|A Voice for My Children|
Georgia, United States
|This week has been a complete hell.
Someone asked if I had heard about the doctor in Orlando who has been in a lot of trouble, and when I searched for news about it, I realized it was James Pendergraft, the doctor who did my abortions. He has now had his medical license suspended for the FOURTH time, this time for performing late-term abortions past the time when they are legal.
When I saw a picture of the clinic, I crumbled. When I saw a picture of the doctor, I began weeping and I couldn’t stop.
Every sight, every sound, every feeling came back. I can still remember the poster on the ceiling. It was the last thing I saw before I fell asleep from the anesthesia, and the first thing I saw when I woke up.
The article was full of stories about women like me…ones who have suffered for months, even years, because of incomplete abortions.
There was a woman who was awake and saw her baby being pulled from her as his body fell apart in the doctor’s hands. They had her frantic 911 call as she decided she wanted the baby to live after seeing that it actually IS a baby, but no one at the clinic would help. By the time the ambulance arrived, the baby was dead.
It’s an uncomfortable subject…because if I call it a baby, if I admit that it was a boy or a girl who had 10 fingers and 10 toes and a life that was already mapped out by God, then I am calling myself a killer. If I talk about it, blog about it, pray about it, then that makes it real.
But just when I think I’ve pushed the memories far enough behind that they won’t catch up with me, there they are again.
The self-hatred is paralyzing. It lurks closely and tells me that I don’t deserve happiness. The guilt is suffocating. It has affected every relationship I have. I can’t trust or attempt intimacy.
I would take a bullet for my out-of-the-womb children. Why didn’t I protect the ones inside?
I have given up hope that the past could have been different. I cannot change what I did. Every Bible study, counseling session, and prayer seems to just be a band-aid over a wound that will NEVER heal.
So, I will be a voice for my children who only know heaven. I will be a voice for the millions of women who live in regret, guilt, self-hatred and fear of being “found out”. I will be painfully honest about every feeling I have, and I will stand up for life even when it’s unpopular and politically incorrect. So, please spare me your pro-life/pro-choice arguments. I know what I saw. I know how I feel. I will NEVER be the same. I will NEVER get over it.
And if I don’t take this pain and make it my purpose, I think it might kill me.