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Abortion Story: Kansas City, MO

Submitted to Abort73 by a 50-year-old woman on February 10, 2012.


I am a wife of thirty one years, grandmother of five boys and one beautiful little girl. Mother of three biological children, two adopted children, and two little ones that are with Jesus, one that I miscarried, one that I aborted.

It is funny the things I remember, little details…

The sound of the machine

The gruff voice of the Dr.

The girl coming in as I was leaving, who told me I looked “so white.”

The protesters outside the clinic, why hadn’t I noticed them before?

So many thoughts rolling through my mind as I consider trying to put on paper my own experience with abortion. Trying to tell the whole story seems both difficult and indulgent, so I will attempt to be brief.

I was 16 when I became pregnant for the first time. I was unmarried, in high school, and so uninformed. The father of my baby was also 16 and was too afraid to even tell his Catholic parents about the pregnancy. Instead, he moved away for the summer to live with his sister. I didn’t realize I was pregnant at first. After two weeks of being unable to keep any food down other than tomato soup (which I seemed to want to eat constantly), my mom decided we needed to go to the doctor to see what was wrong. The test came back positive. I was pregnant, and no one was more surprised than I. The doctor gave my mother a sheet of paper with information on a clinic called Concord Medical Center located in Downtown Chicago to follow up with. I guess I knew what the clinic was. However, I never really thought about pregnancy, let alone abortion. My mother made an appointment for the following week and we went to the clinic. We met with a nurse who explained our options as far as whether or not I was to be awake or put to sleep for the “procedure.” Then we were taken into a room to view a short video on what to expect. I’m not sure at what point I became upset, but I did. I demanded that we go home and my mother made another appointment for two days later. I was already at 12 weeks.

My mom had a talk with my dad. It was decided that they would pay the extra money and have me put to sleep for the “procedure” since I had been so upset. My Dad was not completely supportive of the decision. Looking back, I wonder why no other option was ever discussed. Especially since my parents had been unable to conceive and had adopted me, their only child, as an infant.

My mom and I returned to the clinic on a Saturday morning. I was given a blue paper gown to wear and taken to a waiting room filled with others dressed as I was and waiting for the “procedure.” I remember being so confused by the conversation in that room. One girl was preparing for her wedding and had already bought her dress, size seven and therefore could not continue the pregnancy. Another was older and already had “too many” kids. All in all, there were probably ten of us in that room. All with different stories. Some shared. I did not.

When my turn came, a nurse came and escorted me to the “procedure room” and explained what to expect. She told me she would hold my hand until I was asleep. I remember hearing a very loud machine and the doctor saying, “is she knocked out yet?”

I awoke in a recovery room filled with reclining chairs where the girls I saw in the waiting room were all now sitting drinking orange juice and eating crackers while waiting to be released. I can remember that I got sick to my stomach and had to stay longer than the rest.

In the weeks that followed, I began to have a recurring dream. In the dream, I was in a pit of rocks and above my head was a small baby in a noose. It was almost like I was waiting to be stoned to death for my crime. This was a little odd as I was not a Christian at the time, but it was obvious that, somewhere on the inside, I knew that what I had done was wrong. The other thing that was obvious was the overwhelming sadness I felt.

I went out to a party the evening of my abortion. I drank a lot and ended up slamming my index finger in a door. It left a split in my nail that I have to this day. It has become a reminder. It used to point to me in accusation, now it reminds me of the finger Jesus used to draw in the sand in John 8. It reminds me of His blood that has covered my sin and redeemed my life. I think that is the real purpose of my writing this. To say to anyone who has had an abortion that Jesus is not your accuser. He is the one who holds your baby and offers forgiveness and healing for your heart.

Age: 50
Location: Kansas City, MO
Date: February 10, 2012

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