My early 1980’s abortion left me sterile, traumatized and heartbroken. Allow me to elaborate…. WARNING: free of euphemisms and candy-coating. So much flowery rhetoric to describe the most sinister of acts… So I will go there, penetrate the 10 feet thick wall of lies and denial that I lived in, and go to the truth. George Orwell said : “Speaking truth in times of universal deceit is a revolutionary act.”
As a young woman, I got pregnant after sleeping around two times. I came to believe my virginity made me a pollyanna or uncool. Most of my college-aged peers were having sex, including my roommates. You were considered a prude if you weren’t “sexually active.” You were mocked at this school if you weren’t.
I estimated when I would be ovulating… Alcohol was involved. I actually sought out to lose my virginity like it was a bad disease or something to be ashamed of. Turns out you can get pregnant at anytime in your cycle. Public education taught us that abortion was part of the reproductive option package.
In a short time, I discovered I was pregnant. I panicked because I was consumed by fear. I did not want to burden my parents with my problem and wanted to hide the fact that I had had premarital sex. Turned to a family member and a friend and headed to get family planning counseling, like they taught us in sex ed. Everyone told me abortion was the most humane option for someone who was young and unmarried and that it was no big deal. Like getting a tooth pulled. They told me to hurry and decide as I was almost in my second trimester. I was 11 weeks pregnant at the time and had misgivings. I asked if this was a baby, and was told: “No, it’s just a formless blob of tissue.” [note: go here to see what an 11 week old baby looks liken before and after abortion] I did not understand abortion or fetal development–not even close. The only time the word baby was used was when I used it.
The abortion was painful. But the worst was yet to come… My nightmare was just beginning.
The following month was both grisly and horrifying. What in the world was coming out of me? I languished alone in severe pain, for weeks, like labor pains, continually bleeding and passing large and small blood clots and torn pieces of what I now grimly realized (like a hard, cold slap in the face) was once my baby’s body, placenta, umbilical cord and amniotic sac. Skin, muscle, organ, brain matter, flesh… A pink slurry of unidentifiable debris (some looked like cartilage, tiny fish bones and bone fragments) where I could even see where there had been knife cuts made–what the abortion industry calls “retained products of conception”. Over and over, I got to witness more abortion industry euphemisms, such as “pregnancy debris” or “decidua”.
Aghast, these images were and are forever imprinted-seared into my brain and HURT LIKE HELL. This was my precious baby and there are no words to describe the intensity and ferocity of my regret, raw pain and suffocating guilt. I had no one who would help me. No one. The clinic would not help me and I was too ashamed to tell anyone. About 2 weeks after the procedure, my parents were very disturbed to see, as I stood before them in a robe right after a shower, a bright red river of blood streaming down my leg at a fast rate, following a very large piece of “uterine contents” that hit the floor hard.
They looked at each other with this sick panic I’ll never forget and wanted to take me to the ER. I lied to make sure they wouldn’t take me and find out the truth. To this day, I especially think my Mom didn’t believe me.
I believe that my uterine wall was cut. I would later in life be told by doctors, after ultrasound analysis, that I had a tipped uterus-“a severely retroverted uterus”–their words. This means that it was in a folded position. In 1981, ultrasound was not widely used. So a new and inexperienced doctor (I know from my research) went into my uterus, which was soft from pregnancy, essentially blind, with a curette, a razor sharp spoon tipped instrument. (Turns out the pregnant uterus was not designed to be forcibly held open and then entered with a razor sharp instrument, or in my case, a folded pregnant uterus.) I never met the doctor until I was on the table. There was no relationship. What I would later see at home alone made me cry so hard I could barely breathe and made me sick over the choice I had made, with absolutely no way of coping, but to stuff it. For an entire decade, I couldn’t even say the word “abortion” without tears flowing. In fact, that’s how my parents found out a few years later. A news report came on the TV about abortion at their house, and I became so upset, I ran outside, unable to conceal my pain–I confessed what happened. The saddest thing of all is that they would have helped me. I also hurt them deeply by this choice.
