in not supporting me!

I don’t think people should take the decision to have an abortion lightly, and it’s a decision that affects you a lot, but it’s something that should be available for everyone. The decision was something for me to make, not for society to make. If you don’t feel like you’re suited to be a parent, you should have a choice.

 

Sara Falkensjo, interviewed by Rosita Boland in an extract
from an Irish Times article

HELEN LINEHAN

A couple of years ago, I exposed myself to the unsuspecting public. I’m really not the type to draw attention to myself, but this time, I felt I had to. I’m not embarrassed or regretful, although there are many people who would believe that I should be. Abortion is awful. Necessary and awful. It’s like a riddle; something needed but never wanted. Nobody wants it. When I had mine, it was after the twelve-week scan. The radiologist detected a skeletal problem and after a more detailed internal scan, the diagnosis was very bad. I didn’t know how lucky I was. Sounds weird, I know, but this was in the UK. I was treated with compassion and offered counselling after the pregnancy was terminated.

If I had been in Ireland, I would have had no option but to continue with the pregnancy despite knowing that while the baby would grow in my womb, it would not survive birth.

My husband and I shared our story with Amnesty’s campaign to repeal the Eighth Amendment in Ireland to give women a choice and ultimately the rights over their own bodies.

I went on TV. I was at press conferences. I went on Channel 4 news with Cora Sherlock, an anti-choice campaigner. When I talked about my experience she said, ‘But what about the baby?’ I felt it was best not to engage with her.

I was ready for a backlash on Twitter and Facebook. Surprisingly, I had an overwhelming reaction of support and outrage that laws like the Eighth Amendment exist. Not many people knew about it. I also had many personal stories sent to me. I have some trolls. Some people find solace in sending me diagrams of the abortion procedure. Another stranger on Facebook asked me, ‘Would you murder me, Helen?’

The problem is that nobody wants to talk about it, but it’s here. It’s always here. Whatever your beliefs, women always have and will continue to have abortions. Abortions for medical reasons or for unwanted pregnancies, women need this choice. I swear, if men could have babies, there’d be an abortion app.

I was a bit shy and embarrassed being on the news and telling my story to the press, but I’ll never be embarrassed, regretful or ashamed of having an abortion and neither should anyone who has to go through it. For whatever reason.

LUCY WATMOUGH

In 2015, I was not raped. There was no foetal abnormality. My life was not at risk. I was just a girl who was not ready to be a mother. I cannot begin to explain the gut-wrenching fear that I felt in the office of my GP that day when I was told that I was, in fact, in no uncertain terms, pregnant.

The thought that I could be pregnant had never occurred to me in a million years. I had only had a very brief fling with the father, which was by no means anything even close to a relationship, and it was most certainly over. As I sit in that little office, I cannot comprehend what is happening – we had been careful. I was on the pill. I buy four pregnancy tests on the way home, unable to believe what I have just been told. Each little blue line that appears in the test window adds to the panic rising in my chest. I carry on with my day silently, telling only a close friend, who hugs me, again, silently.

My emotions are extremely mixed over the following two weeks, as I decide what I am going to do. I debate whether or not to tell the father, eventually deciding that it would be the best thing for both of us if he knew.

I cannot say that it is easy for me to decide, but ultimately I know that I am too young for motherhood, and nowhere near financially stable enough to provide for a child. I’m not one for gambling, and to take such a risk with another life feels irresponsible.

I decide that I want to have a surgical abortion – I want to just go in, get it over and done with and go home. Only three people know about the pregnancy, and carrying my secret around for weeks starts to tear me up. It’s all I think about every day; from the moment I wake up to when I eventually manage to get to sleep at night.

I try to act normal around friends and family, attempting to hide my morning sickness so as not to arouse suspicion. At home, surrounded by people, I have never felt more scared or alone. The father and I speak regularly during this period, both of us terrified with our Big Secret. He offers multiple times to go with me to London, but I am adamant I want to go by myself, not feeling that this is an experience I want to share. I feel guilty enough having burdened him with this situation already.

When the day of the abortion finally arrives, I tell nobody that I am going. Sitting in Dublin airport on my own, I feel as if the eyes of everyone there are upon me, judging me. I remember shrinking into my chair as I waited at my gate, terrified that somebody would somehow know what I was going to do. The clinic I go to is in Brixton. A nurse takes me to a private consultation room, where she runs through some medical questions and performs a scan. In the waiting room there are two couples and three other women on their own. One of them is Irish, like me, which I notice as she whispers to the receptionist. It is the only noise in the room, as the rest of us sit in silence, waiting. As the nurse calls my name I dig my nails deeper into the palms of my hands and they bleed.

