It is estimated that over 1,500 abortions are performed in the United States daily for a variety of reasons. Each woman is entitled to her own choice. This piece is not a dissertation on my stance on abortion either for or against it. Every woman past, present or future that has, or will chose an abortion has her own story, woven intricately into the human experience and the inner battles that we all face in the midst of the process of life. I have three beautiful children that I cannot imagine my life without, but that in itself was not enough to change my thought process. Even though none of us are without sin, I am certain that some of you will throw stones at me or others, and as always I am not ashamed, I am not afraid, and this is my story:
May 12th of 2016 my life changed forever, again. Much to my fear and amazement, the doctor confirmed that I was pregnant, yet again. I was in absolute utter shock. How was this even possible? Just two weeks before I had a visit with my OB/GYN for some severe abdominal pain and uterine cramping. Due to the amount of tenderness in my abdomen she requested I do an ultrasound. The Ultrasound revealed nothing significant except for the fact that I was currently ovulating on my left side. A fairly normal occurrence in and of itself, with the exception of the fact that my left fallopian tube is completely occluded or blocked. I know this merely because in 2011, when my divorce to my abusive ex was finalized I opted to reverse the tubal ligation (having my tubes tied) that I was forced to have. As a result of that surgery I had one patent (working) fallopian tube. Having another child was not at the top of any of my to do lists, so having decreased odds was of no consequence to me.
Having a positive pregnancy test was immediately followed by stress and fear. I began a downhill guilt trip for not listening to the words God has whispered to me when he told me to stop having sex with my boyfriend. What would my significant other say? From my history and prior pregnancy I was classified as high risk. How safe was this going to be for me and for the baby? Could I afford this? At 37 was I too old for this? My oldest was in college already, and my next oldest was right on his heels. Did I have the patience it takes to be a mom of a newborn? Did I still have the heart/strength to go through everything up ahead of me that was associated with being pregnant at 37? Was I self-less enough to change the entire course of my life and let go of my plans for my future? What would my children think? How was I fool enough to do this once again outside of comfort, support, and loving confines of a marriage? And so on, and so forth more questions than I could have imagined.
I slowly slipped into a depression. I had finally hit what I felt would be a good stride. I had a reached a place of healing and self acceptance and felt whole. I was making plans for my future after taking some time off and pursuing a less mentally demanding career, I knew what direction I wanted to go. I rediscovered myself and was continuously unearthing my passions. My life was in what I felt to be a good place. Now all I felt was shame. Shame that I got pregnant again. Shame that I was not being a good example for my daughters. Mountains of shame steeped in societal standards, norms, and conformities. I secluded myself from most of my friends and kept my ‘good news’ mostly to myself.
I spent the almost every waking hour questioning myself and trying to reason my logic against God. After my positive test, the first set of labs began. My OB ordered a series of Beta-Human Chorionic Gonadotropin (BHCG) quantitative tests. BHCG is the hormone that is present early in pregnancy and the way the levels rise or, fail to, can help a physician determine the viability of the pregnancy. Having had my tubes untied I was at increased risk for tubal pregnancy, plus I was historically prone to miscarriage. I had my blood drawn twice a week for the next few weeks. All the lab work looked good, but I was having severe pain and cramping on my left side, which could be an indication of a tubal pregnancy. The next step in the process was ultrasounds. Unfortunately it is very unlikely to see anything on the ultrasound before 8 weeks. My first ultrasound showed some swelling and fluid on the left side near the ovary but nothing conclusive to indicate that the pregnancy would need to be terminated. I scheduled my next appointment and went home just as anxious as when I arrived.
I can’t remember much except for crying and praying for the next few weeks, a couple more blood tests, and lots more tears. My prayers were more like one sided arguments with God. I complained about being pregnant, told him I didn’t want to do it again. I bargained with him begging him, to just let me have a miscarriage early on instead of later. I asked for forgiveness and made the typical I won’t do it again prayer desperate people rattle off. I told him I couldn’t do this alone again, and in fact I told him I wasn’t going to do it at all. I decided in my mind, not so much in my heart, that I was going to terminate my pregnancy. I had told my OB the last appointment that I wanted to wait and see when she let me know they could give me medicine to terminate the pregnancy. After a couple weeks I was ready for the shot or pill or whatever the course of action was. I went to bed the night before my next appointment at peace with the decision. I had convinced myself that it was tubal and that made my choice okay with me, because I had 3 living children to be responsible for.
I awoke in the morning ready to complete the next steps in my plan and as I rose from my bed God dropped three things in my spirit. The first was that the baby was in my uterus. The second that I was pregnant with a boy and the third was that his name was Josiah. I stopped dead in my tracks. As amazing as the thought was that God would use me yet again to bring another child into this world, I had made up my mind I wanted no part in it. I went to the doctor and low and behold the ultrasound was inconclusive there was a possibility of a baby in both locations. I kept hearing those words whisper through my mind so I decided to wait a few more weeks and see. In the meantime I cried, heavily. I cried and I spoke to God like the most ungrateful spoiled brat you have ever seen. You know how you see videos and witness children publicly so egregiously disrespect their parents? That was me. I proceeded to tell God I wasn’t going to do it and even worse that he couldn’t make me. I progressed into severe insomnia. I could barely sleep and when I slept it was erratic and full of interruptions.
