Zygote (WIP)

(Please note: This piece is designated a Work In Progress. Please leave your constructive criticism. This is an essay that I am exploring for my second workshop piece. At this point it is more like a skeleton, in need of some insight. Your thoughts and suggestions are greatly appreciated.)

(Also: The following may be difficult for some readers. If you feel strongly about the Pro Choice/Life argument, proceed with a grain of salt)

Oh, my unfortunate little zygote. You were borne out of first opportunity, second love, new hope. You were a victim of Plan B, but you were far from that for me. You were not even my Plan X or Y, far from a Plan B, but that is what you became. You were a victim of nervous unpreparedness.

Plan B was approved by the FDA in 1999 as a progestin-only emergency contraceptive. The “day after” pill works best within the first 24 hours of having unprotected sex. It is 89% effective within the first 24 hours, with its effectiveness decreasing up to 72 hours after unprotected sex.

Oh my tiny zygote. You were but a flitting thought in my young mind, passing through while I was thinking of the man I loved. You were only a precious side effect of my new found love, the love that saved me from myself. I could not think that a love so pure and true could be sabotaged by a tiny ripped piece of rubber.

A study of typical condom usage conducted in 1993 found that out of 177 couples, only 8.7% of them suffered condom breakage. This means that the average couple would experience breakage in one out of every eleven uses.

            Oh my precious little zygote. I don’t know where you went. Did you get disposed of into some sanitation system? Did you get caught up in detergent filled waters? Or did you never exist at all? Were you only a figment in my hopeful, youthful, puppy-eyed imagination?

            Studies show that 30-50% of fertilized eggs are lost before they even implant into the uterine wall. The woman will have her period at about the same time, often oblivious to the potential child that was miscarried.

            Could you have been my very first murder? Could you have experienced the big red “A” and been ruthlessly ripped from your life before your first heart beat? I don’t know. And not knowing kills me more and more every day.