?I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling,? a quote written on the wall of the abortion clinic where I waited for eight hours through my first day of the three-day pregnancy termination surgery process. Shortly those words will be played in the background of my life where grief and humility sink in.
Here we are a healthy couple who got lucky to conceive a baby once they tried. But life knows no manual. When we went to figure out if we were having a boy or girl, when I was five months pregnant, we learned that our baby had two major health issues and his/her heart could stop at any time soon. Instead of taking our baby’s images as we had planned, we had to take the most difficult decision any parents could take, to terminate the pregnancy. It is hard to let go. It is hard to realize that death is part of life. Another hardship was to be surrounded with the empty clich’s that people offer during those situations. ?I am sure you will have another baby soon,? so many people said. As if at that time I was concerned about the future, and not with my current loss; and as if parenthood is a goal one should chase.
Due to Texas? tight laws on abortion, the experience was made more difficult for women going through this painful process. Women living in Texas outlying districts had to travel hundreds of miles to reach an abortion clinic. I only had to travel 90 miles, from Austin to San Antonio. The clinic was overcrowded with patients who are not given the proper medical care and attention they deserve.
While waiting in the cramped room full of women terminating their pregnancies for different reasons, I felt like a stranger. It seemed to me that no one could feel my pain; no one loved their baby as much as I did. I found myself critical of others who seemed not as depressed as I was. Yet, as we approached the third day of the surgery, physical pain united us all. We were all connected in cramps, tears, and vomit. I felt deeply connected with every single woman there. Regardless of each one’s story, age and background, we were all living the same nightmare.
After finishing the surgery, on our way out, two male members of an anti-abortion group stood holding signs that read, ?Pregnant women need care, not abortion,? ?Praying for abortion.? Still dizzy because of anesthesia, I could say nothing but felt the hollowness in my uterus. How ugly judgment is? Who are those men to judge what is best for a woman’s life, health and family? I am not sure to whom those men pray because the God I know respects every woman’s story of pain. He does not use a woman’s personal issue for political propaganda. As for the God I know, compassion is greater than judgment. And the God I know is honored in life and death.
I challenged myself to write these thoughts because we human beings tend to conceal our pain, limitations and vulnerability. I wanted to encourage myself and you to challenge our greatest human enemy, pride. I also wanted to encourage other women to speak about such experiences that get suffocated between pain and anger. Finally, I am writing this to express my gratitude for the sacred pain that brings human beings together and for every opportunity God teaches my heart humility and compassion; and, finally, to express my thankfulness for my family’s love that is stronger than any pain.
