I've been involved in the pro-life movement for so many years that I often take for granted the pro-life and post-abortive testimonies I hear. But it's occurred to me that not everyone has heard stories of saved lives, abortion regrets and heroic defense of life. And even if someone has heard dozens of such stories, each story is unique and is good to hear.
So, here is a post-abortion testimony that I highly recommend reading. I came across it today and wanted to share:
In December of 1998, I was 23 years old. I lived with my parents and worked at a non-profit in the DC area. I was dating a DC rock icon, and that was, to me, the most important part of my life. Together, my boyfriend and I drank a LOT. So I was never surprised to wake up feeling hungover. Until the day I felt hungover without having partied the night before. Half way through the day, something clicked. I looked at a calendar. I had missed my period. I took a pregnancy test that night and was not the least bit surprised to see that it was positive. When I called Brian to share the news, he simply said, “Let’s take care of it.” I WAS SO RELIEVED. I felt so lucky to have such a caring boyfriend who wouldn’t make me face this “choice” on my own. He reassured me, “Don’t worry, I’ve done this before.” PHEW. So lucky!
When we arrived at the clinic, I checked in and Brian paid for the procedure with his band’s AMEX. That actually made me laugh. It was a little over seven hundred dollars, because I was lucky enough to be able to afford to be anesthetized for the procedure. So lucky. I remember very little about the procedure. I remember the abortionist introduced himself (though I didn’t feel like I was making the best first impression, there on the table in nothing but a surgical gown) and the nurse inserted my IV. He told me he had a daughter and actually started talking to me about mutual interests that she and I had. In retrospect, I am so disgusted. This father was making a living sucking the life out of women, and had the nerve to mention his own daughter to me. As he performed an ultrasound, he looked over my shoulder—the screen was behind me—and said, “Perfect! You’re just about eight or nine weeks.” Obviously I knew nothing about fetal development, but I felt so lucky that I was “just about eight or nine weeks.” And shortly thereafter, I fell asleep. When I awoke, I was being wheeled to the recovery room. I was helped into a recliner. Then I sat, in a room full of recliners, with girls who obviously couldn’t afford the anesthesia, who were all sobbing. I felt so lucky sitting in that room, thinking I must be the only one with such a wonderful boyfriend who would help me through this. When I had waited long enough, Brian picked me up. He had been at Home Depot to pass the time. Seriously. He was considering home improvements while a child of mine (maybe not his) was being killed. It really was no big deal. I was so lucky.
You can read it all here. And I highly recommend that you do. This excerpt is no way to end the story!