I used to be Pro Choice.


I used to be pro choice.

I grew up knowing all about abortion and seeing it firsthand. My biological mother was pro choice. I don’t know how many abortions she had before her young death, but I do remember one vividly.

I remember riding in the car leaving a random house, a random guy. It was a confusing time. I probably didn’t understand much. I don’t remember him at all.

I remember the drive from the facility after her procedure. She wasn’t sad at all. She was angry. She was always angry. She was in physical pain and this led to more anger. I remember sitting in the back seat completely silent hoping I would disappear. I was young and didn’t understand much, but I knew what an abortion was and I knew she had just had one. It was never spoken about again.

As the alcohol, drugs and abuse in our home escalated, somehow a way out opened up and I found myself in a new life with a new family. My liberal upbringing was colliding with my conservative surroundings and emotionally I found myself seeing a lot if grey. (Probably why I’m still a person that naturally leans both ways.)

Fast forward…a healthy wonderful marriage and a baby on the way. Our first visit with the Dr. was to happen at 12 weeks. Days before our visit, things started to go wrong. I experienced a trauma, and this threw my newly pregnant body into an emotional and physical tailspin. I was in pain and bleeding, and after a trip to the Dr. the day before our appointment, it was confirmed that there was going to be no baby born to us from this pregnancy. I was sent home where I laid in the bath tub for hours with terrible cramping and pain, as everything that was once inside my body came out. Through my tears, I cleaned out our bathtub in our modest little starter home, and discarded the pieces that my husband and I made together. My heart began to change on what is and isn’t a “baby”.

Terms like “fetus” and “clump of cells” didn’t adequately describe the experience. It didn’t describe what I was seeing and experiencing emotionally. My baby. The baby that was inside of me was never to grow into anything more than a once heartbeat, and I found it hard to breathe. It was graphic. This is graphic. I’m sorry.

Moving on, we had a healthy baby boy, and life was amazing! I was pregnant again, we were happy, we were growing and our family was growing. We had told our families and friends how excited we were to grow to a family of 4, but that wasn’t going to happen just yet.

I knew it was happening again. There was no trauma this time, life was great and I was stress free. My body and that which grew in it were battling, I saw the signs and the fear set in. We went straight to the Dr. where it was confirmed that our BABY had stopped developing. There was no heart beat, there was no longer life. There was decaying flesh that could and would harm me if we didn’t remove it. Again, there is no breath, and there are no words. Just tears.

The day I went in for my procedure, the same procedure commonly used in abortion, I can’t describe who I was. I wasn’t me, I was just this person full of fear and tears and something that was no longer alive inside of me. I was shaking. Nick held my hand. I asked to see the screen again before we started and asked that we all be very very quiet…I needed to know the heart was no longer beating. It wasn’t. I went to sleep and when I woke up it was all gone. Everything from inside me had been sucked out, and emotionally I felt about the same. I don’t remember the drive home…just the sobbing. We came in the door, I went to bed. I stayed there for a very long time. The physical pain was only outdone by the emotional hurt. This wasn’t a quick and easy procedure. It drained me physically and emotionally. It hurt to walk, it hurt to breathe.

It hit me like a ton of bricks, heartbeat=LIFE. When there was no heartbeat, I accepted that there was no longer life…but I also had to accept that there WAS LIFE that was now GONE.

My grey got a little less grey.