I never met the doctor. I was told by Planned Parenthood to bring loose fitting clothes. After the procedure, I was cautioned that I could hemorrhage and was explained the signs of infection.
I was in college. My boyfriend drove me from Starkville to Memphis; neither of us said very much on the way there, I just watched the trees as we drove. On the way back I was sick, frightened, cramping and in great emotional pain. I couldn't speak; I just stared out of the window as tears flooded down my face knowing that I had killed my child.
After a sedative and being strapped to the exam table I said, "I can't do this, let me up." After that, I was forcefully held down by two people and given another sedative this time and injection in the vein in my hand. I put my legs together and heard the doctor tell his assistant to do something about that they held my legs apart and I begged and called for my boyfriend. Today, I know that he never heard my screams. The doctor started the procedure and I felt pain and could hear the suction noise. I felt sick and could feel the hot tears flowing down my face. I just wanted to die.
The pain of the decision was heart rinsing because I wanted my baby, but I did not want to hurt my family. I sought help from Catholic Charities and at that time I could give my child up for adoption, but I wanted refuge so my family would not know and there were no resources for that. I was not strong enough emotionally to fight for my child and do the right thing. I have regretted my decision sense the day it was made. The pain never goes away. It was only this year, 33 years later that I have begun to heal and realize God can still love me but I have to learn to forgive myself which is very difficult.
Recently, my baby's father contacted me to say he was sorry for any pain he caused me. He was struggling with alcoholism and I have helped him in his fight. We have discussed the events of the abortion and have cried together.
I am too ashamed to share my story with anyone in my family, with the exception of my husband. I was unable to conceive and we have an adopted child. I would never want my child to know how weak I was. I thank God her mother was stronger at age 16 than I was at age 23. I believe my child is the sign that God forgave me, but I still struggle with forgiving myself.