I have had an abortion and I am not ashamed of it. I am not afraid to tell people about it but I am frustrated because, despite feeling at ease with my decision to terminate a pregnancy I did not want, I cannot put my name to this article; frustrated because abortion is such a taboo that the man involved dared not speak its name to either his parents or his friends; frustrated because I know my mother is right. Though she has been fully supportive, she would be aghast if I were to use my name "because of the inevitable fallout". But it did happen. And I am not ashamed of it.
Last year I was in a relationship that was clearly about to end. I know I was stupid. I know I was irresponsible to forget to take my contraceptive pill just once.
When I did that pregnancy test, on a Monday evening last October, I thought I was doing so "to put my mind at rest". When two blue lines appeared, indicating a positive result, my world as I saw it fell apart.
I had just left my job and was starting out on my own. Yes, I am middle class. Yes, I had resources. Yes, I was perhaps a perfect age for motherhood. But, gosh, I was not ready and I did not want it. I panicked. Didn't know what to do. What was I going to?
I was on the phone to the Marie Stopes clinic first thing the following morning and got an appointment for Wednesday. I first saw a counsellor, who took me through the other options, asked if I was sure, but we both knew why I was there and I was not going to be dissuaded.
A doctor carried out another pregnancy test and established that I was about six weeks pregnant and finally I was given details of the three Marie Stopes clinics in London. That consultation cost £65.
Almost as soon as I left I rang each clinic in London and took the earliest appointment available - Friday of the following week - at the Marie Stopes clinic in Brixton. I immediately booked a Ryanair flight to Gatwick and then arranged that an Irish friend would meet me there. I would stay with her on Thursday night.
Relief.
NOW to tell the boyfriend. I had considered not telling him, just "sorting it out" by myself, but the counsellor told me I must tell him. His reaction was much as I expected - stunned panic. A few days after we did talk about having it but his conclusion was certainly not to argue with my decision. "Having it isn't an option," he said.
That next week was dreadful. I couldn't concentrate on anything and found myself swaying between thinking it would be lovely to have a baby and just wanting it to be over. My mother said maybe I should keep it. The friends I told asked if I was sure. My boyfriend barely spoke of it.
For the most part I was just terrified and spent a good deal of the week on the verge of tears.
I remember waiting for my flight in the departure lounge of Dublin airport on a dismal Thursday night. A little girl was playing near me and as I watched her all I could feel was loneliness, sadness and, I suppose, grief. I think I felt my life was spiralling out of control and that ultimately I was utterly alone with this. I had no idea what I was going to experience over the next 48 hours and this terrified me.
And then the clinic was really quite pleasant. Perhaps because of the hysteria and terror surrounding abortion here, I was expecting something from a Dickens novel - women wailing and misery hanging in the air.
Marie Stopes in Brixton is a big, bright, old red-brick building with comfortable waiting rooms, consultation rooms, doctors in and out. It could be the Blackrock Clinic.
The nurses were kind and cheerful and I was admitted after about an hour. I was in a ward with five women - one of them Irish - by about 2 p.m.
A doctor came to check my charts and told me I could change my mind at any stage. While he took my temperature and pulse he explained that I would be brought down to theatre in about an hour.
Theatre was like any surgical theatre. I lay on the table, was anaesthetised and woke up in the ward about 40 minutes later. Lifting my head from the pillow I wondered how I felt. There was no pain but I was expecting some emotion. There was none, other than some relief that the last week was over.
Having fasted since the night before I was given tea and sandwiches and then lay back down, half sleeping.
Later, I got to talk to the other women over a dinner of fish, peas and boiled potatoes in the ward.
One woman from Watford had had two children and had been planning to have a third. Having had German measles for over a week while pregnant, however, her doctor advised her to terminate the pregnancy. She had been 13 weeks pregnant.
Another, about 25 years old, was from Cavan. She had told no one, not even a friend, and particularly not her boyfriend.
"Are you joking?" she said. "He'd have had me up the aisle in five minutes."
We each clambered back into bed and watched Friday night TV until we fell off to sleep.
At 6 a.m. we were woken for breakfast. We showered, saw the doctor and were prescribed contraception. I left Brixton at 7.30 a.m. to catch my train for Gatwick, and was back in Dublin by midday. The abortion had cost £250 sterling.
I can't say I haven't had moments of regret. I have wondered "what if?". When the baby would have been due, towards the end of May, I had something approaching a two-day breakdown. I suppose that means I'm human.
I have been surprised to learn how many of my friends have either themselves had abortions or know people who have. There must be few people in this country who, whether aware of it or not, don't know someone who has had an abortion.
I can say now it was the right thing, for me, to do. I do feel more ambivalent about abortion now. I had been fervently pro-choice, regarding abortion almost as a facility to which all women should have access.
It's not an easy area. Abortion does hurt. It is an upsetting step to take. Overall, I do not regret it. I do regret that it is a step we often take alone, frightened and in panic.
There are a lot of us out here, daring not to speak our names.
The identity of the writer is known to The Irish Times