It was a girl. On a chilly winter afternoon in early 2013, I received the call I had been anticipating. At 12 weeks pregnant, the results of our advanced cell-free DNA test had arrived: no genetic abnormalities, no Down syndrome, and no Y chromosome. I instinctively knew it was a girl before the nurse confirmed it, and I couldn’t contain my excitement as I called my partner, bursting with joy: “It’s a girl! I can’t believe it—we’re getting our girl!”
However, our joy was short-lived. At 17 weeks and 4 days, I awoke with an unsettling feeling. My pajamas were damp, and my heart raced with anxiety. Something was wrong.
As we entered the emergency room that morning, confusion enveloped me. My water had broken, and the only option was to wait. My doctor prescribed bed rest for three days and scheduled a follow-up for the following Tuesday. My partner was in tears as we gazed at the ultrasound of our tiny baby, while I remained detached; it felt surreal. This couldn’t be happening to us. Surely, everything would be fine.
I returned home and attempted to carry on with normal life. I began knitting a blanket for a friend who was also expecting, collected freezer meal recipes on Pinterest, and read through “Bringing Up Bébé” from cover to cover.
On the morning of our follow-up appointment, I was still engulfed in denial, but as we drove to the hospital, a crack appeared in my façade. Just as I had known she was a girl before anyone told me, I sensed she was slipping away. The ultrasound confirmed my fears: she was still alive, but not for long.
Much of the subsequent 24 hours is hazy, but I recall a physician comforting me, the decision to induce labor, and being guided down a long corridor to a birthing suite. I changed into a gown and sat on the bed in what my partner described as a state of shock. When the OB nurse entered, she chatted amiably, treating our situation as if it were an ordinary birth. As her voice rose in laughter, the dam of my composure broke. I fled to the restroom, locked the door, and cried harder than I ever thought possible.
My midwife arrived shortly thereafter, and it was determined that I could not endure the emotional toll of delivering a dying child. A dilation and evacuation (D&E) was scheduled for the next day. Weeks later, I received the insurance statement detailing my procedure, and there it was, in stark language: Elective Abortion.
How could they label it that way? I thought. Abortions are for those who see their pregnancies as mistakes—those who never wanted to become parents in the first place. I lost my daughter; I did NOT abort her! But then it dawned on me: Yes, I did make that choice. Alongside my partner and my medical team, we evaluated the facts and my emotional well-being to reach a conclusion. D&C, D&E, abortion—they all meant the same in my situation. In that moment, I felt no guilt; I felt relief. Thank goodness I had the option. Thank goodness I lived in a time when I could express, “Please don’t make me do this,” and be heard and respected.
Why is this significant? Because had I been forced to leave that hospital room and give birth to my daughter, I would be a fundamentally different person today—more hardened, timid, and perpetually sorrowful. I would grieve daily. I wouldn’t be the joyful mother I am today to my 7-month-old son. Just as there are women who never wanted children, there are those like me who may be too young, financially unprepared, or pursuing their education—unable to face the reality of being handed a fragile life they longed for but could not bear to see.
For many of us, the decision to abort does not diminish our capacity to be loving mothers in the future; it defines it. Yes, I am a mother—a devoted one. And yes, I had an abortion.
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Summary:
The author reflects on her experience with miscarriage and how it solidified her support for abortion rights. After discovering her baby had stopped developing, she faced the emotional turmoil of choosing to have a D&E procedure. This experience led her to understand the importance of having choices when it comes to motherhood and the impact such decisions have on the future.