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Testimonies
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My Exercise in Reparation
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Carol
Illinois,
United States
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With such heartfelt sorrow, I deeply regret my abortion. My baby, Paul, would have been 40 years old this year. I am a living testimony. And in honor of my son and a woman who died having the same abortion procedure as I did back in the same month, year and city, I want to tell my abortion story--but not without severe emotional and lifestyle consequences that I incurred for decades.
I had a boyfriend, and after my first sexual experience, I became pregnant. My boyfriend found out about abortions being done in New York. I didn’t even know what the word “abortion” meant. So I did, as I was told--a “choice” was made for me. As a 19-year-old, I was very scared in going alone to fly to New York in 1970 for a saline abortion. I had no idea of the procedure as well as the outcome. I even initially sensed a shame beginning to form as I was in flight. In my mind, I even pretended I was either a business class passenger and/or visiting someone.
In the abortion mill, I remember seeing glimpses of other women, who had expressions on their faces that were similar to when someone dies--just staring--emotionless. During the abortion procedure, the doctor explained to me what he was doing, but did not explain the outcome of my abortion. I recall very vividly his callous and heartless explanation of the procedure by telling me he was removing the amniotic fluid and replacing it with saline. He said, “This is just a clump of tissue; it’s absolutely nothing--it’s no big deal.” I also remember him saying, “Go home, or to a hotel as soon as possible.” I was between 20-22 weeks pregnant.
On my way home, in mid-flight back to Chicago, my water bag broke. I picked up my boyfriend to quickly go to a motel and I aborted our baby in a motel bathroom. Shame and grief came along again, as I actually watched my dead baby come out, which was too much to bear, so my “silence” became ever more increasing, thus tormenting my soul even more. I got a glimpse of my baby, which I will never forget as long as I live. When I saw my dead baby burned, I came running out of the bathroom, hysterically screaming and couldn’t stop thinking, “I have just killed my baby.” The burnt darkness was a reminder that I robbed my baby of life. I was never the same.
I robbed my baby of a chance to live a life worth living and as years went by, I felt my life became not worth living. I hated myself. After the abortion, I went straight down hill. I made very poor choices of an unhealthy lifestyle--from dating relationships, various forms of birth control contraceptives for my sexual lifestyle, and sterilization. I also had two failed marriages. And severe depression which led to a suicide attempt. I remember being hospitalized for my suicide attempt in 1982. One of the types of therapies they used for patients was making a collage. I made a collage of babies. The mental health professionals asked why I made a collage of babies. I remember telling them that I had an abortion. They did not offer any further mental health treatment and/or discussion relating to my abortion. Again, another form of silence.
I have, however, been very blessed with two wonderful children--one from my first marriage and my nephew, which I share raising, from my second marriage. During my pregnancy and when my son was born, I had such joy, but there was also a profound sense of loss deep within my soul.
In my second marriage, my eight-year-old nephew was left as an orphan. He was conceived in date rape...his mother died suddenly. God gave me the grace to continue on the road of progression and helped fill the temporarily void with another child to raise--replacing my baby that I killed. But I still needed the ongoing process of healing.
Twelve years ago, however, my joy, mercy, forgiveness and hope were restored with God as I entered into the Catholic Church. This began the early stages of 40 years of the healing process. I saw a Catholic- Christian mental health professional for my abortion experience, which has brought emotional healing for me. I am still, however, not without my emotional cross from time-to-time. This is my exercise in reparation, as I offer up my emotional pain to God for an end to abortion. But as St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein) said, “Hail the Cross, our Only Hope.” I am now living the wonderful and proud vocation of a chase single woman that I wanted to be 40 years ago.
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