'Silent No More' coordinator speaks of her own abortion

 

By Cynthia Labutka
Regional Coordinator
Louisiana Silent No More
Awareness Campaign
Lafayette, LA 

On June 4, 1980, my life changed forever.  I had an abortion.  A friend recommended the abortionist.  She had seven abortions at his clinic and said he was very good. 

The Metairie, Louisiana clinic was in a small, white wooden house on Causeway Blvd.  The interior walls were made of dark wood.  A few chairs were scattered around the waiting room.  There were two black women sitting stone faced with several children running around.  We exchanged dark glances. 

After a short wait, a nurse called me into a conference room where she asked me a few basic medical questions and took my temperature and blood pressure.  As you can imagine, it was a bit high and they gave me something to calm me down.  It failed. 

I was prepped in a room with a very strange smell. The wooden walls and floors were scuffed and did not appear to be sterile. My jaws were clenched together and a sound I didn’t recognize was coming out of my mouth. About this time, they began to give me Demerol.  My body was so taut that it took three times the amount that was normally administered.  The abortionist looked into my eyes and told me that he’d never get anyone else back there if I didn’t be quiet. His hands probed my stomach and his face lit up. “She’s pregnant!” he exclaimed to his nurse.  It was if he were approaching the abortion with delight.  This made me even more nervous. The doctor began to tell me how he was a scientist and dedicated to helping women.  I should have left but I couldn’t move. 

The procedure began. When they say that the suction machine sounds like a vacuum cleaner, they are really telling the truth. It had a dark hose on it that began to gurgle.  The pain I felt in my abdomen was nothing compared to the agony of hearing the sounds coming from the machine.  No description would be sufficient. 

As the nurse gave me an envelope with five antibiotics to take, she told me that if I ran a temperature, I should see the doctor.  There was no discussion of any side effects or how I might feel once I got home.  As “he” helped me into the car, I began to cry.  I repeated and repeated “I killed my baby…. “ 

Only several weeks beforehand, I was pregnant at my college graduation - on Mother’s Day.  To this day, I can’t bear to look at the photographs.  My friends kept telling me that I had a bright future ahead of me in art history.  I fully intended to move on to graduate school.  I didn’t.  I began to have headaches. 

My parents wanted me to marry and have a family.  I didn’t trust men anymore so I partied instead.  Since trust was gone, no meaningful relationship materialized.  It was impossible for me. 

With time, I realized that the only man I could really trust was Jesus.  It was time for a sincere return to the faith to which I had converted only a few short years before. 

The Catholic Church provided a safe environment in which to attempt to resolve my interior crisis.  Time before the Blessed Sacrament gave me what little comfort I was able to obtain. 

While involved in ministry to the mentally handicapped, I met my future husband.  He knew about the abortion from the very beginning.  By that time, I was a pro life activist.  We married in 1989.  Disaster struck within two months.  I had my first miscarriage.  It was so sudden; I didn’t even realize what had happened until the problems began.  Minor surgery was involved to correct them. 

God had mercy on me and in 1990, I gave birth to my first child, a daughter, by caesarian section, and when she was eleven months old, I discovered that I was pregnant with my son who was born in 1992.  It was a real blessing to be able to nurse both children; I nursed both of them for six months - until I was forced to wean my two year old daughter.  It was very difficult but I’d do it all over again.  In 1996, I had my second miscarriage.  My husband had to help me walk across the room. 

During an abortion, a woman’s cervix is artificially dilated.  This causes damage to the tissue which can make it difficult to maintain a pregnancy.  Abortionists do not warn you about this.  Nor do they tell you that the hormonal changes in the breasts brought about by pregnancy remain unresolved after abortion and can later develop into breast cancer.  I only pray that my years of breastfeeding will protect me from this indignity.

And over time, the headaches got much, much worse. It is said by some experts that the unresolved hormonal changes brought about by abortion can cause many problems that still remain unknown. 

Through the ministry of the Church, I have found reconciliation with my dead children. I write this essay in their memory to warn other women who might be considering abortion of these dangers. 

Don’t gamble with your health and that of the children you might bear in the future.  Protect yourself and them by choosing life.