This is a re-post of one of my first posts. January is Sanctity of Human Life Month, please remember the murdered and the ones they left behind. The following is a true story. It is my story.
She had just been released from the hospital and that gnawing feeling that something was happening kept her awake and uneasy.
A trip to the clinic confirmed her suspicions. She was pregnant again. This time fear engulfed her. She had been on all that medication and the headlines about the Thalidomide babies were just about 15 years old.
The stories about how the drug caused birth defects stared her in the face one day as she stood in line for a burger. The girl was just about the right age. She was in a wheel chair and was missing both arms. Her mother looked tired but she was smiling.
The image seared into her mind like a hot knife through butter. Then the doubts came. What would the drugs do to the baby? She had become both obsessed and repulsed by the images of her unborn child. There was no sonogram to see if things were ok. Sonograms were not in use for pregnancy. There was no way to tell so the fear took over.
How could she do this? Who was there to help her? This man who had already abandoned her certainly could not be trusted. Oh, he had not vacated the premises, but he was of no value for emotional support and since he had quit his job he could not support her financially.
She considered her mother - a woman with three children at home and a husband who, while he worked and put food on the table, had major issues. The chaos that she had left so many years ago was not about to become her home again.
There was little to be called sane in that home. The constant profane and vulgar bickering was one thing. Watching the younger siblings be abused was quite another. She just could not be the target anymore. Everyone said that there was nothing that could be done. Her step-father was a law enforcement officer and any attempt that she made to report him was lost in the shuffle at the station. It was bad enough to be under his constant gaze while she was in the house, but his cohorts took over when she was out of the house. Their snickering and lewd remarks when she was in town were degrading and unbearable.
She could not, would not go home.
Her plan of action was formulated in a heartbeat. She called planned parenthood and made another appointment. This time would be different. She would go alone. She would take the bus. He did not have to know.
The appointment was not what she expected. They told her that they could not do the abortion. She would have to go to a hospital and have general anesthesia.
Her words blurted out in panic, "but I can't!! I just can't!! I have to do this now!!"
They told her that she was too far along and they were not equipped to handle it. But, there was a doctor that she could go to who might be able to help her. They gave her his number and she called him. The appointment was made and it began again.
The day of the appointment she never even told her husband where she was going. She just went.
The office was all dark wood and in a way soothing. The receptionist told her to have a seat while she waited for the doctor.
It was not long before she was called into the doctor's office. He talked to her and told her that he would need another doctor present to administer the anesthesia and it would be done in his office. He asked her why she wanted it and she carefully explained about the drugs in the hospital and her fear and everything.
She asked Dr M why he did this and he said he was making money so he could go back to Puerto Rico and open a clinic for his people. When he told her the price, she said that she did not have that much money, but she would work for him if there was anything she could do. It was agreed that she would cover the front desk while his secretary took a few days off.
It was not hard to keep a secret in a house where no one spoke of anything important. That fatal day came soon enough and as she was leaving, she decided to tell her husband what she was doing and why. She spoke fast and left faster giving him no time to respond. She remembered his stunned look as she left.
Everything was going pretty much as it did before. The anesthesia was on standby in case it was needed. She was not as anxious as she was before. They must have given her a little something to relax her. She was trying to think of anything but where she was and what she was doing.
It was during one of those flights of fantasy that she noticed their words were more urgent than they had been. She wanted to ignore them but what was said was horrific.
Lying on the table, the IV in her arm, her legs strapped in the stirrups the words came.
Those sounds of the whirring suction machine were the same, The room was darker and more comfortable but it would not have made any difference if it had been a five star hotel or a back alley. It was then that the stark realization came upon her and finally showed her what she was doing. The tugging was becoming more intense as the doctors began working together.
Dr. M said, "The head is too big. It won't come out. We'll have to cut it up."
It was at that moment that all of the horror, disgust and realization hit her. She had just murdered her child. She had murdered her second child. If you can be walking and still be in shock then she would be doing just that for several days. The procedure ended without further incident. She lay there weeping silently until they told her she could dress and go home. She lied when she said she was meeting her husband downstairs.
She did work for him the same day as her follow-up appointment. She swore to herself that she would never do this again.
If you think that abortion does not affect women, you are wrong. It stays with you until you die or completely lose your mind. You see those images. You feel everything at the mere mention of babies or birth or anything remotely connected. You wonder what kind of mother kills her unborn child. You wonder what kind of woman you truly are. You wonder many things and can become overwhelmed with self-doubt and self-loathing.
No comments:
Post a Comment