They Will Never Go Away

As sad as it sounds, abortions will never go away.

It is legal in America for a woman to stop a pregnancy; to control when she has a baby; when she reproduces.

This is a terrible decision for someone to have to make. No one ever jumped for joy because they decided to abort a baby. It has never been a happy occasion.

The problem with both sides of this issue is that we don’t talk to each other, we only yell. If only we could discuss it with compassion we might get somewhere.

If only we understood that those who would ban abortion feel powerless to help those who are making the decision to have one.

If only we understood that those who are making the decision to have one wish they could be given a chance to undo what has been done.

If only we knew that those who wish to keep abortion legal do not approve of it anymore than anyone else: they know it is a terrible thing to do, but know it would only be made worse by making it illegal.

I know that abortion kills a fetus, hence a child to be. I am the legal guardian of five children: three of them by marriage and two by birth. My first wife, who gave birth to one of my children, chose to have two abortions, and my second wife, who gave birth to another of my children, had two miscarraiges. I was not happy with my ex-wife’s decision to have two abortions, any more than I was with my current wife’s miscarraiges. I was powerless in both cases.

As a man, I’m not sure where I fit into the decision making process. With my first wife, my argument against her having the abortions meant little. But then, nothing I said meant much to her, which says more about who one should marry than about whether abortion should be legal. Had my current wife been confronted with the issue of an ‘unwanted’ pregnancy, my opinion would mean something. I chose my companion more wisely the second time.

Had abortions been illegal at the time my ex-wife had been confronted with the issue of an unwanted pregnancy it would mean that the cost would have been much higher and the risks much greater.

Imagine had abortion been illegal and she chose to have one.

A few facts to consider.

First, she had been having an affair at the time she got pregnant, so was unsure as to whether it was my child. I didn’t know about the affair, at the time, so it wasn’t part of the decision making process.

Second, if abortions are now illegal, the cost for having one goes up. The two my ex-wife had cost around $250, cash, because, of course, insurance doesn’t cover voluntary procedures, such as abortion. Having read a bit about abortion during the time it was illegal, I know that the cost ran into the thousands of dollars, and didn’t guarantee that a doctor was doing the procedure or that it was being done in a sterile environment. And she decides to have one, and survives.

After my ex-wife’s first legal abortion, we had a child, that she was sure was mine, and promptly began having an affair, again. Again, she was confronted with an unwanted pregnancy.

Remember, you and I have made abortion illegal. So abortionists are law breakers, and we will say, for the sake of this story, that her first was a doctor doing it on the side, but got scared and quits. So her second abortionist is one who has only done it a few times, and learned from a nurse who had only assisted in abortions, and didn’t know all the procedures. And this abortionist does the job, but kills my ex-wife in the process.

Where would my daughter be without her biological mother? I could make the case that my daughter would be better off without her bio-mom, but would she agree with me? I have told my daughter (who is 13) that her mother had had abortions, and though she wishes her mother hadn’t done this, she would not have wished her mother dead.

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My current wife has had two miscarraiges. My wife loves me and wanted to have my baby, and because I love her, I chose to help impregnate her once more. One last time. I didn’t think I could take another miscarraige.

We were successful. We gave birth to an eight pound, eleven ounce baby boy, whom I could not let out of my sight from the moment he entered the world. I drove the nurses nuts, because if they said they needed to take him somewhere for something, I was there with him. They would reassure me that it was perfectly safe for them to take him, but I would have none of this glad-handling, and dogged their footsteps.

Before the beatific moment of my final child’s birth, we were the victims of what is called, generically, ‘fetal demise’ at sixteen weeks. Both times.

Because both events were terrible, I try not to think of them. My wife, who is low maintenance and doesn’t cry much, didn’t require my constant support, so I felt useless.

Because both miscarraiges happened at sixteen weeks, she had to be taken to the hospital, where labor was induced so she could ‘give birth’ to a dead baby. Both times she was kept overnight at the hospital where I slept on a cot in her room.

The worst thing about giving birth to a dead baby, is that it is done in the same part of the hospital where live births are done. The nurse assigned to the task of monitoring us the second time, was an older lady who was very sad for us. More sad than we were, ourselves, considering we’d gone through this before. We must have been her first.

Labor was induced, and, just as when a happy event is expected, the only job I had was to pat my wife’s hand and wait. Eventually, it happened.

My wife asked me to call the nurse to change the paper that had been placed beneath her because she felt wet. The nurse came, and stated with a hitch in her voice, that ‘it’ had happened. Without knowing it, my wife had ‘passed’ the body of our second child. It lay there on the bed, bloody and motionless.

The nurse, overwrought with emotion, wringing her hands, explained to us that she had to check for a heart-beat. We had to comfort her; we told her everything would be okay, as she held the crumpled little body of our baby in her trembling hand and placed the stethoscope on its tiny chest to fulfill the requirements of the law.

Our room, that day, was in the farthest corner of the maternity ward, away from the mommies who’s babies were doing well. After it was over, I went to the nurse’s station for some ice. There was a man there getting himself coffee. He looked up from adding sugar and cream and beamed at me.

“Isn’t it great!” he said.

I nodded.

“It’s a miracle, everytime it happens, ain’t it?” he said.

“Yep,” I said, “everytime.”