My Story
I have always considered myself to be pro-life, and I
wrote previously about how I’ve repented of my belief in the “with exceptions”
clause. It’s true that my stance on the
issue of abortion was born from my walk with Christ, but I haven’t explained
how I became an Abolitionist.
This weekend marks the seven year anniversary of my
abortion.
I didn’t used to really consider the birth of my
eldest son, Vincent, an abortion. Of
course, I had seen it on the medical paperwork.
‘Medically advised abortion’. I
didn’t, however, in my heart of hearts, think what I was doing was murdering my
child. They assured me that it was just
the same as induction of labor, but I’ve since come to realize that what I did
was nothing short of kill my child.
I was 17 years old when I found out that I was
pregnant with Vincent. His father, a man
4 years my senior, pressured me to abort, but I loved my son from the moment I discovered
I was pregnant. He eventually somewhat
came around to the idea of “allowing me”
to keep our child. I won’t get into all
of the details here, but after putting up with his physical abuse and cheating
for 2 years, I ended things with him.
The very week I found the courage to leave him, I was
scheduled for an ultrasound. I was 19
weeks along, and excited to be finding out the sex of my child. Instead, the technician looked troubled. Afterwards, the doctor came to talk with
me. They told me that my son had several
deformities that were incompatible with life outside the womb.
The next day, my parents and I drove to see a
specialist in another city. The
specialist confirmed the diagnosis as a limb-body wall defect, and that
unfortunately my son didn’t even have an abdominal wall to make surgery
possible. I was told that he had a 0%
chance of survival outside of the womb, and that they were surprised he was
even still alive as of then.
I was also pressured to abort. I was told that he wouldn’t make it anyway,
and that I was young. They said I might
not notice if he passed away, and if I became infected I could possibly
jeopardize my ability to conceive in the future. My mother was a nurse, and out of fear I agreed
to their arguments and signed the paper.
I was scheduled for induction the following Friday,
October 19, 2006. I had to travel out of
state to have the abortion because my town didn’t have a provider. I was set up on the labor and delivery unit,
just down the hall from women who would be holding their bundles of joy at the
end of their labor. It’s heartbreaking
to know that in the very same bed that was used to give life, my son’s life was
snuffed out due to my own fear.
Laminaria, a type of brown seaweed, was inserted
into my cervix to facilitate dilation. I
was also given morphine for my pain, because they said there was no need to
feel the pain when he would die anyway.
They said he would just fall asleep due to the narcotic, and I fooled
myself into believing that this was a merciful way for him to die.
After nearly 14 hours of labor, I gave birth to
Vincent. He was tiny, weighing 11
ounces and measuring 9 inches in length. At 20 weeks, his skin was still very
transparent and he didn’t have much in way of fat stores, but he had all his
fingers and toes. He was so very human.
I spent several hours holding my son. Even now, I can remember hugging him close to
me and crying, wishing that he could have been alright. I can still feel the pain of his loss, and
the uncertainty that what if I had just allowed him to die on his own? They told me he would most likely have died
in utero, but that there was a possibility that he could have been born and
survived a few minutes. What if I had
allowed that?
Instead, I acted on my fear. He never got to feel my love for him, or the
comfort of my arms. Instead, I allowed
doctors and nurses to convince me that it was more humane to snuff out his life
than possibly jeopardize my fertility. His
last few moments on earth should have been full of love and care, and instead
he was “humanely euthanized” in my womb.
This weekend, my son would be 7 years old if he had
lived. Every single day, I remember him
and the way he was born. No, my abortion
may not have been as gruesome as some, but it is still a heavy burden to bear. I was in a deep depression over what I had
done for a long time, and only recently came to terms with my guilt in it
all.
This is one of the reasons why I am an
Abolitionist. For all the mothers who
feel alone and deserted. For the women
who are in abusive relationships and are either forced to abort, or think that
it is more merciful than bringing a child into the same life. For all of the women who are told that if
they don’t, they may never have children.
For all of those that are told that it is more humane to euthanize their
deformed child than to give birth to him only to have him die within
minutes.
I am an Abolitionist because not only is this
murder, but this hurts women. I know, I
am one of them. I’ve had to deal with
the depression, guilt, self-hatred, and anger that came along with even an
abortion what was deemed “medically advised”.
I’m an Abolitionist, because I have at least two siblings
that were aborted before me, one being the product of rape and the other
because my father didn’t want to have a child.
I have seen the same hurt and guilt in my own mother, and that the pain hasn’t
lessened even after over 25 years.
This is why we must fight this evil. It destroys an image-bearer of God, and it
destroys our society. The repercussions
that surround this evil go deep and are far reaching. I pray that more will answer Christ’s call to
stand in the gap to help these women and to effect the abolition of abortion. We must be the church, we must stand up for
those being led to slaughter.
