I have had multiple abortions. My first abortion was when I was 14 years old. I remember becoming so sick while being pregnant. I couldn’t look at certain colors or smell certain things, without getting sick. I had no connection to the child that I carried. I was too sick to care. My mother and the father of the child eventually asked me if I wanted to keep the baby, but I just wanted to feel better. My relationship fell apart and we ended up breaking up shortly after. The abortions to follow were the same story. I just couldn’t take the sickness. I would lock myself in the bathroom for hours at a time because that was the only smell that I could endure. I remember wanting to kill myself and praying that God would take the sickness away. I couldn’t eat or drink. I would end up going to the hospital hoping that they would cure me. After some fluids, I was discharged and the sickness continued. I just wanted someone to help me. I didn’t think of the babies that I carried as babies, they were evil to me.
The first abortion, I met a friend and we bonded over our morning sickness woes. It was a two-day procedure. First, they inserted sticks and then the procedure was the next day. I never heard a heartbeat or saw a sonogram. I remember waking up from the procedure and I felt so much better. I felt like myself again. The other procedures were business as normal. I was simply a number in a clinic filled with dozens of other girls. There was no compassion from the staff. I could see the look of disgust in the counselor’s face as she went through my growing chart. I can still remember how I felt being told that I couldn’t look at the screen as the tech scanned my belly. I always wanted to see the sonogram, but they never allowed me too. All I could see was the black and white paper attached to my growing folder. The ladies outside of the clinic protesting were of no help either. One woman ran up to me and opened her hand to show me the miniature doll that she had clenched in her fist. Not one person offered to help me. To be honest that is all I needed. If one person had said “I can help you,” I probably wouldn’t have went through with it.
Every single time that I laid on the table, I prayed that I wouldn’t wake up. To this day, whenever I have to be put under anesthesia, I am reminded of my procedures. In the back of my mind, I still hope that I don’t wake up. After the first one, I had a dream that I was sleeping with a baby boy. In the dream he began to fall out of the bed and I jumped up out of my sleep to catch him. When I came to, I shortly realized that it was just a dream and the baby boy wasn’t actually there. I wanted him so bad, I wanted him to be real. After a later abortion I dreamt of a baby girl. She was the prettiest baby I have ever saw and I cried for days afterwards, wishing that she were real. I had people call me out and make fun of me for all my abortions. All the while, they didn’t know how bad I wanted my babies and how much I went through mentally.
I have never stopped feeling bad about what I have done. It wasn’t until I fully gave my life to Christ that I realized what I had actually done. The guilt still haunts me. Who am I to take away life? Who am I to decide who gets to live and who doesn’t? I didn’t think of them as babies at the time especially since my terminations were “early.” I now have four boys of my own and I couldn’t imagine life without them. I sometimes feel as if I don’t deserve them. And to be honest, I often feel like something bad will happen to them as payback for the abortions that I have had. I know these feelings aren’t God like. I know that He forgives me, although I have trouble forgiving myself. I honestly pray that my story will help another girl, at least one. I used to be Pro Choice because I didn’t know any better. Christ has opened my eyes to the truth. I want to make it my life’s mission to save those who are unable to speak for themselves and to be a voice of reason to other young ladies.
I have never regretted having my living children, but I regret every single last abortion.