Silent No More

 

by Pam Robinson

 

Eleven years ago this coming May, I had a “therapeutic” abortion when I was 18 weeks pregnant with my only son, James Kent.  My insurance company gladly paid for it, the abortion clinic workers offered their sympathies, and my James Kent died senselessly.  I stand here today to tell you there is no such thing as a therapeutic abortion.

 

My doctor warned me my son would be my shadow for the rest of my life if I chose to birth him.  That doctor lacked the wisdom to realize my son would be my shadow for the rest of my life in choosing to abort him.

 

Not a day goes by that I do not regret my choice.  I have confessed before God, and I accept God’s forgiveness.  Still, I have to live with the consequences of my choice.

 

That choice in the limited intelligence of my doctor and the abortion community meant my son would be released from the pain of suffering and ridicule caused by Down’s Syndrome.  After all, my doctor reported, there was no way of knowing just how damaged James Kent’s mind would be.  He might even be, the doctor insisted, a vegetable.  Everyone failed to witness to the  rehabilitation professionals and to the parents of Down’s Syndrome children.  They would have provided me with a support network and helped me to care for my son.  The professionals I talked with failed to understand how much I would grieve for my son—as did I.

 

When I called a pro-choice hotline for assistance in finding an abortion clinic, the counselor told me the abortion would be easy physically, but difficult emotionally.  She assured me I would get through it with counseling.  I have survived the abortion physically, but emotionally, the abortion of my son has brought me unending grief, pain, shame, and remorse.  The abortion was not just emotionally difficult, but devastating.  I will never be the same again.

 

One psychiatrist told me I needed to get over something that happened so many years ago and become the best employee, the best wife, and the best mother I could be to those with me now.  I remained silent.  In my heart, I wondered if one day he went temporarily insane and shot his son to death, how long it would take him to get over it.

 

The night before I offered James Kent up to die in a two-day abortion procedure, I felt his quickening in my womb like the gentle caresses of butterfly wings against my skin.  I paced the floor in my efforts to stop feeling him, to stop feeling for him. 

 

That’s what you do in an abortion—temporarily stop feeling.  You numb yourself to your humanity and the humanity of your child.  No pro-choice platitude about the quality of life can redeem such a loss.  An abortion is with you always, no matter how much healing you come through.  I can remain silent no more.