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Testimonies
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For Those With No Voice
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Sandi
New York,
United States
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When I was fifteen years old, I became pregnant by my first boyfriend.
I didn't know what to do. I was afraid to tell my parents. I did not want them to be upset and disappointed with me.
There were several girls in my school who also had unplanned pregnancies, I found out through these girls that one of the counselors who worked in our high school helped girls who got pregnant. Her name was Ms. G. She was in her mid-twenties and, in my eyes, very hip. She only saw the female students. Every time I spied her in the hall there was always a small group of girls surrounding her, laughing and talking. I wanted to be one of the girls in her little clique. When I found out she could help me, I was beyond relieved.
Ms. G agreed to see me during my lunch period. I told her I was pregnant, and she asked me how far along I was.
I told her when my last period had been. She said that was good because I wasn't too far along. She could get me an appointment at an abortion clinic. She explained to me that what was inside me was NOT a baby. “It was cells, ONLY CELLS,” she stressed. I thought Ms. G was amazing; she even called the clinic for me and helped me set up the appointment. The abortion would cost $320 cash, a huge sum of money for a fifteen year old.
I needed time to get the money, but Ms. G assured me that as long as I did the procedure before the end of my 12th week it was fine. I set the appointment as far into that 12th week as possible so there would be time to raise the $320.
Ms. G said that there would be pro-life demonstrators outside the clinic. "Just ignore them; push right past them," she said.
My boyfriend and a mutual friend accompanied me to the clinic. When we arrived, it was pouring rain. There was one man standing outside, a protestor, the enemy in my book. Ms. G said they would yell and shout at me; I was afraid and nauseous at the sight of this lone man standing in the rain. As we approached him he spoke, "Please,” he said, “Pease don't kill your baby." His tone was kind, sad and desperate. I kept walking. I heard him say the name Jesus, I think, but by that time we were in the clinic door and, thankfully, he was no longer a threat.
The first thing they asked for at the desk was the $320 cash, which I handed over. I was glad that things were moving along and this would soon be over.
The wait was long. There were perhaps 5-7 other girls in the waiting area with me.
Finally, I was called back to a small office. There a woman had me fill out some papers, sign my name, and then she "counseled" me.
She told me my mom could be a big help in times like this. I remember thinking if I hadn't told my mom up to this point, I was certainly not going to tell her after the fact. How could I? It would upset her so much, and I couldn't bear to see my mom sad. I thought these things but never spoke aloud. I just nodded my head. She told me there would be a bill sent to my home in my name. She said the bill was for testing of the tissue. I assumed they were going to see if the cells and tissue were healthy (indeed, three months later a bill showed up. I tossed it in the trash and never received another).
She calculated how far along I was and then she led me out of the room. As we walked down the hall she turned to me with a tone of disgust and said, “Why did you wait so long!?” I was stunned. What did she mean? Ms. G told me I was 12 weeks along. At 12 weeks it wasn't a baby, it was cells, wasn't it? I was amazed at her tone and, suddenly, I was ashamed. I said, "I don't know,” and we continued walking.
She led me down a sloping corridor into a small room that was packed with people. I saw three cots on wheels directly in front of me. Behind that was a small row of chairs, to the left of the chairs a privacy screen, and in front of the screen, against the far left wall, was a small station with a few nurses. Through this room I was led into a very tiny room, just big enough to fit a gynecologic exam type table with stirrups, a few portable lights, and some type of machine apparatus.
I was instructed to lie on the table with my legs in the stirrups. I was then strapped into the stirrups. I was wondering why this was necessary, but the woman left the room before I had a chance to speak. I do not think that I would have spoken because I was too scared to ask questions.
I do not know if this tiny room had a door. If it did, they did not choose to use it. They left me there for some time, strapped to the table, my legs tied to the stirrups.
Behind me, through the open door, was the room full of people I described earlier. At one point, a man who appeared to be a custodian walked into the little room I was in. I felt horrified and embarrassed to be seen by this stranger. My impression was that he was there to clean or pick up soiled linens. I felt my privacy had been violated. I also felt shame.
