I’ve met mothers who didn’t understand they were aborting their late-term sick babies. Medical staff coded language by calling it “early induction of labor,” etc.
Here’s a tragic story of a mother who went through the induced labor abortion procedure, and her baby survived for a time. This dear mother didn’t understand what had happened until years later, when reading my testimony. She has given me permission to share her story…
In 1995 I was told just before my 6-month mark that my son had multi-cystic dysplastic kidneys. They said it was a terminal disease and that I needed to abort. I refused, and they said I could die if I didn’t abort. I still refused, and I finally agreed to give birth normally if they promised to try and save him. They said I had to hurry because it would be illegal in 5 more days because I’d be over the term limit.
They said they would, and I gave birth…but it was horrible. I was 20, didn’t know much…they didn’t tell me what to expect. I was alone in the room, and felt like I needed to use the bathroom. While I was in there, my water finally broke. They had drugged me up pretty well and dismissed my concerns about what it would do to the baby….
I screamed for the nurse, but it took them 15 minutes or so to come in. They delivered my son while I was on the toilet. They asked if I wanted to hold him or if I wanted them to help him, but they said either way he was going to die so I better hold him while I could. He died 45 minutes later.
I found out 2 years later, during genetic screening for my second son’s pregnancy, that Hunter did NOT have the condition in both kidneys like they said. Had I carried him to term, he’d have lived and had a very good chance of a normal life.
During Obama’s campaign, I came across the speech he gave on medical care for the unborn, and through that, your testimony. I read it all, and suddenly it hit me that I had done that. That was exactly my experience. Had I not held my son, he’d have been thrown in a room to die alone. The knowledge that I had had an “abortion,” even though I didn’t want one, didn’t know that’s what I was doing, and NEVER would have agreed…it almost killed me. I’m still having a hard time with it.
You make a difference with your work. It gave me a knowledge I wish I didn’t have about my own experience…but ultimately I hope my son can forgive me for what I did. I never would have agreed if I’d have known. I thought I was doing the right thing…they said he was suffering and would die unless I gave birth so they could help him.
Arnold Palmer Women’s and Children’s Hospital in Orlando, FL, is where it happened. I was “high risk,” and I was sent there by my regular doctor because of the condition my son had. My doctor had told me they were “the best” at dealing with situations like mine, and because I had excellent insurance they said cost would be no problem.
They did use all the words you mention in your testimony–that’s what made me realize what had really happened. I wanted to make funeral arrangements for the baby in case he did die, and they said it was unnecessary. I made such a fuss that they finally agreed and brought in a chaplain to talk to me. I was so drugged up that I was giggling between contractions. If I remember right, the drug they gave me was Stadol –that sounds about right. So many things about it are fuzzy for me, but I remember images and sounds, and split second moments that are burned into my brain like a laser.
Hunter Michael was almost 12 inches long and 1.5 pounds. His eyes weren’t open, and he never made any crying sounds at all. He made a few gasping sounds toward the end…I thought I was a loving mother who chose to hold her child and say goodbye because he was going to heaven. The knowledge that the whole time I was holding him he was dying a slow, torturous death is something I will never, ever forgive myself for.
They took pics of him and gave them to me. The funeral director and I were the only people at his funeral. He is buried in Kissimmee, FL, with a flat little plaque because I could not afford a headstone. I barely scraped up the $300 for the burial – in a cheap casket that looked more like a box you’d bury your dog in. It was all I could afford, and I could not bear the thought of them “disposing” of my son as they kept offering to do.
I went back once after I got out of the hospital and built a little Lego castle that I left on his grave with a letter saying goodbye. I don’t even know if his grave is still there, or if the plaque still sits there. I want to go back, but I’m afraid to know. I can’t stand the thought that his little body has been there alone all this time – and even though my family knows what happened, no one mentions his name. No one talks about it. It’s like I’m the only person who cares or knows that he ever lived. I want him to be remembered – but I am so ashamed of what happened that I keep his memory close and private.
My second son is 11 now. He just started violin lessons, and he is a bright, happy, beautiful little boy with blue eyes that are turning green, who loves his mama and his dog with all his heart. As I watch him grow, I cannot go a day without wondering what Hunter would’ve looked like, or what he would be doing had I not killed him.
His birthday is September 6th, and last year was the first year I could function on his birthday without sobbing all day. I went to the beach and released a balloon for him. It helped a bit to try and let go of it, but I know in my heart that it is a pain that I will carry with me for life. My only saving graces are the knowledge that Christ died for that sin too – and that my son was spared a life of possible disability, pain and suffering by our gracious Lord. He is happier than I could have ever hoped for him right now, and that fact is what has kept me on this earth during the darkest of times.
If you think my story could help in some way, feel free to use it as long as my name is not in it. The life of a baby isn’t the only thing abortion destroys. I know. But please…even if you do not use my name…use his. He deserves to have someone know his name.