I had an abortion, because at the time I was recently divorced, involved with a family friend who less than a year earlier had a daughter out of wedlock after cheating on his wife.  He was still having sex with the mother of his child--whom he eventually married--but not before impregnating me.  Times were so different in 1978.  There was still a stigma attached to unwed mothers, unlike today.  The father of my child was relieved that I suggested an abortion since he'd just had another child, with another woman, less than a year earlier and wasn't married to either of us.  My mother didn't object either.  In fact, all she could say was:  "Wait until your sister finds out."  I was alone, really.  I was scared that my baby might not be perfect like the one he had with the other woman.  I did not have a close relationship with God nor was a church member at the time, so I did the now unthinkable--aborted my child for a mere $180, half of which I paid, the other half he paid.

During the abortion procedure, I felt like one of a herd of cattle.  I sat in a large room, in a hospital gown, with many young women just waiting like me to have an abortion that Saturday morning.  No one in the room talked.  We all just sat in silence, waiting, as one by one, the herd thinned--and then it was my turn.  I walked into the room with the nurse, saw blood spattered on the floor around the large machine in the corner and then crawled upon the exam table.  While waiting for the doctor to come in, I began to cry hysterically, so much so that when he came in, he said to me:  "You know, you don't have to do this, if you don't want to?"  I couldn't stop crying, but nodded my head for him to go on with it.  My insides were screaming, I was racked with sobs and yet endured the unthinkable.  The machine was loud as it sucked the very life out of me.  Having been numbed, I felt no pain, yet could feel things tugging and being pulled away from my abdomen by the very large vacuum machine.  Once it was over, I think I was in shock.  I dressed, got my instructions and left with my girlfriend, who then drove me over to the father's apartment.  Who, by the way, I found asleep, sleeping the morning away, while I was aborting our child.  Nice, huh?  Shocking, really.

Immediately after the abortion, I felt hollow, empty inside.  I was scared, horrified, really.  I was so, so sad and couldn't stop crying or shaking.  The father then took me back to my home and stayed with me that night.  I couldn't sleep nor would I allow him to turn off the lights.  I felt like I was in a living nightmare.  I was spooked, freaked out, if you will.  Something was so wrong.  The next day or so, I experienced slight liquid coming out of my breasts--more evidence that I really had been pregnant, something I wouldn't allow myself to think or believe until I could no longer deny it.  The first time I had that feeling, one of actually being pregnant, was while the fetus was being pulled away from me, while on the exam table, when, in fact, it was too late.  The pregnancy test, the morning sickness, the swollen-and-tender breasts had merely been symptoms of something that had to be dealt with, taken care of, but certainly not a living being, a real baby. No. No. I just needed a quick procedure for things to get back to normal.  What a joke that turned out to be, for me, that is.

As time went on, as years passed, depression became a mainstay of my existence.  I continued to have unsuccessful, if not tragic, relationships with men.  I regret what I did to this day--I sacrificed the life of my child for the convenience of the father and my family.  I eventually developed severe endometriosis, having a complete hysterectomy by the time I was 27, so I am childless to this day and am now 55 yrs old.  I found forgiveness through much prayer, through a personal-and-loving relationship with Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior.  I speak out against abortion every chance I get, much to the dismay of my family, none of whom are committed Christians.  It's me and Jesus.  He "gets" it and me.  He knows, He understands and, most importantly, He forgives.  With Him, I have the promise of spending eternity with the baby whose life, this side of Heaven, I snuffed out--for the sake of convenience, for things to get back to normal in everyone's life but my own and my child's.  I sit here writing this, childless, while knowing the father of my aborted child is a grandfather via the perfect daughter he had with that other woman, now his wife.