As a proud Democrat, my pro-choice stance might come as no surprise, but what you may not realize is that I’ve always held a strong anti-abortion belief. I believed that, regardless of circumstances, my baby was mine, and I would find a way to make it work. That was until the day I faced a decision I never imagined I would have to make.
During our 19-week anatomy ultrasound, the technician’s unusual silence set off alarm bells in my mind. Despite my efforts to remain calm, I soon learned that our precious baby girl, whom we named Lily, was diagnosed with skeletal dysplasia. My husband, Mark, held my hand and smiled reassuringly as we looked at our daughter’s tiny features and beating heart. She was perfect, and we believed we could handle this challenge. However, the doctor’s use of the word “lethal” shattered our hopes. It became clear that Lily would not survive.
Typically, babies with dwarfism are not easily identifiable on ultrasounds until later in pregnancy, but Lily’s short limbs were a clear signal of the severity of her condition. While I could have continued the pregnancy, we learned that her rib cage would prevent her lungs from functioning properly, leading to her death shortly after birth. Faced with this heartbreaking reality, our decision was clear: we could terminate now or endure the anguish of watching her suffer for the brief moments of her life.
I found myself grappling with a world that often overlooks the complexities of such choices. I wished more than anything that she could have been born a dwarf; the joy of having her in our lives would have been immense. But I knew that I couldn’t let her endure unnecessary suffering, even if it meant my own pain.
To my surprise, I received overwhelming support from friends and family, including those who typically align with pro-life views. They recognized that our situation was far from ordinary. Despite our conviction that we were making the right choice for Lily, we faced challenges from the healthcare system. Insurance would only cover expenses if I carried her to term, leading us to a difficult financial decision to proceed with the procedure. This was never about rejecting our daughter; it was about love and compassion for her.
The procedure spanned two days. On the first morning, I was engulfed in fear and sorrow. As I lay on the table, Mark gently placed his head on my belly, whispering, “Daddy loves you, Lily.” In that moment, the weight of our loss overwhelmed me. This was not just my journey; it was a collective experience that affected many.
They administered medication to ease my anxiety and pain, followed by the insertion of laminaria to dilate my cervix. Then came the moment when they injected Lily to stop her heartbeat, and I felt a profound emptiness wash over me.
After the procedure, I was physically sore, but deep emotional fatigue weighed heavily on my heart. The next morning, I awoke feeling crampy and hollow. Labor began earlier than expected, prompting us to rush to the clinic. Outside, protesters shouted, displaying graphic images, but I was unfazed. They didn’t know the reality I had faced; I was an informed woman making a heart-wrenching decision.
In a matter of moments after entering the clinic, my water broke, and the evacuation process began. I was no longer afraid; Lily’s life had always been my priority.
In the aftermath, a nurse presented me with my daughter. Though her little face bore marks from the procedure, I took the time to caress her tiny limbs and count her toes, whispering words of love. She was beautiful and perfect, my daughter.
The days following this experience have been surreal. I find myself discussing her as if she were still here, as if we were still waiting for her arrival. Even though I held her and went through the procedure, it’s hard to grasp that she’s truly gone.
I refuse to refer to her as “the fetus” or to say I “terminated my pregnancy.” Her name is Lily, and I made the choice to spare her from suffering. This isn’t a statistic or a political standpoint—this is my reality. While everyone is entitled to their opinions, no one has the right to judge my choice. This experience has been the most painful of my life, yet I wouldn’t change a thing. I will carry the memory of Lily with me always, knowing that she felt only the warmth of my embrace and the love of her father.
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In summary, facing the decision to abort my daughter was a heartbreaking but necessary choice to prevent her suffering. Despite the pain, I took comfort in knowing that I spared Lily from a life of anguish, and her memory will forever live on in my heart.