Updated: January 25, 2019
Originally Published: August 21, 2015
Every morning, I wake up and scroll through Facebook, catching up on the latest news and, more often than not, baby announcements and adorable photos of little ones. I genuinely love these posts. However, in recent weeks, my feed has been inundated with discussions surrounding Planned Parenthood.
Initially, I hesitated to watch the videos related to the organization. I was worried that, given my own situation, I might be deeply disturbed. Surprisingly, I found myself more anxious about the impending future of the organization. They have bravely faced numerous challenges, but the current wave of hostility has even stirred concern within the pro-choice community. This surge in attention coincides with an election cycle where new abortion restrictions are being proposed at both state and federal levels, making it painfully clear just how much women stand to lose.
To give you some context, I’m an OB/GYN. I trained in a conservative state where state funding meant that abortions weren’t performed at my hospital. As a result, I rarely interacted with women seeking that option. Nevertheless, I’ve always identified as pro-choice, believing that no one should judge another’s reproductive decisions unless they’ve walked in their shoes.
My own pregnancy journey had been smooth sailing up until my second child. After having some difficulty conceiving my first, I was pleasantly surprised to find out I was pregnant again on our very first attempt. I experienced some nausea for about 16 weeks, but it was manageable. I was finally feeling better and starting to show. It was exciting—nurses and patients even began to ask if I was pregnant.
At just under 12 weeks, we received the results from our early genetic screening: all clear for conditions like Down syndrome and other serious disorders. We were thrilled to discover we were expecting a girl. As an OB, I always feared the worst, but everything had appeared normal, and I was already shopping for nursery items and talking to my son about his future sister.
At 19 weeks, we had our anatomy scan with the high-risk obstetrician. My husband, who is also an OB/GYN, knew the sonographer, and we were joking about our little girl’s modesty when he suddenly struggled to get a clear view of her heart. The mood shifted from casual banter to unease. He began using terms like “overriding” and “stenosis,” which, although familiar to me, felt ominous. When he gently touched my hand and said, “This isn’t your fault,” I knew something was amiss.
The high-risk doctor entered, and they began to examine the heart more closely. We left knowing there was an issue, but without any specifics. They offered an amniocentesis, but I hesitated. The 20-week deadline for termination was mentioned, but it felt abstract. We decided to proceed with the amnio, hoping for reassurance.
During the procedure, the same doctor reassured us, but also mentioned a possible diagnosis of Tetralogy of Fallot. I was familiar with this condition; it often requires surgery in infancy but generally has a good prognosis. We felt some relief, believing we could manage this situation.
However, a subsequent fetal echo revealed a more complex issue: Tetralogy of Fallot with absent pulmonary valve. My heart sank as the cardiologist explained the severity of the condition. The pulmonary arteries were enlarged and could lead to significant complications. He mentioned the 20-week, 6-day cutoff for termination, and we were just a day shy of that deadline.
The weekend that followed was a blur of shock and emotional turmoil. We debated termination, weighing our daughter’s potential suffering against our family’s well-being. Each decision felt laden with guilt. As parents, we want to give our children the best possible life, and choosing to end a pregnancy felt like a betrayal.
Ultimately, we sought a second opinion, hoping for clarity. The second cardiologist confirmed the diagnosis and outlined the grim possibilities ahead. If our baby survived the birth, she might face a life of surgeries, medical interventions, and possible suffering. It felt as though we were being asked to choose between suffering for our daughter and our own emotional pain.
After much deliberation, we made the heart-wrenching decision to terminate the pregnancy. We didn’t take this lightly; we felt that bringing her into a world where we knew she would suffer was simply not humane. We initiated the process, navigating through mandatory counseling that seemed so out of touch with our reality.
As we prepared for the procedure, I was overwhelmed with grief. My body was betraying me in ways I never anticipated. The whole experience was a painful reminder of how vital it is for women to have control over their reproductive choices. Restrictions like a 20-week abortion ban threaten to strip that control away, leaving women with impossible decisions that may not align with their realities.
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In summary, the implications of a 20-week abortion ban extend far beyond legalities; they reach into the deeply personal decisions women face. It’s a stark reminder of the importance of reproductive rights and the need for empathy and understanding in discussions about women’s health.