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Healing the Shockwaves of Abortion
 

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Do You Regret Your Abortion or Your Lost Fatherhood? By filling in the form below you can add your expression of regret to our list. All information remains confidential and is presented anonymously


 
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My Son was Gone
Karan Lee
Pennsylvania, United States

I was in an alcoholic, dysfunctional home. I felt very unloved. I became pregnant by my high school boyfriend. My mother took me to a doctor and made an appointment to take me to a hospital to get rid of it. No one ever explained anything to me. I was dumped at the hospital and left alone. A male doctor injected me with a needle, never telling me what it was for, or what it contained. I was placed in a hospital bed, both side rails up, in a dark room with only a rectangle about 10x12 inches that had mesh wire in the glass. 

As the door was closed, I felt completely abandoned, and worthless. I screamed in pain for hours, no one coming in to even check on me until very late at night. I had no food, water, or ice chips. No one came to comfort me, or to even check if I was cold. I began having febrile seizures late at night, vomiting, with a temp of 106 degrees! No one even treated me with dignity. The two female nurses that came in acted annoyed because I had been throwing up. They pulled my hospital gown off, as I shivered with nothing to cover me. A young male nurse came in and told them to cover me up. He was the only one who displayed any concern or compassion. A few more hours went by, until almost 24 hours had passed. A female nurse told me it was time to sit up and push. Michael was birthed forth dead. I pushed her aside saying, "I have to see what I have done." There he lay. He was curled up in a fetal position, my son, fully formed, and perfectly beautiful, but dead! 

I fell asleep, exhausted. I woke up in a room with another female the next morning, 2 days from my 17th birthday. I was given a shot to stop milk production. I got dressed, had fluid pouring from my chest, and was taken home. Two weeks later, my mother burst into my bedroom, raising my window blinds. She said it's been 2 weeks, that it was enough. It was never again spoken about. I had no compassion displayed, no apologies, no counselor, nothing. I told my boyfriend that my mother forced me to have an abortion. He said that she told his family that I had a miscarriage. I was only a kid myself. Life just seemed to keep moving on. 

My son was gone. I didn't know where he was. It tormented me. I started to have anxiety, bad dreams, and feared that I'd never be able to be loved by God. I blamed myself, as though I could have stood up to my mom or left the hospital. It was done when that doctor injected my baby stopping his heart. I sought God for years becoming born again at age 31.

I still hadn't fully grasped what Jesus had accomplished on the cross on my behalf. In my 40s I heard a testimony about a little girl who had drowned in her grandmother's pool and was taken to heaven. Her grandma wrote a book about her experiences. It's called 6 big, big, big angels. Victoria told her grandma about a special place, where Jesus put all of the aborted babies back together, so they could be whole, and taken care of. Victoria said that the babies didn't hate their mothers. They were forgiven. God used that as a springboard to heal me spiritually, and emotionally. 

When I realized that I needed to forgive myself, the journey began. I wrote Michael a letter telling him that I was so sorry for what I had done. I told him that he had twin sisters whom he would meet in heaven someday. I told him that I loved him and would meet him one day. I asked him to forgive me. I wept bitterly when I had discovered what that doctor had injected into my baby boy, killing him. I was disgusted at what that drug did to his precious life. I was sickened at the possiblity that he had suffered greatly. 

I cried talking to God repenting from the depths of my heart for what had been done. It's easy to blame my mom. It was my pregnancy. I was just extremely remorseful. I asked God to help me to forgive myself. My story ends and also begins with Grace. The Grace from the cross that covered all of my sins giving me forgiveness, and a real relationship with my Creator and Savior.


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