A Woman's Right, Or Her Wrong?

I rarely talk about abortion. Because I have been face to face with that prospect, and I know the devastation that accompanies it.

Now, it isn't my place to tell a woman what to do with her body. It isn't my place to pass judgement on anyone (although admittedly it's a common practice with me). In this instance, it's only my job to inform people of my personal experience with abortion.

I had recently spoken with my friend Kevin Jackson of the Blacksphere, and he reminded me that I have a unique perspective as a woman. There are things some men just can't fully comprehend. Such as, yes, men are there throughout pregnancy and childbirth, for instance, but they will never know the feeling of carrying a child, giving birth. I will never know the opposite.

I want to submit both sides of this debate, in a personal way.

I can't have any more children. I would kill to have another, but it just isn't possible. So when I see women abort children for nothing more than economic or emotional issues, frankly it infuriates me. On the other hand, I have to remind myself that I had the support of my husband throughout both my pregnancies, so I can't imagine having to go it alone. I remind myself that these women are facing enormous difficulties in choosing to have a child. When they choose life, it humbles me.

In order to convey my feelings on the matter, allow me to explain where I once stood.

Five years after I first met my husband, we discovered we were going to have a baby. Unfortunately, he, at 33, brought home the Chicken Pox. I had already had them, but I too was infected. At the time, we didn't know I was pregnant. When I asked his doctor if I could catch them twice, I was told the probability was incredibly low, unless my immune system was compromised... or I was pregnant. Well there was no way I was pregnant. Not me.

Wrong.

Allow me to digress just a moment. My brother's dear friend Jorgen (my brother lives in Sweden, in case the name throws you off) was born of such a pregnancy. He is horribly, physically deformed. I knew what such a case could entail. I was told to abort.

Remember now, I was 22, and far from in my right mind at the time. First, this pregnancy was a surprise, and second I was told my child could face the same ridicule and ostracization Jorgen has had to endure every day of his life. I sat down at the kitchen table with the yellow pages opened to Abortion. It was the worst time of my life.

But I chose life. For better or worse, I chose to close that phone book and take my chances. I also gambled on my daughter's quality of life. Was that a selfish act? Perhaps. Which is why I cannot condemn a woman for making such a decision.  The sheer fear and bleakness a woman feels at the exact moment is excruciating. Because I chose life, my doctor fired me, and I had to find another. Another slap in the face in an already bruising battle. Much more was to come.

I had a great pregnancy until the 7th month, when I developed such high blood pressure my new doctors felt I was at risk of a stroke. After an amniocentesis, they delivered the next day. I gave birth to a 4 pound, 4 ounce baby who was perfect in every way. I had beaten the odds, but I wasn't willing to risk it again.

Fast forward 5 years. Despite our precautions, I was pregnant again. I was in absolute terror. I called the most qualified high risk pregnancy doc in town, and made an appointment to sit down and just speak with him. I was assured that pregnancy induced hypertension usually only occurs in first pregnancies. He was dead on. I didn't develop high blood pressure at all, which would have been the first sign of what was to come, so it was overlooked. If only...

One morning, six months into my pregnancy, I awoke to severe heartburn. I didn't want to disturb my husband since he had to get up in a couple of hours to go to work, so I went downstairs and took Xantac, which I had been prescribed throughout my pregnancy. After three hours of extreme pain, I realized it was something else. I woke my husband, got my daughter ready to drop off with my brother, and we were off to the hospital.

I was quickly ushered to maternity, where I had blood drawn, and made to lie still. An hour later, a nurse came in and said she had run a panel on my liver, just in case. The pain I was feeling was not heartburn, but the blood vessels in my liver exploding. I had HELLP Syndrome. I was told I would have to deliver ASAP in order to save my life. I had just hours to live. But at only six months gestation, my second daughter would be in extreme danger. I had a choice. To try to hold it off long enough to receive steroid shots to mature her lungs, which may have killed me, or to deliver immediately, which may have killed her. I chose the steroids, but I was asked to sign a paper stating my wish that should I crash, no help would be given to me personally to resuscitate, only measures to save my child. I was able to hold off for four days, while enduring blood tests every two hours. I was stuck with needles 98 times in 4 days. My veins were done for.

On the fourth day, several doctors and nurses rushed into my room and began prepping me for immediate surgery. My blood platelet count was so low they didn't know if I would survive the emergency C-Section. They had to move NOW.

As I  was wheeled into the operating room,  I passed my grim-faced brothers and my dad in the hallway. They were as white as ghosts, and despite their feeble high-fives, I knew we were in trouble by the look on their faces. They had been warned.

Obviously I survived. My second daughter did as well, although she spent 21 days in the NICU.

My doctors entered my recovery room crying. They had never been through such an ordeal, despite some having practiced for more than 30 years. I truly felt bad for them. One retired from delivering babies after my pregnancy. He couldn't handle that sort of crisis ever again. I still get a card from him every year, telling me how sorry he was. He missed all the signs, even though there just weren't any. I was an anomaly. There is nothing to forgive. He saved my life, too.

Today, I have a 12 year old in her freshman year of high school. A 5 year old who is just as brilliant. Both are shining examples of why abortion isn't always the right answer. They're also the poster children of why some women abort. Sometimes with good reason.

Our lives are never black and white. That gray area is immense, and it usually overshadows right and wrong. So remember, the next time one of you condemns a woman (and I don't mean the idiot who uses abortion for birth control) sometimes there are other circumstances that aren't spoken of. Bad advice, fear, ignorance. Those things won't change, but we have to remember that some fears that one must face must also be acknowledged by others. We all pay a price, whatever our decisions. Sometimes a woman does what she is pressured to do. Sometimes her fear grasps her in an unbreakable hold. Sometimes she battles what she has been told to fear. Sometimes she makes a selfish decision.

Sometimes a woman's right, is her wrong.