Thinking God, the Jesus Christ of my childhood, no longer wanted me, denial became a high art and a way of life. I detested prolife people and without ever talking to one, I considered them all angry and judgmental of the post-abortive (I was wrong). So I built a protective wall around myself, afraid to tell anyone my secret, lest they dissaprove of me as a person. I already hated myself enough. After the “procedure”, my life has never been the same. It ended badly for me and the crying has never stopped. What bothered(s) me most was the idea of my baby’s body all ripped apart and I was and still am, and will always be, this little one’s mom. That I actually paid someone to do this. There was no mention of them having to reassemble the body parts after the “procedure” in the brochure I was handed. On that busy August Saturday morning, with my folded uterus, parts of my eviserated, mutilated and very dead baby still remained in me as I left and reality set in too late. Anyone in favor of abortion needs to watch abortionNo.org and not on a full stomach, to fully understand why euphemistic terms such as “pro-choice”, “reproductive justice”, “abortion care”, “war on women,” and “women’s health” DON’T jive with the insane, sick, evil and brutal reality that is abortion.
In the years after that, I became inconsolable, with severe depression and suicide attempts. I developed adenomyosis, a form of endometriosis. I would mark the many days on my calendar lost to pain.
This is a medical condition where scar tissue forms over wounds in the uterine wall. Starting in my twenties, much of my month was spent in cramping pain, as endometrial tissue was trapped and the uterus continually contracted. I later married and could not have children. By my forties, because of my now advanced form of adenomyosis, 2 surgeons advised the immediate removal of my uterus-a full hysterectomy-forever ending any chances of conceiving another child.
I have been to many counselors over this abortion, and now know exactly what an 11 week baby looks like in the womb, and what an abortion did to my only child. Ultrasound technology shows us today what was previously hidden. I know the truth about abortion and that has been the hardest reality I’ve ever faced. I have been diagnosed with PTSD, complete with nightmares and flashbacks. Like what happens in war, only I paid someone to put my innocent baby’s fragile body on a landmine, and they didn’t collect all his human remains. That was for my eyes only to witness. This little one already had all organs in place, was a tiny human being, MY BABY, who just needed time to grow. Because of my choice, he instead became medical waste. Where the remains ended up is deeply disturbing to me and also, a source of sickening repetitive scenarios that NEVER leave my mind. If I see a Stericycle truck on the road (a bio-hazard collector of aborted baby remains), I want to vomit and scream at the thought of the gruesome cargo inside. I have flashbacks of this baby I love so much struggling against the curette, safe one moment, about to be cut to pieces the next. “Mom help me!” “Mom, make them stop!” And I can’t. I would if I could. I cannot reverse time. My precious one, I would crawl over broken glass to get you back. I would stand in front of a moving train if it would bring you back.
I live in a debilitating straitjacket of guilt, regret and shame, which I can’t seem to overcome and am trying to heal. Some days are better than others. Christmas and Mother’s Day are especially hard. I can only imagine the joy of my beloved child opening his presents or giving me a handmade card that says “I love you, Mommy.” Or knowing the joys of watching my child grow up and become a parent. The sound of a baby cooing is music to my ears. I am writing this to tell you how my choice in 1981 has adversely impacted my life. I love babies, children and my fellow human beings. I wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on anyone. This “simple and common procedure” turned out to be the biggest wound/source of unending hurt of my lifetime, millions and trillions of times wishing I could take back this “choice.” Little one, I would give my life if I could have you back. It stings so much just thinking of you and how much I love you.
This summer, while doing ancestry work on Ancestry.com, I added my little one to my family tree. Not only did abortion kill my baby, but his entire family tree. When I die, his name is going on my grave stone. I LOVE this baby immeasurably, who I can never hold, with all my heart. The loss of this precious child gives me unspeakable sorrow THAT WON’T GO AWAY–will not heal, despite my prayers. His name is at the National Memorial for the Unborn. Abortion is not some wonderful choice, it destroys lives. There is nothing more evil on the face of this earth than abortion.
K’s precious only child: 1981-1981 forever loved in this life and eternally
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