Updated: Aug. 3, 2016 | Originally Published: Jan. 12, 2016
On a chilly winter afternoon in early 2013, I received the call I had been eagerly anticipating. At just 12 weeks into my pregnancy, the results of our advanced cell-free DNA test revealed everything was normal: no genetic disorders, no Down syndrome, and no Y chromosome. I already sensed it was a girl before the nurse confirmed it. Bursting with joy, I called my partner, exclaiming, “It’s a girl! I’m over the moon. We’re having our daughter!”
However, that excitement was short-lived. At 17 weeks and 4 days, I awoke with an unsettling feeling. My pajamas were damp, and panic surged through me. Something was dreadfully wrong.
As we made our way to the emergency room, confusion enveloped me. I was informed my water had broken, and all we could do was wait. My doctor advised bed rest for three days and scheduled a follow-up appointment. My partner wept as we gazed at the ultrasound of our tiny baby, but I felt numb. This couldn’t be happening to us. Surely, everything would turn out fine.
I returned home and attempted to carry on with my life. I began knitting a blanket for a friend who was also expecting, collected freezer meal ideas on Pinterest, and devoured the book Bringing Up Bébé.
On the morning of our follow-up appointment, I was still deeply entrenched in denial. But as we drove to the hospital, an ominous crack formed in my armor. Just as I instinctively knew I was having a girl, I now sensed I would soon lose her. The ultrasound confirmed my fears: she was still alive, but her time was limited.
Most of the following 24 hours are a blur, yet I recall a doctor embracing me and the decision to induce labor. I was escorted down a long corridor to the birthing suite. After changing into a hospital gown, I sat on the bed in a state my partner described as catatonic. The OB nurse entered, chatting cheerfully as if we were there for a routine delivery. When her laughter pierced the silence, the crack in my armor shattered completely. I fled to the bathroom, locked the door, and sank to the floor, crying harder than I ever had before.
Soon after, my midwife arrived, and it was determined that I couldn’t endure the process of giving birth to a dying child. A dilation and evacuation (D&E) was scheduled for the next day. Weeks later, I received an insurance statement from the hospital. There it was, in plain terms: “Elective Abortion.”
I was taken aback. Abortions, I thought, are for those who view their pregnancies as mistakes, who didn’t plan or want their children, and who took steps to terminate the pregnancy. I had lost my daughter; I did NOT abort her! Then it hit me: Yes, I did. Alongside my partner and medical team, we assessed the situation and made a decision. D&C, D&E, abortion—they were all the same in my case. In that moment, I felt no guilt; instead, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Thank goodness I had the choice. Thank goodness I lived in a time when I could assert, “Please don’t make me go through this,” and my wishes were honored.
Had I been forced to deliver my daughter, I would be a different person today—more guarded, sadder, and still mourning. I wouldn’t be the joyful mother I am to my seven-month-old son. For every woman who never wanted children, there are others who face circumstances that make motherhood unfeasible, like being too young, lacking financial stability, or, like me, being unable to bear the thought of losing a fragile life they desperately wanted.
For many of us, the choice to terminate doesn’t limit our capacity to be loving mothers; it shapes it. Yes, I am a mother—a good one. And yes, I have had an abortion.
If you’re interested in learning more about home insemination options, check out this article. For further resources on artificial insemination, this site is a great authority on the subject. Additionally, if you’re seeking information on pregnancy and infertility, the CDC offers excellent resources.
Summary:
In sharing my experience with miscarriage and the subsequent decision to have a D&E, I found my support for abortion rights reaffirmed. The emotional journey revealed the need for choice and respect for women’s health decisions. Ultimately, I emerged not only as a grieving mother but also as a strong advocate for women’s autonomy in reproductive choices.