A Mother's Story
A very dear friend sent me this and asked that I publish it. It is her story.
When I was 16, I became pregnant. I could not believe such a thing had happened to me and even though I had begun to experience morning sickness I denied the obvious. One month went by, then two. Finally, one day my mother cornered me and demanded to know if I was pregnant. I told her I didn't know. By the time mother made the initial appointment at Planned Parenthood, I was almost 12 weeks pregnant.
The test was positive. I was pregnant and I was almost too far along (I was told) for a normal abortion so they made an appointment for the next day. I kept waiting for them to bring up options. I was willing to consider giving the baby up for adoption, since none was offered I didn't bring it up. Truth be told, I didn't want to be in that situation and because they didn't bring it up I justified not being responsible for my actions.
On the way to the abortion clinic the next day I made a half-hearted effort and told my mother I was willing to consider having the baby and giving it up for adoption. She said absolutely not and that was that. I sighed in relief and figured that I wasn't responsible for my actions: she was!
At the abortion clinic I think I went into a state of panic. I'm really not sure. However, in that waiting room, which they kept us in for HOURS I started telling jokes. They were sick jokes about knives going up the uterus. I don't know what was funny about them now, but then they seemed awful funny. I actually had the waiting room, of which there were about 10 girls, in stitches. No pun intended.
One girl became very angry with me and left the room. A nurse (or someone dressed in a nurses' uniform) came back and asked us to not talk so loudly. I took that as a broad hint to shut up. I was the youngest girl in the room. One girl was there for her forth or fifth abortion. I don't remember. She was 19 if I remember correctly. I told her flat out that she was very irresponsible: everyone was allowed one mistake, but she was just plain dumb.
Finally, I was called into the surgical room (or whatever they call it). They put me in a gown and put me on a table and put my legs through those footholders. For some reason, looking down at my legs in that position I kept thinking my legs resembled rabbit ears and I began to laugh. I laughed and laughed. I couldn't stop.
The doctor came in and took a look at me told me to be quiet and I kept trying, but then I would burst into laughter again. He finally left the room and didn't come back for the longest time. Since there was no clock in the room I don't know how long he was gone. When he returned the giggles had gone and I silently waited until he was finished performing the abortion. I still remember the sickening sucking sensation as the littlest life was pulled from me and the tiniest amount of regret I felt. Pushing it away I decided firmly that it simply wasn't my fault. Even if the baby had been born the baby would have had massive problems because I drank SO much during the entire time I knew I was probably pregnant.
Besides, I had no choice, right? Wrong. I had plenty of choices. I was an out of control rebellous teenager. If my folks couldn't keep me in my bedroom at night they sure couldn't stop me from giving birth to a baby.
Years later after I became a Christian I knew I had been forgiven of this sin. However, I never felt badly or guilty about it and it started to really bother me that I never regreted my actions. Intellectually I knew it was wrong so I prayed that God would help me with this.
The answer came sooner than I realized. I had a dream where my son (who is normal in every way) was a paraplegic vegetable. In my dream I was tenderly taking care of him. I woke up at that point and knew in my heart that it didn't matter HOW a child turned out. I would have been blessed by that child because I would have LOVED that child no matter what.
It was then I was finally able to mourn the death of my unborn child. I pray that if you are considering aborting your baby that you will reconsider. It has been over 15 years since I killed my baby and I still think about it. Even when I did not feel any guilt I still thought about that baby. It's something that will never, ever, go away. It's always with you, there, even when you look at your own children you might have later in life you will remember. It's not something anyone can forget. I know. I tried.