The room they lead me into feels very clinical and it smells like a dentist’s office. I have opted for conscious sedation, as I’m flying back that evening. Lying on the bed I begin to feel woozy, but I am fully aware of what’s happening to me. The procedure isn’t pleasant – despite the drugs I find it painful and it feels extremely invasive. They dilate my cervix manually and then mash up my insides with a speculum, before hoovering my womb out. I discover that having my womb hoovered feels exactly like you would expect it to. The nurse holds my hand the entire time, reassuring me that it’s almost over. The whole procedure takes about six minutes, although every minute feels like an hour as I wait for the doctor to remove his instruments from inside me. I close my eyes and bite my tongue the entire time, stopping myself from screaming ‘GET OUT’. I just want everything and everyone to get out of me, and to go home to my own bed. But I’m not at home.

When it’s over I’m taken into a recovery room, where I lie on a reclining chair as I wait for the wooziness to wear off. I’m given a cup of tea and a biscuit, which I consume as I try to ignore the raw feeling between my legs as pain settles into my uterus. There’s a lady crying in the chair next to me. I wish I was at home. I wish I was not on my own. When I’m allowed to leave, I precariously make my way to Gatwick airport on public transport. Although upset and sore, I feel relieved, and set about taking my bruised and bloodied womb back across the Irish Sea.

I find the wait at the airport is the worst part of the entire thing. I curl up in a ball as the pain medication starts to wear off. A very kind lady notices me and helps me to the bathroom. She goes to the shop and gets me some ibuprofen and a drink. I cry quietly all the way back to Dublin.

By the time I get to arrivals I’m all over the place. I’ve felt myself unravelling the longer I’m away from home. The guy involved is collecting me and relief washes over me when I see him. It finally all feels over. He holds my hand in the taxi and we say nothing, not knowing what to say. I squeeze his hand a little tighter over every speed bump. I stay with him for two days and he looks after me as I get back to normal. The pain subdues but lasts for longer than I expected, but my happiness to no longer be pregnant overrides everything. I await the guilt that I’ve been told by society to expect, but it never arrives. In the end, I’m thankful for the choice I made. What’s difficult is how alone my country has made me feel.

I didn’t talk about my abortion for two months after I had it and it slowly started to drive me mad. I was so afraid of people finding out, of being judged for allowing myself to get pregnant in the first place; of being judged for not wanting my baby. My relationships with family and friends became strained as I dealt with something that they had no idea about. I broke down in tears in the kitchen one day in September, and told my mother what I’d been terrified she’d find out for months. All she did was hug me and reassure me that she supported my decision.

The more I talk about my abortion, the lighter I feel. The stigma put upon it in Ireland made the entire situation so much more difficult than it already was, as I felt my unwanted pregnancy was something to be ashamed of. Ireland’s archaic abortion laws mean that thousands of women every year go through a similar ordeal to mine, and many live with it silently for the rest of their lives. Mothers, daughters, sisters, wives, friends. They’re our bodies, and it’s our choice.

 

Lucy Watmough, in conversation with Bárbara A. Soares
for The Circular

2

LAUNDRY

MARY COLL

My grandfather sent everything to the nuns

for a thorough cleaning,

including my mother,

fervently they washed awa...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Dedication
• Contents
• Introduction Una Mullally
• A Short Timeline of the Reproductive Rights Movement in Ireland
• 1 Personal Stories
• 2 Laundry by Mary Coll
• 3 The Question of Consent by Anne Enright
• 4 What is a Woman? by Aisling Bea
• 5 Abortion, Regret and Choice by Kitty Holland
• 6 History Lesson by Elaine Feeney
• 7 I don’t know what I thought Abortion would be like . . . by Caitlin Moran
• 8 Infinite for Now by Sinéad Gleeson
• 9 We will win because we have Truth and Right on Our Side by Colm O’Gorman
• 10 We Face This Land by Sarah Maria Griffin
• 11 We Marched and We Will March Again by Louise O’Neill
• 12 Kelly’s Story by Mark O’Halloran
• 13 The Obvious Explanations of how Power is Held and Exercised Over Women are Very Basic by Ailbhe Smyth
• 14 The Important Thing is That We Start a Conversation by Lisa McInerney
• 15 On Northern Ireland by Siobhán Fenton
• 16 Heartbreak by Emmet Kirwan
• 17 To Be Included and Heard by Ellie Kisyombe
• 18 Three: Three by Tara Flynn
• 19 Strange Fruit by Nell McCafferty
• 20 The Us’s by Una Mullally
• Credits
• Acknowledgements
• Supporters
• Plates
• Copyright