Mothers Whose Babies Were Killed by Abortion
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I'll Never Hold Him
When I was 15 years old, I became pregnant. I had been in a seemingly happy relationship with my boyfriend for over a year. I found out that I was pregnant at my boyfriend's house on New Year’s Day. I was a little more than 6 weeks. He told me that since we were young, I had to have an abortion. I told him that it was not something I was comfortable with. He wouldn't listen to me, and we began to fight more frequently. These disputes often became physical. He told me that if I kept our baby he would have to leave me, or he would hate me forever. One of our mutual friends tried to talk to him about it, and he almost punched her. He wouldn't listen to anyone. I eventually agreed just to make him happy. I really wish I hadn't.
His friend drove us to Planned Parenthood for an ultrasound at 11 weeks, and it was determined that I only had until 13 weeks 6 days to have the procedure done in the area. This didn't leave me much time with my unborn baby. I still remember the little arms and legs I saw on the screen and the tiny blip of a heartbeat. It made things real for me. My boyfriend didn't act surprised at all. I tried to make the best of the passing days by talking to my boyfriend, but he never wanted to discuss it. He couldn't even pretend to love us. I went to school and acted happy around my friends, but when it came down to telling them, they just made fun of me and laughed as if it was no big deal.
The night before my abortion was scheduled, I lay awake on the couch, staring up at the hanging Christmas lights and thinking about how in 24 hours my baby wouldn't exist anymore. It was a hard thing to believe. It seemed so impossible that someone so close to me could be gone that fast. I wanted my baby to know the joys of life. He would never see colors or hear music, and somehow this devastated me.
The next day I awoke and prepared slowly for the horrific task that awaited me. During the car ride, my boyfriend didn't seem bothered at all. In fact, he seemed oblivious to the entire situation. When we arrived we signed some papers and then sat down in the waiting room. I was called back and given another ultrasound. This time they didn't let me see the screen. Instead, they gave me the pictures. I kind of pushed them aside. It was too hard to look at them. While talking to one of the women that worked there I started crying and told her that I didn't want to go through with it. It didn't feel right to me. She stared at me for a moment before saying, "Sometimes we have to do things that we don't want to." She then left the room and another woman came in and gave me a cup with two pills to begin dilating my cervix. I chose not to take any pain medication. I didn't feel like I deserved comfort. Half an hour later I was taken into a room where I was told to undress from the waist down. I then was to lay on an operating table.
On the wall of the room there was a painting of a sunny beach. I wanted to disappear into it and avoid the entire situation. My boyfriend sat in a chair facing me holding my hand. A doctor came in with a jar and introduced himself. I was too scared to even remember his name. He got right to work and even though it only took 15 minutes, it was the most pain I have ever felt in my life. He was not gentle, and I couldn't stop crying and shaking. I had to bite on my sleeve to avoid screaming. When it was all over he quickly exited the room with the jar. I never got to see the contents. I couldn't even sit up for five minutes. I was too dizzy. Finally, I got to my feet unsteadily. The cloth beneath me was covered in blood, and chunks of tissue covered my thighs. I felt like I was going to throw up.
I hurriedly dressed and met the woman in another room to go over the aftercare instructions. I felt relieved, as if a huge weight had been lifted. After I returned home, I felt an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, something that I later knew as regret. Something was missing. It hurt more than any heartbreak you could imagine. I had ended the life of an innocent child. I missed my baby.
I began to have nightmares and lose weight. I couldn't bring myself to eat anymore. I didn't want to live anymore. My boyfriend wouldn't even let me mention it. February 22nd is a day I'll remember forever as being the day of my biggest regret. 13 weeks and 4 days is such a short time to know someone, and it's painful to think I could have had a lifetime with him. I decided to give my baby the gender of male and name him Thorne. He needed to have an identity.
A few weeks after the procedure I looked back at the last ultrasound photograph and was shocked to see the body of an infant with a fully formed hand, raised as if waving goodbye. His arms were blurred which makes me believe that he was awake and moving. He looked like an angel, blurred arms like wings and outline like a glowing aura. Maybe he knew that something was wrong. Maybe he felt me crying. Maybe it was his way of saying goodbye to me. I just wish that I could have seen the screen, could have seen him move. But I never can and never will. I'll never hold him or hear his first word. I never should have listened to the people around me that pressured me. The regret and loneliness I feel now should never have to be felt by anyone else ever again. I truly wish I had listened to the people who said they regretted it. They were telling the truth.
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