Parenting
Her name was Lily. She was my second daughter, and she was stillborn due to Trisomy 18, a chromosomal disorder that is considered incompatible with life. My love for her was immense, yet I ultimately sought to end my pregnancy with her.
It was this deep love that drove my desire for an abortion, but I was denied that right due to the political climate in our state. As I cradled her tiny, lifeless body in my arms after her birth, I made a vow to fight for others to avoid the pain we experienced.
At 16 weeks, a routine blood test indicated a 1 in 10 chance our baby had Trisomy 18. The following day, my doctor arranged for a specialist appointment. An ultrasound revealed a cystic hygroma (a fluid-filled pocket at the back of her neck that can be fatal), a clubbed foot, and growth restrictions, as she was measuring nearly a week behind. We had to wait a week for an amniocentesis since the amniotic sac hadn’t yet fused to the uterine wall. During this time, I researched the disorder and connected with families through the Trisomy 18 Foundation.
While we awaited the results, my husband and I faced the most challenging conversation of our lives: what to do if our daughter was diagnosed. We understood that once she was born, doctors wouldn’t perform any life-saving measures due to her condition. Our greatest wish was to spare her from suffering, but how could we make a decision to end her life? As her mother, I felt it was my responsibility to protect her. We opted for a labor and delivery abortion, also referred to as “saying goodbye early” by the Trisomy 18 Foundation. This would allow us to hold her, take photographs, and have her remains for cremation.
Despite my instincts telling me she had the disorder, I was devastated when the diagnosis was confirmed. I don’t recall much from that day except for my tears and the repeated words, “She was so wanted. I wanted her so much.” I thought obtaining the procedure would be straightforward since abortion is legal in the U.S. Initially, my doctor believed we could proceed. However, after a few days, she informed us that, due to the political climate, no local hospitals would perform the procedure. We were advised to travel four hours to Atlanta to a clinic specializing in late-term abortions. Though it wasn’t our first choice, I was desperate to prevent my child from suffering.
Upon reaching the clinic, we learned we wouldn’t be able to hold her, take pictures, or receive her remains. This news shattered me, but my desire to spare her from pain took precedence. We were told we would be separated from women undergoing procedures for different reasons, but that didn’t happen. Instead, we sat in a waiting room filled with women who were ending their pregnancies for reasons other than fetal anomalies. I didn’t wish for a perfect baby; I simply wanted one who would live. Surrounded by others carrying healthy babies, I felt the weight of my reality. If Tennessee’s laws were different, we could have avoided this experience entirely.
As we waited, my husband’s presence and the book I had brought, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” kept me grounded. The story resonated with our situation, reminding me that there are things worse than death. After nearly four hours, we were informed that due to a paperwork error, we couldn’t proceed that day and would need to return the following week. An ultrasound revealed our daughter had minimal brain matter and significantly reduced amniotic fluid, confirming our fears about her kidneys.
The decision to terminate was the hardest choice we’ve ever faced, and the emotional toll of traveling to Atlanta was overwhelming. Unable to endure this again, we chose to return home and let nature take its course. Each day, I questioned whether she had died and if I was unknowingly carrying a lifeless baby. Morning after morning, I wondered if this would be the day. I was a wreck, losing 12 pounds in just two weeks. Yet, somehow, I got out of bed each morning, trying to create a life for my daughter, even amidst my turmoil.
Lily was stillborn, and I found solace in knowing she would never suffer. I pledged to advocate for others to share our story and challenge laws limiting a woman’s healthcare choices. I have engaged in debates online, spoken before our state legislature, and created a commercial, fighting against restrictive state laws. No shame should accompany the loving decision parents make for a sick child. If a child is declared brain dead, parents can choose to turn off life support. If a child faces a terminal illness, parents can opt to stop treatment. Why should we not have the same rights for our unborn child? Is it merely because she wasn’t born yet?
While I advocate fiercely for a woman’s right to choose, I also support the right to carry a pregnancy to term. There is no one-size-fits-all answer for families facing tough prenatal diagnoses. We love our children and wish for their best, and we should have the freedom to make those choices.
For more insights into pregnancy and decision-making, you might find this article on artificial insemination helpful. Additionally, check out Make A Mom for expert advice on home insemination.
In summary, my journey with Lily was filled with heartbreak, love, and the fight for autonomy over my choices. I continue to advocate for all families facing similar situations, believing that everyone deserves the right to make the best decision for their child.