That time I had an abortion.

WARNING-GRAPHIC CONTENT-READER DISCRETION ADVISED

NO, SERIOUSLY, THIS HAS SOME PRETTY RAW PARTS.  

DON'T LET YOUR KIDS READ THIS.

5 years ago, I had an abortion.  Gordon and I had Alia, Gannon, and Siri.  We were pregnant with our fourth and thrilled that God was growing our family.  We had gone to Illinois to see my parents for Christmas, and drove 17 hours home.

December 28th:  I had scheduled my 20 week ultrasound for the day after we got back to fit in with travel and school (I was ready to start my final semester of RN school).  I took the three kids to the doctors with me.  Alia and Gannon were reading, and wanted to stay in the car.  Alia was 14, Gannon was 4, so that was OK with me.  I took Siri in with me for a quick heart beat check and to schedule our gender ultrasound.  The doctor had a hard time finding the heart beat.  She assured me that baby was probably in a bad position, and she'd take me for a quick ultrasound to make sure baby was ok.  We went to the ultrasound room.  I held Siri and prayed.  

"Well, that's not what I was expecting to see at all.  I'll be right back."  She put down the wand and left the room.  My doctor and another physician came into the dimly lit room.  I was still holding 18 month old Siri.  The wand slid from one side of my belly to the other, with both doctors shaking their heads.  I heard "Did you check that angle?.....Do you see anything there?...."  The practitioner I didn't know started to leave.  He touched my sock clad foot and said "I'm so sorry."  Sorry about what?  I knew.  No one had said it yet.
"Well, it looks like baby died, and he's been dead for a while, he has what we call 'lemon head'."  I learned later this is called Spalding's Sign. "Go ahead and take a moment.  You can leave in a few minutes.  My surgery scheduler will call you tomorrow so we can schedule a D&E."  She left the room.  

My heart was in my throat.  I couldn't even call Gordon.  I couldn't call Gordon and tell him our baby was dead.  I picked Siri up and walked to the car.  I lost it.  I wept.  I didn't say a word to Alia or Gannon.  I started driving, but I wasn't really sure where I was going.  I called.  He was on a job site.  Normally that means hours of not being able to reach him.  He didn't answer.  I texted (yes, while I was driving) 911.  He called.  I couldn't even think of words.  I was still crying.  "The baby died.  I don't know what to do."  I don't remember much of the rest of that day.  I called some friends, I called some family, Gordon came home.  The rest of the next few days were a blur.  

December 29th: The next day, the surgery scheduler called late in the day.  "We can get you in January 19th."  I was going to have to stay pregnant with my dead baby boy for another 3 weeks.  I panicked.  I told Gordon I would use a coat hanger before that.  I wouldn't, COULDN'T stay pregnant with my dead son for three weeks.  I wasn't sure I could make it for three DAYS.  He called my doctor.  "Take a Unisom and go to bed" was the response.

December 29th:  I slept most of the day.  When I woke up in the afternoon and realized I would have to stay pregnant for several weeks, I started to have a total breakdown.  I was not strong enough to do that.  I didn't feel safe in my own body.  We went to the ER.  I got Ativan.  I thought about drinking.  I was still pregnant.  It didn't make sense.  They could be wrong and I might hurt the baby.

December 30th:  Gordon is a fixer.  He couldn't stand my depression.  He needed to fix me.  That's one of the things I love about him the most.  He started calling people.  He called OB/GYN's in San Antonio, Austin, Houston, Dallas-Fort Worth.  He called so many he lost track.  "My wife had a 20 week intrauterine fetal demise.  Her OB can't get her in till mid January.  Is there anyone in your office who could see her for a D&E in the next few days?"  It was like Mary and Joseph looking desperately for a place with no room in the inn, even for a baby that wouldn't take up a crib.  Finally, an office explained.  "A D&E is a specialized procedure.  There's a risk the head might pop off,  go through her uterus and float around her abdomen.  Then she'll need more surgery to remove the head.  It's pretty much a late term abortion."  The wheels started turning.  Calls were made to a different type of practitioner.  There was a place very close to where I went to school.  It would be $600.  Gordon called my doctors office with a plan in mind.  They said they couldn't stop us, but my doctor would like "fetal tissue" for "cytogenetic testing".  We would do what we could.

December 31st:  We went to the "clinic". I sat in a room with my husband, surrounded by people.  Some talking, even laughing, others more somnolent.  I didn't know any of their stories.  I didn't really care.  I knew MY story, and it wasn't one I wanted to tell.  They called me back to ultrasound.  I prayed in some quiet, secret place that it had been a mistake.  I knew it wasn't.  I was right.  They checked my antibodies.  I wouldn't need rhogam.  I knew that already, too.  They took me back to my room.  My bed was on the back wall with the door to the right.  In between the door and the bed was a table with canisters that dropped down under neath.  The suction was hooked up.  A stool sat in the opposite corner to the door.  They asked if I wanted sedation.  I said no.  The doctor recommended I take it, and I wasn't really in a mental position to argue.  I lay there, with a tech and the doctor in the room wondering what I'd done wrong... 

I don't remember a lot of the procedure.  I remember the sound of the suction.  More harsh and grainy than a vacuum cleaner.  I remember asking to see him.  If I could see my son.  The tech told me there were just pieces. That was ok.  I needed something I could identify as human so I knew this was real, so that I knew I had been a mom to this "fetal tissue".  When they finished, the tech escorted me to recovery. Gordon still wasn't allowed to come back.  I didn't want him there.  I felt like I'd failed him... As a wife, as a woman.  I couldn't even grow him a baby.  What a loser.  

They were closing when I finished " recovering". As I walked out, the tech handed me a specimen cup. "For your doctor to do the testing.  Just take it to the lab." It was his arm.  

Gordon drove us home.  I was wearing my Navy sweatshirt.  The cup was in my pocket.  We picked up the kids at home, our sitter had to go take care of her family.  The five of us drove to an area hospital, and came into the ER with me.  The registration clerk looked at me with confusion and disgust.  It was ok, I felt the same way about myself and the circumstances.  

I sat in a fast track room in the ER for what seemed like hours, my " specimen " tucked safely into my pocket.  A nurse came in to take it.  I started crying, apologized, and asked for just a few more minutes.  This was the only time I would be able to hold my baby outside my womb.  She came back, and I relented.

I left the ER about 9pm.  We drove home, and there was nothing.  I didn't think I was sad, mad, tired... I was empty.  I went to bed.  

When I woke up, it was a new year, a new semester, and I'd like to say new faith, but that part took time.  I Tried to avoid feeling, thinking... I did give it to God in enough time to find out I was pregnant early February.  That pregnancy ended in demise as well, but it was such a different experience.  I had grown in faith and in humanity.

Why am I sharing this?  Especially on what is supposed to be a light, fun, kids say silly things post?  Partly for my own selfish reasons.  5 years ago, I had an abortion.  I don't think I ever really "processed" it.  I thank you for letting me do so.

The other reason is for a cry to humanity.  My experience was so....bizarre....but God taught me SO much.  The staff at the clinic were truly amazing.  Their empathy and gentile care was a million times more than what I'd received from my "Christian", respectable, respected OB.  They were more compassionate in a place that is shunned and picketed than at an office of high repute.
So before you judge, picket, slam, protest....think about ALL the people involved.  Instead of holding up a graphic sign, sit down outside and take a woman to coffee.  Take her to lunch.  Get to know her as a person.  You don't know HER story, and she doesn't know yours.  Make a difference.  Be Jesus.  Save lives.  An abortion clinic saved mine....