Hi.  My name is Debbie Fisher.  In 1981, I was married with a 6-month-old. Not wanting my son exposed to the abuse I was experiencing, I sought help and we survived. Then, an increasing dependency on alcohol fed my reckless behavior. In 1986, at the age of 31, I became pregnant by someone I barely knew. I remember looking at the test results and smiling. I knew I wanted my baby who, I sensed immediately, it was a girl. I tried to connect with the father, but he wouldn’t respond to my calls. He never knew about his child.

 

Feeling as if I had no other choice, I contacted the Bay Centre for Birth Control. There was a darkness in that clinic, an emptiness I will never forget. I felt alone and desperate. An appointment was made for the next day with a female gynecologist. No committee of doctors, which was the law in 1986. No ultrasound. She examined me and told me that laminaria would need to be inserted into my cervix to stretch it over the next 24 hours. The pain was horrible. I was sent home and told to return the following day for the procedure.

                                                                 

I woke up after the abortion, screaming, “I want my baby, where is my baby?”  I was told to shut up because I was upsetting other women in the recovery room. On September 18, 1986, my Noelle Marie, a precious whisper in our world, died of unnatural causes. I slipped into the abyss of full-blown alcoholism and tried to pretend everything was okay. I thought if I could just get pregnant again, I would be absolved. 

In August 1989, God blessed me with my second beautiful son. I have often wondered, why would God allow me to conceive again after what I did? When God called me to speak my truth, I knew I would have to break my silence to my sons who were now teenagers. I needed their blessing. They both said yes. My youngest son, the child who came into my womb after his sister was aborted, responded with a revelation, saying, “I always knew I had a sister.”  And then I remembered that when he was only 4 years old, he had asked me if he had a sister. He didn’t know about the abortion or that I thought my aborted baby was a girl. Sometimes I still need to cry and that’s okay too. 

Through your commitment to life and the support of my Silent No More sisters and brothers, the Sisters of Life and my beautiful loving Lord, I have been set free and I am Silent No More.  God bless you.