After some time, someone came into the room and set up an IV. She told me it was for the anesthetic. She then left the room.
I didn't know when the anesthesia would take effect. Looking back, I now know they hadn't started it, but they were just getting everything ready to go.
A few minutes later a group of people came into the room.
A nurse told me to count backwards from one hundred. I began counting. I got to 96 and began to feel myself losing consciousness. I heard a woman's voice say, "She's out,” and then a man's voice say. "Let's get this one over with quickly. I want to go to lunch." I felt a panic rise in me, and I heard in my mind my own voice scream "NO!" I did not trust this man. Why was he treating me this way? I then heard a loud sound, like a rumbling of an engine or generator.
The next thing I remember was the sensation of hands under my arms and legs. I heard voices. I knew they were lifting me, and I was still trying to say "no", but I was totally helpless. I could not speak or move, and it scared me.
I opened my eyes and I was in that crowded room. There was a woman in a cot next to me. She asked me if I was okay. She motioned over to another girl on a cot who was shaking and still unconscious. "You were doing that a minute ago; it's what happens before you wake up."
"This time", she continued, "I decided to just do the light anesthesia, so I was awake. I am sorry I did that. It was awful, I could hear the machine". I had the impression she was a prostitute. We spoke for a few minutes. She seemed like a nice person, and it felt good to talk to someone.
The nurses had me sit up. They said when I was ready, I could move to one of the seats. I forced myself to be well enough to get to the seat.
I watched the process going on in the room. The order was cot, seat, change into your street clothes, cookies and juice at the nurse’s station, and then out. There was a steady stream of girls in various stages of this process. I wanted out, so as soon as I could stand, I asked for my clothes.
The walls behind the privacy screen were splattered with blood. There were pools of blood on the floor in which I made sure not to step.
After I dressed, the nurses gave me my cookies and juice. They handed me some papers, some pills, and a prescription. I think the pills were to stop bleeding. I don't remember what the script was for. They told me to see my doctor in two weeks. Feeling weak and dizzy, I left to go home.
My immediate feeling after my abortion was relief. I didn't have to worry anymore and life could go back to normal.
After the time prescribed I went to my gynecologist. I told him I had an abortion. He asked me why I didn't come to him for help. (At the time I did not know about patient confidentiality, and I was fearful he would tell my parents.) He asked me where I had the abortion. When I told him, he looked as though he was going to cry. I was shocked by his reaction and confused as to why Ms. G would recommend a place that horrified my doctor, a highly respected and well known gynecologist.
When he examined me, he told me I had significant scarring to my uterus. He said he was hopeful it would heal well enough for me to have children one day.
About a month after the abortion, I started having pain in my groin and a yellowish discharge. I went back to the doctor and was diagnosed with a vaginal infection. Thus began a ten year odyssey of serious, almost continuous reoccurring infections, swollen lymph nodes in my groin, and pain in my ovaries and uterus.
Also about this time my mental state deteriorated. It happened one night. I was sitting quietly in my bedroom and, suddenly, my entire world went black. It was as if in the space between breaths, my entire existence lost all meaning. I didn't know what was happening. I was in a deep, profound depression and could find no way out. Not knowing what depression was I imagined I was physically ill with some awful disease.
I began having severe anxiety attacks where I literally felt I was falling down into an endless abyss.
I had no idea at the time that this was due to the rapid drop in hormones experienced as a result of the abortion. No one had told me this could happen. I was in this hell for about 3 months. It feels like an eternity when you are depressed, unable to really function, eat, do school work, etc.
About a year after the abortion, I remember sitting outside gym class and, suddenly, the reality of my abortion came to my mind. I killed my baby. The thought would not leave my consciousness. I felt like the floor opened up and the earth had swallowed me. The thought of what I had done was unbearable. I was a murderer and there was no forgiveness, only the reality of this horrible act I had committed. I thought I would go insane with guilt at that very moment. Then, suddenly, the feeling left. It was somehow pushed down to the recesses of my mind, and it stayed there for the next 13 years.
