Submitted by: MoMo

It has taken me almost three years to finally talk about this. The more I keep everything to myself, the more it hurts me. I am ready to talk about it. I hope I can reach out to other women who feel similar to how I did and still do. You are not alone. You deserve respect. You deserve to be heard. You are worthy.

This is my story; it begins with me discussing the day of the surgical abortion. Every time I close my eyes and think about that day, I can remember it all up to that point. The middle is me describing the aftermath of it. The end is my message to my unborn child. I refer to them as “Gummy Bear” because when I got my first ultrasound photos, the tech told me my baby was the size of a gummy bear. The “He” was my partner at the time.

Thank you for reading and letting my story be heard.

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Don’t want to wake up. Today is the day. I’m not looking forward to any of it. I already resent him. I wish he would change his mind last minute so we don’t have to go, but i’m still waiting. He doesn’t, by the way.

Going to atm to get cash out. Paying for something I don’t want to do, but we still go. He drives us downtown. We park fairly close for walking distance. The walk there is not even 5 minutes, but we (me) get harassed by the old man protesting outside telling me, “he can help me – I don’t have to do this”. We walk past the few protestors and we go in, get through security.

We go upstairs to the office to check in. Pay the rest of the money, and then we go back into waiting area to wait. They call me back for my pre-appointment counseling. They ask me about my health history and about my decision. I tell them I don’t want to do. I tell them he’s not forcing me to, but if it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be here. I want to say I don’t want this, but I know I can’t.

I have to continue lying despite my urge to just run out of that room, the building. The lady there can tell I’m hesitant. She keeps saying I don’t have to do this. I reassure her that I do. But really, I don’t.

I can’t remember if I am given the papers for the treatment after or before the surgery. I go back out to him though. We go up to another floor and check in once more. This is where they do them. We sit and wait, not for too long it seemed because I was still debating on running away.

They call me back into a room and a nurse talks to me again. She explains what will happen after as I will take two pills now (one for numbing, and then I think just an aspirin). We go and get him and then go into the room. I get undressed and do as they ask. They do one last ultrasound to determine gestation. This is when the doctor finds out I have uterus didelphys. They previously thought it was a bicornuate but it’s actually two separate.

She gives me some sort of shot, she said it was to numb the area. It didn’t feel very numbed though. She begins. The sound of the machine or tool she uses is like a whirring or a small buzzing, but it’s very distinct. When she begins, Ican feel it. I can hear it. The tugging inside of me, the pain and tightness. I look at him and just look at his face. I know he isn’t enjoying this either, but I can’t help but blame him for this.

I am yelling at him, begging him to get me out of here. Asking him why he did this to me. Asking him how he could do this to me. But nothing is coming out clearly because of my screaming and crying. The doctor tells me she’s done, but because of my uterus didelphys now, she wants to check the other side just to make sure. The nurse tells me to keep breathing and that it’s ok. It hurts so bad. I think the physical pain is unbearable, but what really hurts the most is knowing that your unborn child is getting ripped out of you. It truly does feel like your soul is being sucked out of you.

It wasn’t a long procedure in reality, but even then it felt like forever. The cramping afterwards, the bleeding. I was slightly “loopy” from the medicine they gave me earlier. I sat in the other room so the nurse could check my vitals regularly. I eat peanut butter crackers and water while I waited. The nurse told me I was able to go home now, walking in the hallway back to the waiting room. I’ve never felt more nauseous. We got to the waiting room. He came up to me, but I bent over the trash can and puked. Another patient asked one of the receptionists to get me a glass of water. That felt like the only act of kindness I was given that day.

Once I was able to get back on my feet, we made our way back to the car. We had to walk down the stairs to the main office/first floor. Then we could take the elevators down to the exit. We went outside. The protestors were still there. I was not having it from them. I made sure to walk past them and make no eye contact whatsoever. But the cramping. The heavy feeling. It hurts to walk back to the car. We only have to cross two sidewalks, but it feels like I can’t make it. We finally waddle back to the car. We go home. I don’t think we talked about it. We just sit in silence. I’m crying, I’m in pain. I hate myself for what I’ve done.

I don’t remember the exact details after we got home, but I know I stayed in bed with a heating pad for the weekend. I cried. a lot. I felt like it was unreal. I was pregnant an hour ago. Two hours ago. Five hours ago. 12 hours ago. You were still with me. I still had you. I couldn’t be around him the second night. I resented him so much. How could he sleep beside me knowing that this happened.

I left in the middle of the night. I drove to my parents. They knew I was coming. I got there and I cried more. Now I feel like a disappointment to my parents and my unborn child. I wrote a letter to you. It was a love letter, but an apology above all. I put both of your ultrasound pictures with the letter. I burned them. I burned the letter so you could read it in heaven. I burned the pictures in hopes that I won’t be reminded of what I’ve done. Maybe then I may find peace someday with my decision, but the latter is highly unlikely.

Every day since had been a battle. It’s really hard. It hurts knowing that there are people in the world, especially your own family, that will judge you. You’re judged for murdering your baby, but if you “choose life”, then you become shunned for all of the other circumstances. Where is the line? Where and when can people begin to understand the complexity of abortion.

Women who have had abortions just want to talk. They don’t want to feel alone. But how can they share their stories when the world is the way it is. I know most people who think women who get abortions just use that as a form of birth control, but I can certainly inform anyone that is usually not the case. They are wanted pregnancies; their babies are very much wanted. But there are so many instances where health (of both mother and baby), social, finances, etc., play the biggest role in the decision to get an abortion.

I do not blame him for my decision. I have all of my heart full of genuine love and respect for him. I know he was going through the same situation emotionally. He was just trying to deal with everything. I don’t blame him, I blame myself. I failed being a mother right from the start. I couldn’t protect my unborn baby. I wish I was stronger, and stood up for my gummy bear. They were so wanted and so loved already. The more the world told me I shouldn’t go through with the pregnancy, the more love I felt for them.

I have to live with the fact of what I’ve done for the rest of my life. It haunts me. I get triggered easily whenever the topic is brought up. I still cry a lot. I used to think that I would never be able to move on with my life. I didn’t think I could, but also I didn’t think I deserved to feel happy ever again. I thought that I deserved to be constantly reminded of how horrible I am — that because of what I had done, I deserve nothing good.

It has been almost two and a half years. There are still bad days, especially with everything that has been going on in this country recently. On the better days, I try to remind myself that as much as I regret going that day and making the decision I did, if I hadn’t, then I wouldn’t have my son now.

If and when we ever get to meet again, I hope they can forgive me. I hope they don’t think or feel they were unwanted. I have struggled with that feeling all my life. I will never ever want anyone else to feel that way, let alone my own children. I hope they know how loved they are. I hope they know that I love them and miss them dearly. I hope they know how sorry i am.