How do you write about the horribleness of it all? I can’t even being to describe how awful everything was. I’m pretty sure I’ve gone back and forth more than 100 times wondering why I even started this blog because I’m nervous to share my experience about this day. I cry every time I think about this day, so I try not to think about it, but It’s always there in the back of my mind. So here goes.
The doctor gave us the names of clinics in Atlanta, and warned us that these clinics were, well, considered to be abortion clinics. That there would be people standing outside, protesting. Great. Awesome. Just the cherry on top. Just what we need.
I was raised a Southern Christian. I, having grown up in the church know the views. But, I also went to school at a very liberal school, and had come to this conclusion in my own young life. I said I would never have an abortion myself, but I would never tell another woman what she can and can’t do or should and shouldn’t do with her own body. That’s her choice. I was told over and over and over again by doctors and nurses that this WAS NOT and abortion. Our child was already dead. The only reason I could still feel him kicking was because I was pumping blood through the umbilical cord. I know stronger women than me carried to term and gave birth to their child. They said they got to spend minutes with them and that was all the needed. I am not that strong, I couldn’t do that. Although, we were assured our baby was not long left for my womb and that a miscarriage was invertible so we wouldn’t make it to a term birth even if we wanted to.
My husband and I have already been through so many struggles in our short marriage. 2 back to back deployments, and having a difficult time finding job placement when he got home was more than enough. Or so we thought. Why? Why us? We’ve been through enough, but, life doesn’t work that way.
So, we find ourselves in the worst room possible. A tiny room on the other side of a door that holds multiple people who were not “in the same predicament as us”. The first day (it’s a 2 day process), we had to go through multiple tests. An ultra sound, a blood test, a counseling session, a payment session, and then, after about 3 hours of in and out of a tiny little side “private” waiting room, I was taking back to have the procedure started. I took pain killers and an antibiotic and then the doctor puts seaweed splints in your cervix to open it up for the operation the following morning. It was painful. So painful. I cried through the whole thing. After that the sent us home, and we were to return the next morning.
I was in so much pain the rest of the day that we called the office and asked if it was normal. She wanted us to come back in, but I just couldn’t. I decided to take a walk. During the next few months walking would be my therapy. I sat on a heating pad for the rest of the day, and the next morning, we set out back to the clinic.
When we arrived they put us back in our small waiting room. At first I was the only one there. We had our genetic testing kit with us, turned that in, and the nurse gave me a muscle relaxer they put me in a robe, and sent me back to my husband. By that time there was one other couple in the room with us. We could hear the protesters yelling outside…All 3 or 4 of them, all men…over the movie they were playing in the small waiting room. I started to cry and shake. The woman next to me started crying. We both sat crying on our husbands until they called my name.
It all happened so fast. I was separated from my husband, the threw me into a room and told me to lie on the table. I told the doctor I wanted to be sure they sent him to me after everything was done. They said they would (Still haven’t received his remains) and pretty much forced me on the table. The nurse put the anesthesia in my arm and the last thing I remember is the pain running through my body from the anesthesia.
That was it. I woke up in a room of other girls just sitting in their beds. I started crying immediately and asked for my husband. “He can’t come in here, but he’s going to get the car to take you home” a nurse said. This nurse was nice. She helped me to the bathroom and helped me clean up all the blood and get dressed. Then she walked me through the hall and out the back door where my husband was waiting. I got in, we drove down the hill and past the 3 or 4 men protesting something they don’t understand, and we went home. Childless. No longer expectant parents. A childless mother and father, who will never forget their baby boy.