When my husband and I decided we were ready to start a family, it happened almost instantly. I was pregnant within a few weeks, and couldn’t believe how lucky we were and how easy it was for us to conceive. When I met with my doctor, she said everything looked great, but recommended we do routine carrier screenings to rule out genetic diseases that couldn’t be caught on ultrasound. When the results came in, my husband and I learned that both of us were carriers for a rare terminal disease. The doctor reassured us that the odds were three out of four that our baby would be okay, and told us not to worry until I was eligible for more testing. At twelve weeks, they stuck a needle into my uterus to withdraw genetic material from the placenta to test. We had to wait for the results, which took almost four weeks. When they finally called and told me my baby boy was not going to make it, I was devastated. I had a choice: carry my baby to term and have him die in my arms, or end the pregnancy early. I made the choice to terminate the pregnancy. At this point I was sixteen weeks pregnant. Because I had been receiving care at a catholic hospital, they referred me to a clinic for a surgical abortion. The clinicians were understanding and kind. My husband was allowed to wait with me in the clinic, and they put me under for the procedure itself. I bled for twelve weeks after losing my baby, and every time I changed my pads I felt the loss of my little boy. I still feel angry – that I lost my baby, that my OB wouldn’t provide the care I needed, that I felt so fucking alone making the hardest decision I’ve ever made.
I felt so alone when I learned my baby was terminally ill. I don’t know anyone else who has been in my position, and while I have the support of friends and family, it’s still really hard. Reading stories online has helped me feel less isolated while I continue to grieve.
