Hello. My name is Stephanie, and I come before you to share my post-abortive testimony. In November of 2008, I met and began to date a man named Michael, and let me tell you, we fell hard and fast for one another. At the time I was living as a fully devoted, full-time, single mom to my six-year-old son named Lucas. I had been married to Luke’s father for five years, but we divorced in 2005. When I met Michael, I had been out of the “dating game,” for nearly four years. We dated one another for a few months before we became sexually active. Although we were sexually involved out of wedlock, we had no other worries because I using “the pill” as our birth control method.
In February of 2009, my son came to me and expressed a concern that he couldn’t quite explain. In essence, he explained that he felt uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach…that there wasn’t something quite right about Michael and that he was uncomfortable being around him. He then expressed his desire for me to end the relationship with him because he didn’t feel safe near him.
I discussed his concern with Michael, and he went on to explain that if I let my son choose who I was involved with at the age of six, that when Lucas was a teen, as a single mother, he would dominate and control me in all the other areas of my life. I reasoned within myself that Michael had a valid point and continued to date him.
My son came to me again in early March of that same year and expressed the same concern. Once again, I dismissed his feelings and continued to date Michael. Finally, towards the end of March he came to me, in what would be the last time, and said that he wanted to go live with his dad. It literally broke my heart, but I realized I had brought this upon myself. I called his dad, and we made arrangements for him to pick Lucas up that following weekend.
I grieved as though my child no longer existed. Michael could not bear to see the pain and the grief in my eyes. One day he came home with several types of recreational street drugs, explaining that they would help get me to cope with the emotional pain I was experiencing. Even though I knew it to be wrong, I started to do drugs as a way of numbing myself, so that I wouldn’t feel the pain of my loss.
Eventually, as Michael realized that no matter what drugs I did or in what amount I took, the pain was not subsiding. Then one day he came to me and asked me if I’d consider having a child with him...our very own child, who would never leave me. I was hesitant, knowing how my son felt about him, but wanted a baby, a baby of my very own, back in my life, so we agreed to try to conceive. I immediately went off of the pill, and we began having sex multiple times a day. We began charting our activity as well as my ovulation dates. My next expected period was to fall on or about Thursday May 14th, 2009, and sure enough, I missed my period. We immediately went out and bought the surest quality test, but it was negative, and we were crushed! But then I failed to get my period on Friday, then again on Saturday. Finally on Sunday we went and bought another test, and we got a positive reading. As planned, we were pregnant and ecstatic to be expecting parents!
Immediately, that Monday morning, I called my OB/GYN, but they were not able to get me in for our initial prenatal exam until Wednesday June 10th. They explained that they wanted to wait until I was at least six weeks along and continued to explain that they were booked out until that date and time. We could barely stand the wait, but, before we knew it, the day of the appointment arrived. At the appointment, they collected a urine specimen and confirmed my pregnancy. They also completed an exam, did an ultrasound, and explained that, based on the date of my last menstrual period (April 15th, 2009), as well as the results of our first ultrasound, that I was consistent with eight weeks and projected an estimated due date on or about January 16th, 2010. We couldn’t believe how fast this was all happening, but we were stoked!
Then came the part where they collected information about our personal and family medical history. I explained that I had several mental health diagnoses, including Bipolar type 1, severe PTSD stemming from a brutal rape when I was 14, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and ADHD. They proceeded to ask what medications I was taking to treat my illnesses, so I gave them the list I had prepared prior to the appointment. The nurse sighed and shook her head, so I nervously asked what was wrong. She explained that many of my medications I was taking would be very harmful to a developing fetus. She then went on to ask about recreational drug use and, although ashamed, for the sake of our baby, I had to confess to using narcotic pain pills, meth, crack cocaine, heroin, as well as marijuana. She, again, explained that all of my psychotropic medications along with the street drugs had probably already done great harm to our child. She then turned to Michael to get his medical history. He revealed, for the first time in our relationship, that he was schizophrenic and was also on several psychotropic medications. The nurse then excused herself and said that the doctor would be in shortly.
As the doctor entered the room, she had a certain loom on her face as well as a hesitant type of body language. She explained that she had reviewed the medical history that the nurse had collected and said that she was sorry to inform us that we were in a severely high-risk pregnancy category and that she made an immediate referral to a high-risk pregnancy center called Perinatal Associates of New Mexico. She went on to ask what our plans were and if we intended on carrying this baby to term considering the risks she had shared with us. Michael and I looked at one another in fear and asked what she meant when she asked us what our plans were? She reinforced the high-risk nature of our pregnancy and went on to suggest termination of our pregnancy, but that we should go on to our appointment for a second opinion.
