I am 36 years old and married, and earlier this year, I underwent an abortion. It was undeniably the hardest experience I’ve ever faced. Despite this, I firmly believe that Roe v. Wade should continue to be upheld.
The prospect of a new Supreme Court Justice fills me with dread, as it could significantly impact my rights and those of countless other women. I have supported pro-choice values throughout my life, but many people overlook the fact that being pro-choice does not equate to being pro-abortion. No one desires an abortion, myself included — but I am profoundly thankful that I had access to one when I needed it.
I have opted to share my story anonymously, not out of shame, but to avoid the inevitable backlash from those who label me a baby killer. To those individuals, I want to express that the experience of having an abortion was both heart-wrenching and traumatic; words can hardly capture the depth of my sorrow.
I am grateful that, as of this writing, the law allows me control over my own body. My husband and I spent seven and a half years together before we began trying to conceive. Within a span of nine months, I became pregnant twice, both of which ended in miscarriage — the first at 11 weeks after hearing the heartbeat, and the second just shy of seven weeks.
Describing the process of miscarriage is difficult; I was overwhelmed with grief as the hope of motherhood slipped away. There were moments when the pain was so intense that I had to crawl on my hands and knees. And then it was gone — after laboring, I was left with emptiness.
Following my second miscarriage, tests revealed that I have a balanced translocation, a chromosomal anomaly that increases the likelihood of miscarriages. My husband and I chose to pursue in vitro fertilization (IVF) so we could screen embryos for chromosomal abnormalities before implantation. On our first attempt, I successfully became pregnant for the third time.
This pregnancy felt promising, and after enduring constant nausea, I was thrilled to reach the second trimester for the first time, believing we were expecting a healthy baby. We shared the joyful news with family and friends, and during the 20-week anatomy scan, we laughed as the fetus made it difficult for the technician to take measurements. I joked about how active the baby was, thinking how if it were a girl, I’d be facing payback for my own teenage years.
Then the doctor delivered the devastating diagnosis: the fetus had Thanatophoric Dysplasia, a lethal genetic mutation that affects one in every 20,000 to 50,000 pregnancies. There was no possibility for survival outside the womb. A second opinion confirmed this, and we were advised to terminate the pregnancy.
The term “terminating a pregnancy” feels softer than the reality of having an abortion, but it does not lessen the emotional weight of the decision. In the days following the diagnosis, I was inconsolable, lying in bed with the lights off, holding my belly and sobbing. I even called my parents to express my distress over the first part of the procedure: stopping the fetus’s heart.
With miscarriages, my body ended the pregnancies naturally, but this time, the responsibility was mine. Guilt consumed me; I worried the fetus wouldn’t understand why I had to do this. I would have done anything to keep my baby, even walk from California to Carolina if it meant preserving their life.
My parents reassured me that I was confusing the fetus’s movements with thought — there was no comprehension to be had. They urged me to recognize that this choice stemmed from love and compassion, as there would be no future for the baby.
Intellectually, I understood this, yet the guilt and emotional pain were overwhelming. I had to say goodbye to a child I had longed for and who needed me to let go.
Living in Texas, where abortion laws are some of the strictest, I faced additional hurdles. Ninety-three percent of counties lack abortion providers, and there is a 20-week ban on the procedure. I was exactly 20 weeks at the time of the diagnosis, and just three days later for the second opinion, meaning we had to act quickly.
My OB-GYN’s hospital wouldn’t perform abortions, and I would have had to appeal to a committee for the dilation and evacuation (D&E) procedure. Lacking both the strength and time to do this, we opted for a private clinic to ensure the fetal tissue could be tested.
Texas has imposed further restrictions that amplify the emotional distress of the process. When I called to schedule my appointment, I learned there was a mandatory 24-hour waiting period, meaning we needed to start the process the next day. I was also informed about a state-mandated website regarding abortion services — a cruel reminder of the hurdles we faced.
On Day 1 of the procedure, I was required to undergo an ultrasound and listen to the heartbeat of the fetus. This added emotional burden is hard to articulate. The absence of a heartbeat or movement wouldn’t have changed my situation; it felt like an unnecessary punishment for a grieving woman.
Three days later, my pregnancy was over. What if the scan had been just a week later? I might have been too far along for a legal abortion in Texas. I could have flown to California to have the procedure, but only because I had the financial means to do so. Abortions are costly, often exceeding $3,000, and not all women can afford that. My insurance certainly didn’t cover it.
I was relieved to know that organizations like Planned Parenthood are there for women during such critical times, and the day after my procedure, I made sure to contribute to them. But I worry about the future if Roe v. Wade is overturned or significantly restricted.
As the confirmation process for Judge Kavanaugh unfolds, I find myself wondering what will become of my rights. I plan to try for a fourth pregnancy, but my past experiences give me pause. Unforeseen, fatal complications can arise, and I fear the consequences if Texas further restricts abortion access.
What happens to women who can’t afford to travel out of state when faced with a similar diagnosis? Abortions are profoundly personal and traumatic, regardless of what anti-choice advocates claim. The majority of Americans believe that Roe v. Wade should not be overturned, so why do a small, diminishing group of individuals have the power to dictate the fate of my body and my life?
As the confirmation hearings approach, I, as a concerned citizen, commit to reaching out to my Senators to voice my opinion. If you share my belief that access to safe and legal abortion is crucial, I urge you to do the same. For more information on home insemination, you can visit this excellent resource.
In summary, my experience with abortion was incredibly painful, yet it reinforced my belief in the necessity of legal access to this option for women. The emotional toll of such a decision cannot be understated, and it is essential we continue to fight for reproductive rights.