Written by Hope
June 3rd 2015
I am finally ready to share my abortion story. It’s true what they say...you will think about it every single day. Just as I think about my living children every day. I know now that I will never stop thinking about the baby that I aborted.
I had a chemical abortion which involves taking a pill at the abortion clinic, and then four pills later at home. The first pill "stops development" of the baby, meaning it poisons the “pregnancy.” The second medication is a pack of 4 small pills of Cytotec, given to cause contractions to expel the remains of the baby. It is very traumatic. It is heartbreaking. It is the most horrible thing I have ever gone through in 26 years. I'm not going to sugar coat it. I can't.
I sat on the table at the abortion clinic. To the right of me was the suction device and canister I'm sure had aborted babies in it though it was covered with paper to hide the contents. I thought to myself, "I would NEVER do that. I'm only 5 weeks along. This is just taking medicine. There is no heartbeat. This is NOT an abortion." I guess when you are in shock, and you want to justify what you are doing, you will tell yourself all kinds of things. I can only look back at that thought, the canister and suction device sitting there, the silver surgical instruments on the table ready for the next woman in line, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Laugh - because how could I have possibly convinced myself that taking the abortion pill wasn't the same as an abortion? Cry- because I cannot believe someone who loves her babies with all her heart and proclaimed to be passionately pro-life, would end up in that cold, sterile room.
An elderly doctor came in and handed me my "medicine" while the nurse handed me water in a paper cup. I can still feel it, see it, smell it all - the feel of that wafer of medication and the cool water as it traveled down my throat. I automatically said "Thank you" to the doctor as I got up to leave. He looked startled. Now I know why he was startled. Twenty-four hours later, I stared at the embryo I held in the palm of my hand.
After hours of painful cramps, there was my baby inside a clear yellow gestational sack about the size of a dime. I could clearly see the tiny embryo inside. When it happened, I turned to flush and saw it in the toilet. I had an instinctual reaction - I wanted to grab it out of there, to "save" it. And I just stared for a few moments. I wanted to bury it. I didn't want to flush it down the toilet, and watch it spin about like my little boy's goldfish. I didn't want it to be thrown out with the waste. I just stared, thankful that at least the gestational sack was in tact. That my baby would have some "dignity." What is wrong with me?" I thought to myself. It's just a bunch of cells. No heartbeat. No formation. Then why did I feel it was a baby? My baby. Why was I scared to pierce the yellow gestational sack and see the embryo for myself - if I was so sure it was a lump of cells? I placed the sack, which contained everything my child would have needed to grow and live until birth, on a piece of tissue and placed the bundle in the toilet. I turned my back, and flushed. A piece of my heart was gone with it.
It would be days before I could use the toilet even after scrubbing it with bleach. I went to my mom's house for the day so I wouldn't have to use it.
A week later, I developed a high fever, and I was experiencing pain and chills. At the ER it was horrible because I had to tell the staff why I was there. I had a pelvic by a doctor I didn’t know. It wasn't painful but I was humiliated because I’d done this to myself. They had to make sure all of the "pregnancy" was gone. I couldn't look at the ultrasound screen. It would be an empty womb; a black expanse of nothing. I was sent home with antibiotics and told to check back with my doctor. I've never felt so alone or as heartbroken as when I walked out of that hospital. Empty.
I refuse to let people tell me to "move on," that it was "no big deal,” and I should be thankful for the two children I am raising as a single mom. Yes, I am thankful for them. Yes, it is hard to raise them all by myself, but nothing would make me happier than to be pregnant with my baby again. All those things they say, about not being able to see babies in the store without crying, about wondering what life would have been like if my child had the chance to live. I think about it every single day - it isn't "nonsense." It isn't "Pro-life propaganda." I've lived it.
I wanted to end my life. My mom told me that if I committed suicide, I may not go to heaven to be with the baby. I couldn't end my own life. I named my baby and I pray that God is watching Avery for me until I get to heaven. Just because I ended my baby's life didn't mean God wanted me to die. It was not my decision to make. I had done enough "playing God." I had to keep on living, keep on being there for my other children.
I just don't think I need to say much more. This is my account, 100% true. This is the reality of a "pill" that changed everything. This is the reality of a very wrong decision which I knew was wrong. I was selfish, I was scared. I was caught up in my behavior and I didn't want to face the consequences. But now I will have to live with my choice the rest of my life.