I am a mother who had a late term
abortion. I thought you may want to know how it really goes, so that the next
time you talk about abortion you at least sound like you know what you are
talking about…
At 18 weeks gestation I learned
that there was something terribly wrong with my sweet baby girl. At 22 weeks, all alone in a city we had only
lived in for two weeks, we learned that she would not live. And that even if
she survived the trauma of birth, she would not live for more than a few hours.
And not only would she not survive, but that she would die of suffocation and broken bones.
One of the great ironies in all of
this is that I was raised as a hard-core pro-lifer. And I still was one at this
point in my life. Everything that I had ever known told me it was wrong to take
the life of an unborn child. But I learned quickly, almost in the blink of an
eye, that a mother’s love is greater than everything. Greater than religious
dogma, greater than intellect, greater than fear of judgement, greater than
grief, greater than it all. And in a split second I knew that I could and would
give her the gift of death. To end her suffering. Even though it completely
broke me to do so.
I rocked her all night our last
night together, in the chair I would rock all of my babies in. I rocked her and
cried knowing that I would never be able to rock there with her in my arms. I
went to the doctor’s office early the next morning. Grief had wreaked havoc on
my body. I was no longer sick from morning sickness. That had long since
passed. But I was so sick with grief and I vomited several times before I left
my home. On the way to the hospital I gave her a name, because we hadn’t had
time to do that yet. And again when we arrived at the doctor I vomited some
more. I couldn’t control my sobbing as they led me to the room where they would
stop my baby’s heart. I undressed through my tears and put the gown on, open to
the front so they could access my belly. The doctor and the nurse came in and
reviewed with us what would be. Then it was time and the kind and knowing
doctor helped me onto the table and as the nurse held my hand she told me I
would have to stop crying now so I could be still. The doctor would need me to
be still so he could inject the needle through my abdomen and into my baby’s
heart. So I stopped sobbing and tears flowed silently. I was as brave as I could be while my belly
contracted around the needle so foreign to it. We cried silent tears as the
sound of her heartbeat slowed and then stopped completely. The needle was
removed and then I could sob again.
Next we were guided to the
maternity floor of the hospital where I was given Pitocin to induce labor. The
sounds of a busy maternity ward, full of excitement for new life, continued on
around us, and I labored like all mothers do. I gave birth to my tiny baby girl
with the same love and grace and dignity that I birthed my living children. I held my tiny still baby in my arms, dressed
in the tiny smocked dress the nurse had lovingly put her in. I held her, and loved
her, and I marveled at how much she looked like me. My mother came and held her
and loved her too.
It was time for goodbyes and the
nurse took her away as I sobbed into my empty arms. We went home
broken-hearted, and my milk came in a few days later. Because a mother’s body
makes milk for her baby even if the baby is not there to drink it. My body
cried milk for weeks, and I grieved for the baby I would never know. She would
be thirteen now. And still I grieve for her. She taught me about how big and
deep and powerful love really is.
So no, my baby was not ripped from my womb. And I speak for
all women out there, regardless of what circumstance led them to having to make
one of the most difficult decisions a person could ever have to make. You
have no right to speak for us or to make any decisions for our bodies or for our
babies.
Let me offer you one piece of advice, Donald: do not speak
of that which you do not know. Women are born to love their babies. It is our
nature. We love them even before they are a tiny seed fertilized within us. We
love them when they are a whisper in the wind. We love them so much that we
will break our own hearts for their peace and comfort and well-being. We love
them even if we are unable to keep them. Our power to love is greater than
anything you have the potential to ever know or possess. So do not speak of
that which you do not know.
