The summer of 1979 was going to be a lot of fun at least I thought. I was 14 and full of energy. When I first realized I could be pregnant it seemed like a nightmare. After all, I was a kid and that couldn’t happen to me. I became so scared that I didn’t tell anyone at first.

The conversation with my mother went as well as she wanted it to go. She kept telling me that I couldn’t have a baby and that it would mess up my whole life. When I began spotting, she took me to my doctor. They talked around me and told me that I really was too young to have a “real” baby and that we should go ahead and “take care” of it.  Problem one was that I was already almost 16 weeks.

In my home state it used to be illegal to have an abortion. My mother worked with my doctor and found a place in another state to go. I should have known that if it is illegal it couldn’t be good.

We arrived in the morning, paper work was filled out, and money was collected. No one ever told me anything about what was going to happen to me.

I registered with another girl; she and I were going to be roommates. That wasn’t the best time to make new friends. The nurse brought me into a room and they stuck a huge needle into my belly. At that time I didn’t know it but that was the beginning of the end of me. They withdrew all the amniotic fluid from the baby. I thought that procedure would never end. Then they performed an exam and inserted a “wick” to make me dilate. I was then told to go home and come back tomorrow. We went to a hotel in town and pretended that nothing was going on.

The next day I went back and they checked and said nothing was happening. I guess my baby didn’t want to leave. I was checked into the hospital and an IV was started to make this go faster. Still no one told me what was supposed to be happening.

Then the pain began that night. They had sent my mom back to the hotel. I cramped all night begging for someone to make it stop, but everyone was cold and impersonal. I remember yelling out for someone to come that I felt something coming out. An orderly came into the room and gave me a bedpan and at that point I passed my baby into the world. I remember looking over and thinking, “That is a real baby.” They lied to me. I could have a baby. They quickly took it out of the room.         

It was then that part of me died. As we left the hospital that day my mother told me that we didn’t ever need to discuss this again and “let’s forget it ever happened.” Inside I was screaming out for help.

Each year that went by was no better. Every time I heard the word abortion I cringed. My doctor asked me if he could perform an amniocentesis when I became pregnant again, and I was terrified. It reminded me of that day at the hospital.

After my abortion, I became very vocal about defending the right to choose. That way I was justifying my mistake.

June of every year seemed to bring on more guilt and shame though I did not remember that it was June when my son was aborted. I would have never thought it was the missing part of me calling out.

September 2, 2004, I was standing outside a church in town watching a small blue and pink balloon ascend up to the heavens. It was at that point that I finally became alive again though it was two years before I was finally able to take a deep breath because it was then that I forgave myself. I think the sentence I placed on myself was long enough. Abortion not only takes the life of the baby, it also takes the spirit of the mother.