We went on to our second appointment and again we were advised that with our medical history, as well as our medications and the street drugs that we were consuming at the time of conceptions, that our child was more than likely going to be severely disabled and had a fifty percent chance of inheriting our mental illnesses. They said that ultimately we ought to consider termination of our pregnancy.
We were absolutely mortified but were bound and determined to keep our baby! I immediately stopped taking all of my medications and started eating as healthy as possible, along with taking the prescribed prenatal vitamins, and began to get as much rest as possible. Michael, initially, took very good care of me but slowly started distancing himself from me. I felt so scared and alone and began to reach out to my mother and father. My father said, “Get rid of it,” and my mother explained that I “should listen to my doctors’ counsel.” I suddenly became very angry, realized I had no one in my corner, and started feeling all alone in this pregnancy. I began to question my own ability parent a potentially special needs child, being disabled myself. I also began to become very sick, both physically and mentally.
I absolutely could not entertain the notion of aborting my child but also realized there was no way that I could handle carrying this baby to full-term and then handing her off to a complete stranger. I began to secretly wish I would miscarry. I moved in with a drug dealer who said he loved me and would love this child as his own if I wanted to go through with my pregnancy. I began to feel a sense of hope, but then quickly realized that my child had no chance of a decent life with this man as her father. I started using drugs again and went back on my mental health medications for two reasons. Number one, because I could feel myself getting “sick” and didn’t want to end up hospitalized…again! The second being my secret wish to miscarry. I even began to hit myself in my pelvic region with very heavy and blunt objects, but to no avail. Despite the fact that I went back on my psychotropic medications, everything quickly took its toll on my body and my mental health, and I landed myself in the psych ward. A week later, upon my release, part of my discharge instructions was to report to UNM's Women’s Reproductive Center to terminate my pregnancy.
Three days after my discharge, I found myself driving to their clinic to do the very thing I detested the most. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me…that this decision had basically been made for me and that I was actually being obedient…a willing participant to their directions for my life. This was, after all my child…my new baby, the baby that was not supposed to leave me, and here I was on my way to kill it, by my own hands!
When I arrived at the clinic they were already expecting me and had received the referral from the psych hospital. I was given some standard biographical paperwork and upon completion was called back and given a Percocet as well as an Ativan, a gown, and was asked if I had any questions. I asked how it was going to affect me on a mental basis, if it would interrupt my ability to have children in the future, and I was assured that this was both a safe and legal procedure that would be in the best interest of both me and my child alike, and that it would allow me to get on with my life…that it would allow things to go back to “normal” again.
After robing myself with the gown they gave me, I was led down the hall to the last room on the right. As I entered the room a nurse helped me to get into the gynological-like chair/table and was told that, because I had not paid for the additional anesthesia, the procedure was going to be very uncomfortable, perhaps even painful, and that I was welcome to hold her hand, if I’d like.
The doctor came in already gowned up with a mask over his face. He didn’t address me but began to prep my cervix for the procedure. The prep itself was painful, let alone the actual procedure. Once I was prepped, he turned the screen to perform an ultrasound, for what he said was to determine how far along I was. I asked if I could see the baby, and he explained that there was nothing but tissue to be seen and that at her age there was not even a detectible heartbeat. What he did not know is that he failed to turn the screen far enough away from me, and I could see my baby and the flashing heartbeat. The machine then switched on, and he began to push and jab the suction instrument in and out of me. I saw my baby move away from the device…she was feeling as much pain, if not more, than I was feeling! Then he shut off the machine, but I overheard him tell the nurse that there were additional remains, so the machine was switched back on for more surgical suction…the remains of my baby! At that point, I dissociated and found myself hovering above myself watching everything that was happening. Before I knew it, it was over…well, not quite over. The doctor removed his goggles and made the snide remark, “How about we go ahead and insert the Paraguard IUD, so that we don’t see you back here again.” I nodded my head in agreement but couldn’t believe he had implied that I’d be back!
The choice to abort, to murder, my child is the worst, most regretful decision I have ever made, or decision that was ever made on my behalf! I am now a post-abortive woman who has to wake up every morning and fall asleep every night with this on my conscience. Abortion is not, should never be, the answer to an unplanned, or in my case, a planned pregnancy! It is not health-care…it is death! One woman walks out of the clinic wounded, while another is killed. Please, as a post-abortive woman, I plead with anyone considering this as an option, as an answer, to please, please, choose life for your baby! Should you choose to abort you will regret it for the rest of your life! Your “quick fix” will haunt you until the day you die! Choose life!