No Hollywood Ending...

A few hours ago I slipped in the bathroom while getting out of the tub. I banged my head against the toilet and, while not exactly knocked unconscious, I was pretty dazed.
I lay there for a couple of minutes, feeling blood slowly drip down my face, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this whole abortion/non-abortion question was going to be answered passively. Was I going to die here, close enough to the crapper to be able to smell the tequila-infused, small, black, bullet-shaped turds that were still floating in there after three attempts to flush them? Was the fetus going to flop out of me in a messy puddle on the tiles between my legs, mewling and struggling like H.R. Giger's alien?

This is exactly how my story would end on TV. Women in soaps and even on primetime dramas never have abortions. They spend hours of screen time and miles of film/videotape discussing the pros and cons of the procedure, but inevitably the decision will be taken out of their hands by fate. There'll be a car accident, a fall, a vicious escaped chimpanzee attack, whatever; but the result always is that the woman will not get to choose. I still remember the notorious abortion story arc of my favorite show of my teenagehood. In "Party of Five", Julia(Neve Campbell) actually miscarried on the way to the abortion clinic. How fucking , craptacularly massive a cop-out was that!

Well, I'm not dead. I didn't miscarry. And those fucking turds still won't flush. So sorry to spoil the classic Hollywood ending so many of you would love and probably deserve. But the fall probably added another dent to the fetus's head; shaved another 10 points off its IQ. Are you sure you want it to be born?