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I was coerced by my (then) boyfriend who I had been living with as a wife for almost four years. We were ‘in love’ (or at least I was and thought he was too). When I became pregnant, our relationship changed. I went from expecting support, marriage, and a life together to receiving a ‘cold response’ and pressure to get an abortion—which I strongly resisted. Unfortunately, the pressure increased to the point he threatened to end the relationship, leave me, and make me homeless. I still resisted, but he was controlling and had managed to isolate me into a position where I had no family or friends and trusted him alone. I believed him when he feigned an emotional breakdown because of what I ‘was doing to him.’ I was torn inside but believed his lies as I was young and naive. As he manipulated me further, he introduced marriage to my delight as a ‘guarantee’ he loved me. What he failed to say was that it was a deception to bring in the abortion as I was now so happy he wanted to marry me. It took the edge off of the abortion he was trying to push on me, and I was persistent it wouldn’t happen. He even had a change of heart in a holiday to France where he accepted the pregnancy, so I thought the nightmare abortion agenda had gone away. However, on our return he said I had to get an abortion, and as we were getting married, we could have children soon. Why not now? He said he wasn’t ready and made loads of excuses and started putting more pressure on me. Looking back, I was in danger with him and needed help and support elsewhere, but there was no one to turn to.

Sadly, he persisted and drove me to a clinic by the sea as though we were going on holiday. I went silent as my soul was in torment. I loved him and believed him, but my body was preparing for motherhood, and I accepted and welcomed that. The road to abortion was pressured, blackmailing and emotionally-manipulative, but I could not see it then. I felt it but could not see it for what it was. I know now that no true marriage proposal EVER comes with a condition like abortion.

We travelled the day before, and I was numb and silent—in ‘disbelief.’ Two doctors had to examine me and manhandled my womb as though I had a cancer inside instead of my precious child. I felt violated by the probing and prodding and was only 12 weeks pregnant but treated my baby with dignity and respect, which the doctor examining me didn’t. The second doctor certified the baby as posing a mental health risk to me—a lie—a breach of the abortion law, thinking he was doing me a favour. I said I was fine with having this baby and wanted it, but he hushed me up. When I came out, I told my boyfriend, but all he wanted was ‘the problem’ ‘gone away.’ I remember looking around the waiting room at heavily pregnant women and feeling a sense of disgust they were murdering their children but somehow didn’t seem to fully engage that I was doing the same as I was fairly flat stomached

On the day of the abortion, I broke down several times to his increasing anger. His rage was uncontrollable as I refused to go into the clinic. He physically threatened me and hammered his fists on the dashboard of the car as I refused to get out. I ended up pleading with him and then sobbing that I would go in but my body took over and my legs went to jelly as I opened the car door. I fell into the gutter in a heap and he drove off at speed. I had £200, the abortion ‘blood money’ on me, and contemplated running away but to where? I wanted to go home, but home was with him and he was so angry and I anticipated violence if I did not go through with it. I thought that at the lowest point in my life—on that floor, I needed to ‘grow up’ and ‘face life’ as I ‘pulled myself together’, feeling I had no choice and walked towards the clinic. I was pulled inside as protesters were outside. I should have asked them for help to escape, but huge doors were locked and chained behind me. We were locked in!

Inside, I wept uncontrollably as I handed over the money and harsh staff separated me from everyone else and put me in a room of my own upstairs. I asked for counselling and a kind matron came and held my hands and told me I was ‘doing the right thing.’ I said ‘No, I’m not. I want this baby,’ but she said it was nerves and to lie down.

The place humiliated women at every opportunity. I had a gown—wide open at the back showing my backside as I was marched down 300 or so steps to the basement ‘killing room.’ I felt defiant and angry that this was happening to me. Two staff were behind me, herding me like cattle. I felt degraded. I was half naked, and I had a ‘moment of empowerment’ on the way down as I had seen this in a film. It was a Nazi concentration camp film I saw where the women were marched naked by the guards with their children towards the gas chambers. I suddenly realised and had a huge feeling of guilt and distress that I was not going to die, just my child. I honestly believe that had I been going to die myself, I would have been willing to go through with it, but I made a decision to call my mother to collect me and to tell her everything.

As I went into the little room to be sedated I told them I had changed my mind and I wanted them to call my mother. I refused to lie on the black plastic bed but sat on the edge and was pushed down by a large matron who told a young doctor to inject me. I told him not to and that I would sue them if they touched me and suddenly all the staff started to panic. I saw fear in the young, blonde anesthetist’s eyes as I threatened him again and asked for his help to leave. The large matron said it was ‘too late’, ‘she has already signed the papers’ and urged him to inject me but he couldn’t and was in shock. The matron took over and ordered me to be strapped up and my wrists and ankles were strapped up as I lie screaming for my mother and pleading for my baby’s life. I swore at the nurse to my left and asked why she couldn’t look me in the eye. I called them all murderers. I was unable to move but remember being wheeled into the theatre and hearing the instruments that killed my child. I was pushed into a room with 12 beds or so and I remember coming round and screaming. I didn’t want them to take my baby away and wanted to call my mother, but the matron appeared and smugly said it was ‘over,’ ‘too late,’ ‘get her out of here, she’s upsetting everyone.’

I was uncontrollable and a cleaner came into my room, closed the door behind her and hugged me like a baby saying, ‘they all feel like this,’ and cried with me. My baby was gone. I suffered a lifetime of grief and trauma and a poor relationship as a result. I still married him and made the best of things, and we have three beautiful sons—all grown up. My husband has suffered a lifetime of guilt and shame for his part and has never fully related to our children. God has given him illness and incapacity and he has been bedridden for the past two years. I feel it is God’s punishment as he has never admitted his true sorrow and has tried to bury everything and make me suffer alone. It has divided us. He made me choose him or the child when I wanted to choose both. He made a divide in our life, and that prevents him being fully into fatherhood now.

If anyone out there is in my situation do this one thing. GO SOMEPLACE YOU CAN BE ON YOUR OWN. FIND SAFETY, SEEK HELP, NURTURE YOUR PREGNANCY, HAVD YOUR CHILD. You are NEVER ALONE. There IS HELP out there. REACH OUT and DON’T DO SOMETHING YOU WILL STAIN YOUR SOUL WITH FOREVER, SOMETHING YOU WILL TEAR YOUR HEART APART WITH, AND TEAR YOUR LIFE DOWN.

Age: 60
Location: Bournemouth, UK
Date: October 16, 2024