let the words out
I have had 3 abortions. The first one happened when I was 17 and the last one at 30.
All of them were the right thing to do. All of them were hard and lonely decisions to make. All of them were hard on my body and spirit. But sometimes you have to choose the difficult choice. Life is not always easy, if ever.
I had 4 miscarriages in a row when I was 39 and 40. These were much worse — more physically and emotionally painful — than the abortions. And filled with similar shame, secrecy, and isolation. No one could understand. Not even my doctor. During the 4th one, I was in so much pain, I finally called my doctor to ask for help. The doctor refused, saying, “We don’t give pain medication for miscarriage.”
No one would talk to me about the losses. Not even my husband. “Man up and try again,” is all he had to say.
I gave birth to my beautiful, healthy son at age 42.
I had my fifth miscarriage at 44.
This is what my reproductive life has been. And it’s all ok with me.