Over the next decade my abortion only haunted me in my sleep. I had a recurring dream that I had committed a murder or several murders. The bodies, putrefying, in varying stages of decomposition, were hung from my ceiling. I would try desperately to hide them, to clean the mess, but I could not remember why I had committed this horrible crime. This dream always left me deeply troubled.
I was firmly prochoice. My belief was that life began at birth. Abortion for any reason at demand was a woman’s inherent right. This was my conviction. It is my body and my choice. I defended all types of abortion, even partial birth abortion. It didn't matter because it wasn't a baby. Furthermore, even if it was a baby, I created it, so it was therefore subject to my will alone.
Do you see how I suppressed and denied my sorrow, grief, and shame? This was how I dealt with what I believe to be the vilest and unforgivable act a human being could commit.
In 2005 I became pregnant unexpectedly by my fiancée and future husband. I found myself praying to the Mother of God. I was not Christian, yet I prayed. I believed I deserved to be punished. I loved my unborn baby and I knew that by the twelfth week I would miscarry.
Well, I did not miscarry. God is all forgiving. At the time, I think, it would have in some ways been easier for me if I had lost my baby. The knowledge of God's unending mercy was too much to bear at times. I deserved to lose my baby, I was a baby killer. These thoughts haunted me throughout my pregnancy.
At our first sonogram appointment, the technician calculated the baby's gestation. I remembered the exact day my baby was conceived. It had been the first Saturday after a certain church event. We looked at the calendar and there I saw the date, Saturday November 5, 2005. My baby was conceived EXACTLY 18 years to the day of my abortion.
Every sonogram brought mixed feelings. I was so happy and excited, yet now I saw at 12 weeks that this was no cluster of cells. This was a baby. Every gestational milestone I considered my lost baby, the baby I selfishly killed in what should have been its sanctuary, the sanctuary of the womb.
Slowly my heart began to soften. I allowed myself to cry over my lost baby. I asked for forgiveness. I was baptized into the Orthodox Christian faith and God softened my heart even more.
I changed my position on abortion completely, but it was not until my second pregnancy that I began to speak out on abortion.
Because I was 38 at the start of my second pregnancy, there was concern of Down's syndrome and a few other anomalies. I went for a test that looked for these types of problems. The nurse explained to me the risks with my age. She then informed me that once the test results came back, if they were "bad," at that point we would discuss "termination options.” I was amazed at her words. I informed her there would be no termination. I finished up the appointment and found another doctor.
My nightmares came back. I dreamed my doctor whom I loved and trusted had become evil. He brought me into a room, and I lost consciousness. When I awoke, he was holding a tiny baby in his hand, the child was alive and moving, helpless and so very small. I begged him to put the baby back inside my womb, but he would not. He was sadistically enjoying my suffering. In another dream, I was in a dark space, and in front of me was a hand. I recognized it as the hand of God. A voice said, "You want a daughter, but you will never have one." The hand then opened, and cradled in the palm was my baby who was dead. "Here is your daughter," the voice boomed.
I now have three beautiful sons, but not a week goes by that I do not think of my lost baby. This empty space will never be filled. I have confessed my sin and God has forgiven me, yet I still grieve. I will always grieve my lost baby. He would be 26 now. I cannot save my baby, and perhaps this is why I have become so vocal about abortion. If my words can save just one baby, I would feel my burden lighten a bit.
I am still healing, and the recent exposure of Planned Parenthood’s crimes against the unborn has poured salt in my wounds.
We need to break our silence. The unborn have no voice. We cannot bring our babies back, but we can tell our stories. We can provide the opportunity for empowerment and truth that we never had. By helping others, we heal our own wounds.
It is my sincere wish that telling my story may in some way help others. I will continue to speak out, for my lost baby, for those suffering the hurt of abortion, and for the innocents that have no voice.
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