In early 2013, I received the call I had longed for on a chilly winter afternoon. At 12 weeks pregnant, the results from our advanced cell-free DNA test revealed that my baby had no genetic abnormalities and was a girl. I joyfully shared the news with my husband, exclaiming, “It’s a girl! I’m so thrilled!”
However, the happiness was short-lived. By 17 weeks and 4 days, I awoke with an unsettling feeling. My pajamas were damp, and anxiety surged through me. I sensed that something was wrong. As we made our way to the emergency room, I struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation. My water had broken, and all we could do was wait. My doctor ordered bed rest and scheduled a follow-up for later that week. While my husband wept at the sight of our baby on the ultrasound screen, I was emotionally detached, unable to process what was happening. This couldn’t be real—everything was supposed to turn out fine.
At home, I attempted to maintain a semblance of normalcy. I began knitting a blanket for a friend’s baby shower, collected freezer meal recipes on Pinterest, and read parenting books. I was deep in denial as we headed to the hospital for our follow-up appointment, yet a crack formed in my façade as we drove. I intuitively knew that our daughter was slipping away, and the ultrasound confirmed my fears. She was still alive, but not for long.
The next 24 hours are hazy in my memory, but I recall a doctor embracing me, the difficult decision to induce labor, and being guided to a birthing suite. As I changed into a hospital gown, I felt trapped in a state of shock. The nurse entered and conversed with me as if this were a routine delivery. Her cheerful demeanor shattered my composure, prompting me to flee to the bathroom where I sobbed uncontrollably.
My midwife arrived shortly thereafter, and it was concluded that I couldn’t endure the process of giving birth to a baby who would not survive. A dilation and evacuation (D&E) procedure was scheduled for the next day. A few weeks later, I received the hospital bill, and there it was, starkly labeled: Elective Abortion.
A surge of anger coursed through me. I had envisioned abortions as choices made by those who viewed their pregnancies as mistakes—unplanned and unwanted. I hadn’t aborted my daughter; I had lost her! But the reality struck me: yes, I had indeed made the choice to end a pregnancy. Together with my husband and medical team, I weighed the emotional and medical implications and made a decision that was right for us. D&E, D&C, abortion—they were all synonymous in this context. I didn’t feel guilt; I felt a wave of relief. I was thankful for the option I had, grateful to live in a time where I could voice my wishes and have them respected.
Had I been compelled to deliver my daughter under those circumstances, I would not be the person I am today. The grief would have transformed me, leaving me more reserved and sorrowful. I wouldn’t be the joyful mother I am now to my 7-month-old son. Every woman’s journey is unique; some may not want children at all, while others face financial struggles, lack support, or are simply not ready. For many of us, the choice to terminate a pregnancy does not diminish our capacity for love as future mothers—it often shapes it. Yes, I am a mother, a proud one. And yes, I had an abortion.
For those on a similar path, consider exploring resources on fertility and home insemination, such as Make a Mom, which can provide valuable insights. Additionally, if you’re seeking comprehensive information on pregnancy and IVF, check out the Mayo Clinic.
Summary
This reflective piece illustrates how a miscarriage led to a deeper understanding and affirmation of abortion rights. The author shares a personal journey through loss, denial, and ultimately the significance of choice in reproductive health. This narrative highlights the complexities surrounding motherhood, grief, and the importance of having options in difficult circumstances.
Keyphrase: Miscarriage and abortion support
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