Sunday, 23 May 2010

  • My Abortion Story

    I was nineteen, and was attending college across the country from home.  I was on a full scholarship, one of those promising middle-income students from a two-parent family--an unlikely statistic for teen pregnancy.  Yet, I knew I was in no position to raise a child.  I had no income aside from my summer job, which paid minimum wage, and my boyfriend was in a similar position.  I would have nowhere to live, no family to turn to for support.  I wouldn't be able to give my child any kind of decent home at all.

    These were all things I knew intimately and forcefully as soon as I saw the pregnancy test read positive.

    My boyfriend told me that no matter what I decided to do, he would support me fully.  It was truly my choice--THAT choice, the choice that people who are "pro-choice" say every woman ought to have the right to make.

    I had put myself in a corner, and as difficult as it was, I could see no other options but to have an abortion, or to put my baby up for adoption when the time came.  I thought about my morals; I thought about what I was and wasn't willing to do, and why. In the end, I chose what I felt to be the lesser of two evils.

    The US Department of Health and Human services reports that for the past 10 years in the foster care system, over 130,000 children per year have been awaiting adoption, while just over 50,000 are adopted annually.  For me, putting my child up for adoption would be cowardly.  Irresponsible.  It would be passing my problem on to other people, to society, to the thousands of children already waiting to be adopted, just so that I could spare myself and my conscience the pain of constantly knowing that I had done the unthinkable.

    I had my abortion at eight weeks.

    I know what I did.  I terminated a life that would one day have been my son or my daughter, in a process that can only be described crudely as having the contents of my uterus sucked out through a tube.  What can I say to defend myself? 

    Nothing, really.  I can only say that I faced my decision squarely, that although I felt as if my soul would wither up and die, I didn't look away while the technician performed the pre-abortion ultrasound.  "That's the pregnancy," she said, pointing to a little bump in the corner of the image.  It looked like a pea.  (Oh, little bump.  If you only knew how much your father and I loved you, despite how hard we tried not to while I was awaiting my appointment.  You didn't suffer, though, I hope--and I am glad.)

    I don't know, and will never know, if I made the right decision.  That is up to God, or the universe, or fate.

    Note from Momaroo Team: We understand what an incredibly sensitive and personal topic abortion is. We decided to share this post with the Momaroo community because it gives a rare glimpse into a reader's experience with abortion. Whatever your feelings about abortion may be, we hope everyone will keep the conversation respectful about this difficult topic.

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