I am certain at this point some of you feel like I was getting what I deserved but what we get isn’t always what we deserve. I believe sometimes when you are not obedient to God we cause our own suffering, but he will still attempt to get our attention and draw us back to his unconditional love. For me that was sleep deprivation and insanity (perhaps not clinically but I’m certain it isn’t good for your mind to run in that many directions at that capacity for that long). My desire to terminate my pregnancy was grounded in uncertainty and fear. I didn’t want to change my life or lose any momentum I had built up along my path. I also didn’t want to invest myself in another child I would lose. I had long ago lost hope. I am a mother of three living children, but also the mother of 7 that never saw the light of day. Four spontaneous abortions (miscarriages) and 3 forced therapeutic abortions (clinical abortions). Now your ability to understand how any woman could be forced into an abortion will ultimately coincide with the depth of your understanding of abusive relationships and domestic violence. I find that my greatest shame is often discussing my abuse and the various aspects of what I went through because most people just assume that you are weak and accepted it so it’s just what you get. I know I didn’t want to suffer through another miscarriage. In addition to that I was afraid that perhaps this time I would get to the finish line and there would not be a happy ending. When I gave birth to my youngest daughter she was born purple with the cord wrapped around her neck. She started breathing finally just as they were calling for the NICU (neo-natal intensive care unit). The thought that maybe he might not cry at all was worse to me than the thought of giving him back to God myself prematurely. The guilt of being in an abusive relationship that lead to me having three abortions always hung over me and I was always certain I owed penance for that sin, even though God forgives, I never forgave myself.
As backwards at it may seem, I continued my regular scheduled appointments for care, while contemplating the necessity of an abortion. I had been experiencing light bleeding and spotting so I was just waiting for them to say I was having a miscarriage. In late June, they were able to confirm that the baby was in my uterus. I watched in awe as the little heart beat, and tried to not acknowledge the first point of confirmation of what God said. By July I had resolved in my spirit that I was going to terminate my pregnancy and found what I compromised to be peace with the situation. I scheduled an appointment for the procedure; the next available option was a couple weeks away. A week later at a regular appointment the doctor in all due diligence went through all my pre-existing health conditions, and through some discussion it became clear that I was not a good candidate for an abortion. I have an arrhythmia (irregular heartbeat) which can be exasperated by pregnancy. The procedure I was scheduled for in an out-patient clinic involved anesthesia, and those two things together created a potentially deadly mix. The position of my uterus put me at increased risk for uterine perforation. Throw in a clotting disorder and there went the last of my resolve. I could not justify that level of selfishness by potentially putting my life in danger to avoid perceived suffering just to have my way with my life. Not to mention the possibility of orphaning my children. True some of them were grown, but they had already sincerely suffered enough because we were all in that abusive relationship together. Finally, it seemed I had reached a decision.
As I prepared to leave that appointment feeling defeated, my doctor asked me to schedule an appointment with the genetic counselor. It just so happened that she had a free moment and agreed to see me the same day before I left. We discussed the necessity for various tests and the fact that after 35 medical science considers your eggs geriatric. Among the options for testing was one for sex linked genetic disorders but that particular test she advised me would provide an idea of the sex of the baby and if I didn’t want to know it could be skipped because I had no questionable family history. Not being aware of all of my partner’s family history I agreed to have all the tests done that may be helpful.
A week later she called me to deliver my results, everything looked fine no indication of Down’s syndrome or any other genetic disorders that the test screens for and one more tidbit. I was having a boy. I immediately cried. I didn’t know how I could deny any longer that even though I made a mistake God still wanted to use it to do something with me and possibly for me. I was still afraid and absolutely terrified that this would end up in some form of punishment and despair. Just days later I started bleeding heavily. For me it was my fears coming to life. I had whined and complained so much and now that I had accepted my circumstances I was going to be punished for my mouth or for my past. My doctor excluded me from my job for a week and I began to panic.
Eventually I transitioned from being paranoid that I would lose my child to being paranoid that my children would lose me. I dreamed repeatedly of dying during labor and orphaning my infant son. I dreamed of dying before labor, I dreamed of us both dying. I was awash in fear and what ifs. I continued with my prior pattern of crying incessantly until I finally had a real honest conversation with God. I stopped ‘yelling’ so to speak and started speaking and made an attempt to listen. The last thing I said to God was I will do it, but I can’t do this alone. I need you to help me and guide me through this. I need you to take care of me, and I need your help so my children don’t suffer anymore than they already have as a result of my decisions. That night I slept peacefully. It had been months since I slept uninterrupted through the night. I had tried everything I thought I knew was right based on my knowledge of life to this moment. Despite my best efforts and arguments, I trusted what I knew was right and was wrong.
I still don’t know what is going to happen with my son, or with me. I know that I have ceased to worry about it as a part of my everyday life and when I find myself overwhelmed I slow down and pray. I thank God for how far I have come in my life regardless to what the next chapter holds, or if there even is a next chapter. One Sunday when I was particularly down trodden my pastor’s wife gave me a hug and looked me in my face and told me to stay with God and to hold onto my dreams. I carry her words with me daily. Once I finally put my way to the side and peace came back into my life, God reminded me of a prayer that I prayed over a decade ago that I wanted to have just one happy pregnancy. Two days ago I realized this was that pregnancy. Despite the stress I caused myself in the beginning I am happy and it shows to everyone that I come into contact with. Someone recently told me they just like being around me because I am like a heat lamp and there is so much flowing from me. In the end I never could have imagined how much tranquility I would find by simply choosing Josiah.
Originally published 9/7/16