I got pregnant three years ago. I was 22, it was a brand-new relationship, but I was adamant that I was having a baby. Iâve always taken motherhood very seriously. I was abused â the product of people who shouldnât have had kids â then adopted. I felt so strongly that this was the most important job of my life.
I wasnât at risk of genetic defects, so during the anatomy scan it didnât even occur to me that they were looking for abnormalities. Me, my boyfriend, and my parents all went to the appointment, and when they said I was having a girl, my mom jumped up and down hollering as if she were at a football game. My boyfriend cried.
I was home alone when I got a call from the genetic specialist who told me that the tests were positive for trisomy 13. I thought that was Down syndrome and thought, Okay, I can do that. But then she started apologizing: âIâm so sorry, these babies usually miscarry. Itâs a miracle sheâs made it this far.â I said I didnât understand, and she explained that my baby could pass any day, be still-born, or die soon after. I Googled âtrisomy 13â and saw horrific pictures of babies without noses or mouths. I sat there and sobbed while I held my belly apologizing to her over and over and over again. I called my mom and said, âMy babyâs going to die. My babyâs going to die.â
The doctor cleared her schedule and saw me later that day. She said: âYou need to make a decision. Youâre already 23 weeks and the state of Ohio has restrictions that impact your options.â She explained I could terminate or carry the pregnancy to its extent. At the time, 24 weeks was the cutoff for abortion in Ohio or else you had to travel to another state. [In December 2016, Republican governor John Kasich signed a law that reduced this cutoff to 20 weeks.] We only had days to decide, and even then there were waiting lists and the expense was horrendous. I had never felt so alone.
The counselor said my baby wasnât in pain and there was no risk to either of our lives if we continued the pregnancy. I thought, Letâs try to make some memories while we can. I really enjoyed being pregnant. I loved having this purpose, and I thought as long as sheâs not suffering, I think that her being here with us right now is the best we can do. And so ⌠we tried.
At 29 weeks, my ankles and legs got extremely swollen. I was disassociating and became lightheaded, so I left work. I started cramping and ended up in the hospital. There were so many tests, which ultimately concluded that this was an emergency situation. [Jessica was at risk of having a seizure, and potentially dying, if labor wasnât induced.] I wasnât thinking, Iâm terminating this pregnancy in order to save my life, but thatâs what my paperwork said.
The doctor was very clear. He said, âYou need to decide whether you want to induce now or come back in a week and get your blood pressure checked again â and I will induce you then.â I lived 45 minutes away from any hospital, on a farm without neighbors. It was a bitterly cold January. He was afraid Iâd have a seizure and not get to them in time. That worried me, too.
But I knew that if I was induced, there was no chance my daughter would survive. Even if I carried her to term, her survival rate was very low, less than 5 percent. Another decision I had to make was telling the doctors that I did not want them to resuscitate the baby.
I was in labor for 32 hours.
I declined to have her monitored during labor because I didnât want to sit there listening to her pass away. So theyâd periodically come in and quietly listen for a heartbeat. The last time, at 1 a.m., they couldnât hear it. I made them bring my family back into the room, and about a half an hour later it was time. She was born after three pushes, and at just two and a half pounds. Her heart was still beating, but she didnât cry or breathe or make any sort of sound. There was mention of oxygen, but I said, âPlease, just let her go.â They put her on my chest, and my boyfriend came and cut the cord.
She stayed alive for two and a half hours. They called it when her heart stopped.
When I made the decision to âvoluntarilyâ induce, I felt like I was picking myself over my child. I wouldnât wish that on the most evil person on Earth. A funeral director arrived with a huge white cloth. He said, âI have to cover her face so people donât know when Iâm walking down the hall [with such a small body].â I handed her over, and that was the last time that I saw her. I didnât want a casket on display at the funeral; that tiny box would have been way too much. I collected her ashes a week later.
Many people donât understand why this experience reinforced my pro-choice beliefs. Now more than ever, I firmly believe: No conditions. No restrictions. I canât imagine being in that situation and being denied the dignity of making a choice. That little bit of control was so empowering. Nobody just wakes up after being pregnant for over 20 weeks and says, âI donât want to do this anymore.â
When Trump said those things about late-term abortion during the debate, I was so angry. What must the rest of the world think of us? I have friends in the U.K. and Canada saying, âWhat the hell? You can have 30 guns but you canât have a dignified, comfortable abortion?â
And while weâre getting abortions and making painful decisions about our bodies, Trump is fucking tweeting.
prguitarman
stormborns
dailybridgerton
annaxmalina
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
